But the companion had become quite silent. He was bewitched, apparently, by the rural charms of this place. At last he said:
"If only I had brought some kif to smoke!"
Your Oriental, as a rule, becomes hungry at the sight of a fair landscape; he manifests a sudden yearning for food. Not so these Souafa; they must have their native kif on such occasions. They are all, I am sorry to say, partakers of the pernicious drug.
"You have forgotten your kif?" I asked. "Well, that was an oversight!"
And, to his astonishment, I fumbled in my pocket, produced the stuff and lit a pipe. I smoked on placidly, looking at him and wondering what his thoughts might be. "An Inglis"—perhaps he was saying to himself—"one of those who joke and talk in such friendly fashion, and then, when it cornes to a you's worth of kif—a single puff of his pipe…! Sacré cochon! That is how they grow rich."
Possibly he reasoned thus, but I fancy he reasoned not at all. There he sat, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground; a European might have feigned interest in something else, or cheerful indifference, but this desert-child did none of these things. He simply sat and suffered dumbly: it was a blow of fate, to be borne like all the rest of them. A fine exemplar (édition mignonne) of the mektoub profession. It gave a dignity to the fellow.
Presently I made him a gift of the whole apparatus. He was quite speechless, at first, with surprise.
The spot was well chosen for indulgence in the divine herb, bland quencher of doubts, begetter of blissful images; impossible to conceive anything but a good genius residing amid these bubbling waters and gently stirring foliage. Everything was kindly and gracious, and yet——
"Yonder," he said, pointing dreamily with his pipe-stem to a place not far distant, "yonder they killed a man and a woman. They hacked them to little pieces."
And he unfolded a tale of love and revenge.