A large bowl of schorba, highly spiced soup, was placed on the table, some loaves of barley bread and some wooden spoons. We all dipped into the bowl and commenced the meal. When the bash agha had finished we all put down our spoons, which were carried away with the bowl and placed before the others.
The long Arab midday meal began: the bourak, or sausage roll; the mechoui, which we clawed at with our fingers; the leham lalou, stewed mutton with prunes; the kous-kous; and finally the honey cakes.
As we finished each dish the remains were taken to the others, who by this time had been joined by the bash agha’s chauffeur.
A large jug of skimmed milk was passed round and we all took a sip.
“Alham dullah,” said the bash agha.
“Alham dullah,” repeated the kadi with the aged agha and the young caïds.
The man passed round with the brass tray and jug and the water, and the bash agha went through a lengthy toilet which commenced with his beard and ended with his fingers.
Coffee appeared.
We all sighed contentedly, the tension of before lunch had disappeared. The bash agha lighted his pipe. I did the same, while the others looked at us with envy, as they themselves could not smoke in the old chief’s presence. Gradually they slipped toward the door to get at their cigarettes.
“I wish to play cards,” suddenly said the bash agha.