I settled in next to Paul Louvois, while Edith sat opposite us with her various boxes piled up on the seat next to her, and prepared myself for what was becoming an endless series of amazing sights.
“What rareté do you have your eye on, dear Edith?” Monsieur Louvois asked. It amused him to treat the rumpled Edith with a show of deference due a duchess.
Edith brushed his mockery aside. “There is a quite lovely ranunculus that is said to grow in central Syria. I would love to get my hands on a specimen or two.”
“For myself,” Louvois said, “I never know what I am looking for. I like to be surprised. You of all people, Edith, know that if one looks only for the expected, one never comes upon the singulier.” The banter was gone from his voice. It was one connoisseur speaking to another.
I shivered, sure that I would not want to get between either him or Edith and their discovery of the singular.
The carriages came to a halt in a ramshackle village on the outskirts of the city. A knot of Turkish soldiers lurked about on the edge of a cluster of huts. Beside the maze of huts were pens with horses, donkeys, and camels. When we rejoined the others, I asked my father, “We won’t have to ride a camel, will we?”
“No, no. We’ll be riding horses. We’ll probably take a camel along to carry our water and supplies. They’re very useful—no hooves to be shod, only pads like a dog’s. A nuisance in the rain, though; they can’t manage when the land is slippery. Let’s go over and meet the dragoman. I want to see how well Hakki has done for us.” Father still did not trust Hakki.
The dragoman, a tall Arab whose narrow face was further elongated by a full beard, was regarding Hakki with a sardonic stare.
“This is Abdullah,” Hakki said, introducing the dragoman. In his turn Abdullah summoned the three mukaris: Habib, Mohammed, and Mastur.
Mastur, the youngest of the three, had a pouting mouth and large, thickly lashed eyes. He was to be the tabbâkh, or cook.
Habib spoke with a whining voice suggesting that, even before the trip started, he was feeling put upon.
Mohammed was the largest of the men, a handsome, darkly tanned Arab with a closely trimmed beard; straight, aristocratic eyebrows; and deep-set eyes. There was a frown line etched between his eyes, as though he had been peering out over long distances in search of something that had never appeared. He was aloof and barely acknowledged our greeting, keeping his distance from the other mukaris as though he considered himself too good to be associated with them.
The dragoman, Abdullah, was very much in charge, striding about shouting, “Yalla, yalla,” meaning “Quick, quick,” to the mukaris, who commenced loading the provisions.
Speaking rapid Arabic, Edith drew Mastur aside to show him how her cases were to be handled. She pointed to her specimen boxes and plant presses, but Mastur did not follow her gestures with his eyes, so I had the impression they were speaking of something other than Edith’s gear. I wondered what these two strangers could have to say to each other.
I watched the supplies for our journey being loaded: heaps of tenting, piles of tent poles, cartons of food, baskets of linen, fodder for the animals, rifles, water canteens. The amount of luggage appeared to be an object of the mukaris’ contempt. I remembered Edith’s remark about traveling in the desert with nothing but a bedroll and felt guilty for bringing so much luggage. I had thought that after a day’s dusty ride, I would want clean clothes to change into; and should there be no laundering in the desert, clothes would be needed for each day. I saw that my standards were too high, for even Monsieur Louvois had taken less than I had.
For the hundredth time Edith cursed the Turks’ regulations that confined her to a tour group. “I would give a great deal to ride off on my own,” she said, and seeing her determination, I wondered if I would ever have so much courage.
In an hour we were ready to leave. All my traveling across continents had led to this moment. I was leaving trains and hotels behind. My excitement turned into worry that edged into confusion. How would I manage? Graham must have noticed the look of panic on my face, for he strode over to help me onto my horse, boosting me onto the saddle with strong arms and leaving his arm around my waist for a long moment.
Habib climbed upon the crouched camel, pummeling it until first its back legs unfolded and then its front legs. It rose up to its full height and began to lurch forward in an uncertain preening gait like a child in its mother’s high heels. The camel’s saddle was tricked out in brightly colored tassels and bells. Edith had told me that the Arabs had four thousand words to describe a camel. The arrogant tilt of the camel’s head suggested it took pride in that fact.
I watched the spectacle with delight, all my discomfort and apprehension forgotten. Abdullah on a great black stallion followed Habib, and after him rode a determined and uncomfortable Hakki, looking over his shoulder from time to time to count his little party. Father came next. I was prepared for the accomplished picture he presented, for I had a remote memory of seeing on my mother’s dresser a photograph of my father on horseback with a pack of hounds. Watching his easy handling of the horse, I guessed with regret that there was much of my father’s past that I knew nothing about.
Edith, competent and firmly in control of her horse, rode just behind Father. Monsieur Louvois was an awkward horseman but appeared so indifferent to his deficiencies that he could have been on a giraffe and it would not have mattered to him. He was followed by me, feeling very uncertain, and finally Graham, completely at ease on his mount. Trailing the party were the pack mules and the two remaining mukaris, who were seated on aged and skeletal horses. The mukaris regarded us with looks that implied it was hard to be under the yoke of fools.
The day began cool and pleasant. As we rode along, Graham brought his horse next to mine. “Why do these men stare so at us?” I asked him.
“They don’t understand all these preparations for a few days’ amusement, and they consider us spoiled children,” he said. “Which we undoubtedly are.”
I was encouraged by how compliant and responsive my little horse was. I had asked the mare’s name and was told by Mohammed: “Madam, our beasts are not named. It is enough that we have names.”
“What is the Arabic word for silver?” I asked Graham.
“Fadda,” he said.
“That suits her perfectly.” She was gray with a shiny coat. “She’s so docile.”
“Oriental horses are very manageable,” Graham told me. “They don’t even require a bit. You’ll find they go at a walk and not a trot.”
Father had been watching us, and now he dropped behind to join us, questioning me as to how I was managing. After that, much to my regret, he took Graham’s place at my side.
At first we rode among fields of wheat, and apple and peach orchards. I could smell the fragrance of the blossoms on the light breeze. Gradually the trees dwindled and the fields became less green. In the middle of the morning, after passing a small garrison of Turkish soldiers, we came to the village of Adra, where Mastur handed around figs, dates, slices of goat cheese, and cups of tea made with water that, to save our own supply, he got with baksheesh from the village well. I had eaten many large and elaborate meals, but none so delicious as this spare one.
In spite of the money that changed hands, the townsmen gave the water grudgingly. I noticed how time and the rope had worn a groove in the side of the well.
Edith oversaw Mastur as he made our tea, even contributing some of her precious store of China tea. She announced cheerfully, “In the desert men kill over water. And quite rightly. It’s what keeps them alive.”
“The water or the killing?” Father said, receiving a cold stare from Edith.
Paul Louvois and Father strode off to talk with one of the villagers, while Edith wandered into the fields and Graham was deep in conversation with Mohammed. I was left with Hakki, who was clearly alarmed at watching the others stray.
“Hakki, why are there so many Turkish soldiers about?” We had met repeat
edly with small contingents of soldiers who regarded us suspiciously.
“There are no more soldiers than are needed.” Hakki answered me automatically, concentrating on Edith, who was now no more than a khaki speck in the distance. He could not contain his worry. “I am unhappy when one of you wanders away,” he said petulantly. “I must know at all times where you are.”
“But why are so many soldiers needed?” I persisted.
“We have always some well-meaning foreigners who think they must sow seeds of discontent among the Arabs, telling them that this group or that will give them independence. We Turks understand these foreigners want our land for themselves, but the Arabs, being naïve, don’t see behind such promises. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go in search of Miss Phillips.”
Graham and Mohammed had been squatting on their heels, talking rapidly to each other. When Abudullah called Mohammed to some task, Graham joined me. I asked, “Does Mohammed speak English, or were you speaking Arabic to him?”
“Mohammed comes from a family that deals in hemp. They sell all over the world, so they know a number of languages.”
“Why has he taken a job as a mukari?”
“There was some trouble—nothing serious, I’m sure. His family wanted him out of Damascus for a bit.”
I thought there was more to it than that, but this time Graham would not confide in me.
Hakki rounded up Edith and called out, “Gentlemen and ladies, we have much ground to cover, so I respectfully request that you prepare yourself for the next stage. And please let us all be close to one another.”
Leaving behind everything green, we headed toward flat rocky country, riding along the dry course of what once had been a stream. “They are called wadis,” Graham told me. I saw with a leap of my heart that at last we were truly in the desert. It was not the stretch of sand I expected, but a wilderness of stone.
Graham pointed. “Over there,” he said. “You can just see them.” Silhouetted against the dark blue of the sky was a camel caravan moving slowly toward us. As it drew closer, we could hear the bells and make out a dozen camels with their riders, all in black robes and headdresses. The members of the caravan passed us with no more than a curious glance. No words were exchanged between them and the mukaris. “Not of their tribe,” Graham said. “In the desert, courtesy has very little to do with polite exchanges and everything to do with avoiding murder.”
“How do they find their way? It all looks the same to me: just rocky piles.”
“The Arabs have names for every inch of the desert. What is incomprehensible to us is plain to them. I wish I were here alone with Mohammed instead of tethered to this crew—your father watching me with a gimlet eye; Louvois up to Lord knows what mischief; Edith choosing one of the rockiest, most arid places on earth to pick her flowers. If it weren’t for your company and those ever-present Turkish soldiers who would be after me in a flash, I would be tempted to take off.”
I was pleased that Graham was happy to have me there, but I was not sure I liked being paired with the Turkish soldiers. We stopped for lunch among the remains of a village. “Mathna el-Maluli,” Hakki announced, like a train conductor.
“Lately fallen to ruin,” Abdullah added.
“Several hundred years ago,” Hakki explained.
“That is as yesterday,” Abdullah said.
“There will be lunch and we will all rest for a bit,” Hakki ordered. “There is no point in traveling in the hottest part of the day.” He acted as if he were firmly in control and giving orders to Abdullah, when the stop had been Abdullah’s idea.
“The noon heat is bad for the horses,” Abdullah had said. His concern was for the horses, not the riders. Habib hobbled the camel and sent it to graze on a handkerchief-size patch of green. After a while I could hear it belching as it brought up its cud, followed by the grinding of its great yellow teeth.
Mohammed gathered thorn branches and built a fire. Mastur set bread to baking in the ashes, and after roasting the coffee beans, he ground them in a mortar. The mukaris did not hurry, yet everything necessary was done. When lunch was ready, Graham, ignoring Father’s displeased glance, sat next to me. “I must admit it gives me a certain perverse pleasure to irritate your father by paying attention to you.”
I smiled. “It’s not very complimentary to be told you are spending time with me just to anger my father.”
“Believe me, if I didn’t enjoy your company, even that pleasure, great as it is, would not tempt me.”
I had to be satisfied with that small compliment. It began to worry me that Graham was becoming so important to me, for I felt sure I was not that important to him.
It was still blistering hot when we started up again—not the sultry heat you sometimes have in England but the dry, hot heat of a furnace. The trail narrowed, but our horses were sure-footed along the rocky path. From time to time we would meet a small band on camel or horseback. Sometimes the riders would pass with barely a glance, but sometimes they would stop and stare openly, calling out a few distant words that might have been either quarrelsome or welcoming. As the afternoon wore on, our little tour group fell silent with heat and fatigue. We rode along, our parade of shadows giving the journey a timelessness. I thought it might be the present or it might be a thousand years earlier, when desert travel was rare and fraught with danger.
IX
JERUD
AT LAST WE SAW THE outline of trees ahead of us. The horses began to quicken their gait. The trees became more trees, and there were gardens as well. Bit by bit the village of Jerud unfolded before our eyes like the paper flowers you drop into a glass of water.
As we approached Jerud, we saw a small lake, but the horses, wiser than we were, did not slow. Abdullah explained it was a salt pond. Minutes later we came to a stop just outside the gates of the village. Under Abdullah’s direction canvas was stretched upon the ground, stakes hammered, and poles fitted. Within minutes Edith and I were in the tent we were to share, where I could see nothing more than two camp beds covered with a few quilts. “It seems sparse,” I said.
“That is its virtue.” Edith examined the spartan surroundings with relish. “You’ll soon get used to camping and learn to like it. What people don’t understand is that the greatest luxury is to do without. If there is anything I have learned from the Arabs, it is that most of the things with which we surround ourselves have more to do with the needs of other people than with our own.”
The more I thought about Edith’s words, the more sense they made. In Durham Place I had been all but buried in a large home overflowing with possessions. My life had been all routine and dullness. Here I was in a tent with nothing to call my own but a cot, and my world was full of adventure.
As we were talking, we could hear raised voices. Edith pulled back the flap of the tent and then reported, “Turkish soldiers in a shouting match with Hakki and our dragoman, Abdullah.” Alarmed at the raised voices, I would have chosen to stay in the tent, but Edith went marching out, and I felt it would be cowardly not to follow her. Abdullah at his fiercest was shaking his fist at one of three soldiers, who was in turn gesturing with a rifle. Hakki, looking smaller and more ineffectual than ever, was hopping from foot to foot in frustration. After listening for a moment to the quarrel, Edith translated for me. “The soldiers are asking to see our papers, and Abdullah insists we are under his protection and should not be harassed. Hakki appears to be on the side of the soldiers and is trying to convince Abdullah that we should do as they say.”
Father must have wanted to get the unpleasantness over with, for he approached one of the soldiers and handed over his papers. “I believe this is what you are asking to see.” He said it with such commanding dignity that both Abdullah and the soldiers fell silent. The soldier examined Father’s papers and then accepted Monsieur Louvois’s and those of the rest of the tour in turn. When they had completed their check, they saluted Hakki and, giving Abdullah a menacing look, rode off.
Abdullah,
with no regard as to whether the soldiers could hear him, spat and cursed. “Kilâb.”
“‘Dogs,’” Edith translated.
A pale Hakki walked over to Abdullah and quite bravely said, “You will have all of us in prison.” Abdullah looked as though he might kill him, but Hakki must have realized that his future would depend on whether he allowed himself to be intimidated. “There is still work to be done,” he told Abdullah. “A tent lacks a pole, and there are supplies to be unloaded.” This call to work seemed to have some effect, and Abdullah strode away.
Edith took up her specimen box. “I’m going off to see what I can find in the fields. Here in the desert a plant goes through its cycle from flower to seed in a week’s time and one has to move quickly.” Mastur was hammering the last stakes for our tent. When he saw Edith leave with her equipment, he walked over to Hakki and began to argue with him on some point, finally leading him off in a direction that shut Edith off from Hakki’s view so that Hakki could not see Edith leave the group. I was sure Mastur was distracting Hakki on purpose, but I merely supposed that Edith didn’t want Hakki calling after her to return.
Our tent had been pitched so that its opening allowed the breezes to enter, but late in the day the direction of the wind changed, and under the afternoon sun I found the tent so stifling, I started out on a walk. The sun beat on my back and crept under my wide-brimmed hat. A hot wind nipped at my skirts. The heat and the miles of nothingness made me giddy. At first I could not understand Edith’s optimism, for I saw only rocks, until I looked more closely and discovered small flowers nestled among the stones: miniature blue hyacinths and purple crocus and periwinkle—common flowers in England, but in a desert setting exotic. I had never been much attracted to nature, preferring to sketch man-made things like ruins of civilization. Now, caught up in Edith’s enthusiasm, I examined a white cyclamen with swept-back petals. Among the barren rocks of the desert, its delicacy was reassuring. If such tender flowers could survive in such a setting, there was hope for me.
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