“Thou knowest the three wives of Ali Bey El Halebi. The red-haired one—the former slave—was killed last night. I had it but an hour ago from a sure source. Her sin, though great, was pardonable, Allah knows. Her husband had neglected her disgracefully: the fact is known. She turned for comfort to a street musician. She lost her wit, it seems, and made confession. I could have saved her, with the help of Allah, had she come to me. The eunuchs held her so—and, click! her neck was severed. Her corpse is floating down the Nile, dismembered, or buried in the garden—Allah knows! Ah! I could keep thee interested for a year together.”
The old creature’s flattery, more subtle in the tone and manner than the words convey, was irresistible; her twinkling eyes and ever-shifting wrinkles aroused the Englishwoman’s sense of humour, which had long been dormant.
“Praise be to Allah, thou art better!” smiled the crone.
The sun had risen now; the lamps were useless; the city of the dead was blushing like the rose; the chanting of the readers in the tomb had lost its sadness. Barakah was staring at the strange old woman’s face, now plainly visible. Where had she known it? Feature for feature, it resembled one which had been long imprinted in her memory. Umm ed-Dahak grinned when she became aware of this perplexity. With a very roguish look for one so old, she laid her cheek upon her open palm and whispered, “Yûsuf! Come!” It was the same old creature who, luring the future bride of Yûsuf from her chamber in Muhammad Pasha’s house, had been seized and beaten by the eunuchs in the hall, and never seen again until this day.
“Rememberest thou?” she slyly asked. “Allah witness, I was tempted with a bribe. Young men are devils! Never ask me to explain. I cannot bear to be reminded of it, may Our Lord forgive me! We are all weak creatures and succumb occasionally; but Fitnah Khânum will assure thee I am to be trusted.”
With that and a most friendly smile, she edged away, repairing straight to Fitnah Khânum, with whom she held some animated conversation in low tones. The lady, at her instance, shortly came across to Barakah and whispered:
“That old woman seeks thy patronage. I myself have found her useful and obliging. To thee, a foreigner, she could afford much help. Thou needest some one. Umm ed-Dahak is the best I know.”
“Umm ed-Dahak!” cried out Na’imah. “Why, there is no creature in the world to match her for facetiousness. She was the rapture of our life as children. Nobody could be dull or sad with Umm ed-Dahak. She is like a monkey and a clever servant and a mother all in one!”
This joyful cry was overheard by Leylah Khânum, who frowned upon her daughter and rebuked her sharply. In that place conversation must be held in whispers and only ritual words pronounced aloud. The party breakfasted in solemn silence, to the sound of chanting from the tomb. But the aged Mother of Laughter smiled and nodded—even winked—at Barakah whenever their eyes met, which was not seldom; and the Englishwoman had a new sensation of relief and sympathy. At last she had found somebody who understood her.