CHAPTER XXIII
Upon the morrow Barakah had quite forgotten the old woman; she was lounging on a sofa, smoking after breakfast, watching the slave-girls dress Muhammad, when Umm ed-Dahak stole in barefoot, making reverence. The crone sank down before her as of right, and kissing her feet, asked how she did and praised her loveliness. Then, looking at the infant, she exclaimed in natural tones, “Ma sh´Allah! May Our Lord preserve him in all times and places!” and straightway began making baby noises.
Barakah thought the moment opportune for getting at the secret of that incident which teased her memory. But Umm ed-Dahak, though she answered volubly, made no disclosure. Indeed, as Barakah soon learnt, that seeming reckless chatterer was in the habit of imparting only what she chose to tell.
It was manifest that half her compliments were insincere, nor did she take the slightest trouble to disguise the fact; but in the intervals of soporific fiction and pure blandishment she spoke of things worth knowing in a tone of frank goodwill. She knew the why and how of every custom, the stories giving rise to every proverb, and was so acute a judge of human character that her gossip had the flavour of an intellectual game. Her wiles, it seemed, were worn to show her cleverness, or cynically, to travesty arts which flourish in this transitory world.
She became a member of the household, but with privileges. Barakah was the sultan, she the grand vizier, it was agreed. No monarch ever had a more delightful minister. She made the slave-girls more attentive to their mistress, whose comfort she increased in a variety of ways. She knew where to lay her hands upon the leading story-tellers and musicians, and was herself the most accomplished female mountebank at that time living. She soon learnt every mood of her protectress, and its antidote. The latest scandal dwelt at her tongue’s tip.
The whole harîm knew Umm ed-Dahak as a joker. Slaves from outside were always coining pretexts to enter the apartment, just to look at her; and the more frivolous among the ladies came to hear her stories.
“I am for them a comical performance, not a child of Adam,” she told Barakah. “How different from thy kindness, O my sovereign lady! Thy gracious condescension feeds and clothes me.”
Therewith she kissed the hand of Barakah, who was affected. By such small means did she confirm her sway.