I never wish to meet more cheerful company. She was bonne camarade from the very beginning. She had apparently sized us up the first night; had come to the conclusion that for mere men we were quite respectable beings, and treated us accordingly. By the end of the second day she had taken command of the table, and especially of the teapot. Tea, like tobacco, was unknown to her, but she took to the former at once, and, when Wrexham had instructed her in the art of making it, made it herself at every meal, Firoz coming obediently with really boiling water. It was a notable change from the gun-fire type which we had drunk hitherto.
I was afraid at first that Firoz might resent her taking charge, remembering the speedy disappearance of the old servants of my various bachelor acquaintances when their masters took unto themselves wives. But Firoz took it absolutely lying down, until Aryenis—not knowing a word of his language—superintended all our meals. The third day, while we were fixing up camp, I saw her over at Firoz’s fire, much gesticulating going on, and the lady herself apparently cooking something.
That night she was first at table, and, after the inevitable corned beef, Firoz uncovered with great pride two plates of crisp cakes and some sweets. Aryenis, investigating our kitchen arrangements, had inquired concerning our chupattis, which she considered extremely nasty, and the upshot had been Forsyth’s producing some baking powder, unheeded since the flight of the cook, and explaining its use. She annexed it forthwith, as well as a tin of condensed milk, a discovery that delighted her when she was told what it was.
“There,” said Aryenis, “those are worth eating. I made them myself, and I know. Why do men when they do not have a woman to nurse them content themselves with anything that a servant puts in front of them?”
We were dumb, as always, when Aryenis reproved us. I’ve never seen two unattached men lie down to be kicked so meekly as did Wrexham and Forsyth once she announced—not in words, of course—her intention of ruling the place as long as she honoured us with her presence. I, myself, having for many years been under a masterful elder sister who took me over at the age of three when my mother died, had long since learnt the folly of pretending to have a will of my own, except when I could get out of range, and, of course, situated as we were, we could not get out of range of Aryenis.
The first evening out she commandeered all our available stack of needles, thread, and the like, and proceeded to overhaul our frayed and much-worn clothes, so that by the third day there were buttons where buttons should be, and patches where had hitherto been only openwork.
Yes; she took charge of us as if we were a trio of small boys mislaid by their parents, and—we liked it.
She gazed upon us in turn after her remarks about our manner of living, as though defying us to produce any reasonable reason, and, seeing that we were suitably worm-like, passed the sweets round. Sugar was evidently familiar enough to her. We had only the coarse bazaar article, and found much the same in Sakae land.
We began once more to consider our personal appearance, even though water was so scarce. Forsyth wore a tie at every meal, for instance—only a khaki one, it is true, but still a tie. This excited Aryenis’s emulation, and, searching among our kit under pretence of repairs, she found an old regimental tie of mine which had somehow failed to get lost or stolen during our six months’ march. She forthwith took it into wear, knotted about her throat rather à la Montmartre, and asked me why I had hidden such a treasure when I was getting clothes for her.
Despite anxiety about the future, the weakening camels, our limited water-supply, and the possibility of not finding a way up—a possibility we did not like to reflect on overmuch, since it spelt something not unlike a two to one chance of dying in the sand trying to get back, we were, thanks to Aryenis, a comparatively cheerful little party, especially in the evenings. We had picked up a certain amount of fuel by the stream banks outside the gate where there were some small trees and a good quantity of thick reeds, and after the evening meal each night Firoz brought us over the remains of his cooking fire and a handful or two of fuel, and we sat round it under the starlit sky. Aryenis, with the firelight playing on her face, my old tie making a splash of colour in the big black collar of her poshtin, the skirts of which mostly concealed the offending blot of the flannel trousers, curled up on the rugs we spread for her; the rest of us sitting round smoking, while we answered her endless questions about our country, or Forsyth strummed to us on his tiny banjoline, and gave us revue selections in his pleasing baritone, and then Aryenis in a real clear soprano sang us haunting snatches—music like old, old Western chant. And in the background the dim forms of the camels, the silhouette of the little tent, and the low murmur of the men’s talk round their bubbling hookah.