Burning Sands

by Arthur E. P. Brome Weigall

  CHAPTER XIV--THE COURT PHILOSOPHER

  In the West an interest in Philosophy is considered to be an indicationof eccentricity; and the thought brings before the imagination somelong-haired and ancient professor, detached from the active world,wandering around a college quadrangle, his hands folded, and his faceupturned to the sky as though averted from the stains of spilt food uponhis breast. In the East, however, the Philosopher is held in highhonour; and his vocation calls to mind a thousand tranquil figures eachof whom has been the power behind an Oriental throne.

  Daniel Lane was a philosopher by inclination and by education, and hisgreat common sense was the definite consequence of careful reasoning.

  He believed that Right was an unconquerable force which needed nodisplay of manners or sounding of trumpets to signal its movement; andso long as he did not offend against the laws formulated by hisphilosophy, he did not look for difficulties or defeat.

  Nor was he a man who could be terrorized by any threats; and though LordBlair had warned him that assassination was a likely end to a politicalcareer in Cairo, he was not in the slightest degree troubled by thethought. Very reluctantly he consented to profit by the activities ofthe Secret Service; and he determined to dispense with their aid as soonas he had made himself acquainted with the ramifications of nativeintrigue.

  He began his work at the Residency, therefore, without trepidation; andon the first morning of his official employment he inaugurated aprocedure which before nightfall was the talk of many in the nativequarter.

  In a secluded corner of the garden, at the end of a short terrace at theedge of the Nile, there was a luxuriant group of palms, in the shade ofwhich stood a marble bench of Arabic design, built in a half-circle upona base of Damascus tiles. A mass of shrubs and prolific rose bushes shutit off from the main grounds; while from passing boats it was screenedby a low parapet covered by a wild tangle of flowering creepers. Thissheltered and peaceful alcove was promptly appropriated by Daniel, andin this setting he made his appearance in the political life of Cairo.

  His first visitor was a wealthy, silk-robed land-owner from Upper Egypt,who desired to lay certain complaints before the British authorities, inregard to the hostile actions of a native inspector of Irrigation. Theman had been shown into the waiting-room in the Residency, where he hadbeen filled with anxiety by the ticking of the typewriters in theadjoining room, the constant ringing of telephone bells, and the hurriedpassage to and fro of clerks and liveried servants. He had wonderedwhether he knew sufficient English to make himself understood withoutthe aid of an interpreter, and whether, if the interpreter's serviceswere required, he would have to give him very handsome _backshish_ torender his tongue persuasive.

  Therefore, when he was led presently across the lawn to the sunnyterrace beside the Nile, where he came upon a mild and quiet figure whostood smoking his pipe, and idly tossing pebbles into the placid waters,and who now greeted him in the benevolent language of the Koran, hisagitation left him upon the moment, and with it went the need ofcunning. He stated his case frankly, as he strolled to and fro withDaniel in the sunlight, and he blessed God and his Prophet that theinterview which he had dreaded so long in anticipation should prove soundisturbing in actuality.

  Daniel next found himself seated upon the marble bench with acaravan-master who had failed through the ordinary channels to obtainredress for the illegal seizure of certain goods at the Tripolitanfrontier; and this personage's amazement at the Englishman's knowledgeof the desert routes was profound.

  Later, a deputation of sheikhs from Dongola was received in the shade ofthe rustling palms: grave, anxious men who had come to speak of thedisaffection of certain neighbouring tribes, and to express their ownloyalty, which was somewhat in doubt.

  At the close of the interview, while he was warning them against revolt,Daniel happened to notice a bundle of stout wooden faggots lying near byin readiness for use as supports for some young trees which had recentlybeen planted. He went across to them, and selecting one of them, carriedit back to his seat upon the bench; and presently, turning to thesheikhs, he asked if any man amongst them could break such a faggotacross his knees.

  The youngest member of the deputation, a magnificent specimen of negroidhumanity, took the faggot in his brown hands, and strained his musclesin the attempt to break it, but without success. His colleagues, oldermen, made no trial of their lesser strength, but were satisfied todeclare the task to be impossible.

  Daniel rose and took it from them, and a moment later flung it to theground in two halves. "That faggot," he said, quietly resuming his seat,"may be likened to the land of Dongola, which is to be the strongsupport of the fruit-bearing tree of the Sudan. But if it fail in itsuseful duty, it may thus be broken asunder by hands more powerful thanyours, and be cast into the flames."

  To the native mind a demonstration of this kind was more potent than anywords, and the deputation of sheikhs left the alcove, carrying with thema tale which would be told to their children's children.

  As they retreated across the lawn towards the entrance, Daniel suddenlycaught sight of Muriel, whose face peered out from amongst the rosebushes, as though she were looking to see if he were alone.

  "Hullo!" he called out; "what are you doing here?"

  "Spying on you," she answered, coming out into the open, her arms fullof roses which she had been picking.

  "That's very wrong of you," he said.

  "Well, you've taken possession of my particular corner," she laughed,"and I always get my roses from here."

  "I'm sorry," he replied as they seated themselves upon the marble bench."I though you slacked about upstairs until midday."

  She looked at him squarely. "You've got a wrong idea about mealtogether," she declared. "It's true I don't spend my mornings insmashing up Government property.... By the way, why did you break thatwooden stake across your knee?"

  He laughed quietly. "It was a parable: it represented a certain provinceof the Soudan, and its possible fate at England's hands."

  She thought it out. "I wonder what would have happened," she mused, "ifyou'd found that you couldn't break it. I suppose in that case you wouldhave said it represented England."

  "No," he answered, "I should have been in a bad fix, and it would haveserved me right for showing off. But I don't often attempt what I don'tthink I can do. It's a bad thing to fumble about with anything that'sbeyond one, like a dog with an uncrackable bone."

  "Somebody ought to have invented a proverb," she said, "like 'Don'tworry what you can't bite.' But, you know, you're fumbling about with mevery badly."

  "Would you rather I bit clean through you right away?" he asked."Supposing I said I thought I had smashed you open already...?"

  "I'd pity your strange delusion," she answered, and they both laughed,though Muriel did not feel hilarious.

  "Well, supposing I just said I thought I _could_ do so, and was going totry?"

  "I'd reply: 'Any thing, so long as you don't worry me.'"

  Again they laughed, and this time Muriel did so with more sincerity, forshe felt that she had answered him well.

  He took a rose from the bunch in her hands, and smelt it thoughtfully."Yes, I'm going to try," he said at length. "I'm going to understandyou, and then make you understand yourself. I'm going to show youyourself."

  "You're a busy man," she answered, at once estranged; "you'd better nottake on any new job."

  "It's worth while, I think," he replied.

  There was something in his voice which changed the tone of theirconversation, and arrested the development of her hostile feelings. Theflippancy of their words died away, and a new seriousness, a salienteventfulness, took its place. Suddenly Muriel was filled with longing tobe understood, to be laid bare mentally both to him and to herself. Shefelt solitary and her heart cried out for the enlightenment offriendship; yet she did not dare to make an intimate of this man, whosetreatment of her sex did not seem to be conspicuously delicate.Nevertheless the inadequacy, the inutil
ity of her method of life wasvery forcibly presented to her, and she seemed to be beating at the barsof her cage. There was something so flat and unprofitable in all thatshe had done, and the desire was urgent in her to realize herself andexpand.

  "O, I want to be taught," she exclaimed, "I want to be taught...." Shechecked herself, and was silent.

  He looked at her in surprise, for she uttered the words with intensity,and it was clear that she meant them; but it was not clear that theywere prompted by more than a passing emotion, for presently she began totalk about the lighter things of her life, and she spoke of the variousevents in prospect which would keep her from brooding. The greater partof each day for the next week or so was already filled; and Muriel spokeof these coming events as though they were dispensations granted to herby a benevolent Fortune for her heart's comfort.

  "I've come to the conclusion," she said, "that the only way to be happyis to be surrounded by amusing people, so that there is no opportunityfor thinking about oneself."

  He shook his head. "No, you're wrong. Your happiness must come fromwithin, from the contentment and fullness of your own mind. The Buddhaonce said 'Let us dwell free from yearning, among men who are anxious';and there is an anonymous Oriental poem which says something about thelost paradise being hidden, really, in the human breast. My good girl,"he exclaimed, warming to his subject, "don't you realize that what youcan get from this restless world of 'society' you live in is onlypleasure, not happiness, and even at that it doesn't last. You are likea punctured wheel: so long as people are pumping you up, you seem to beall right, but when they leave you alone you go flat, because your innertube isn't sound. You ought to be alone in the desert for a bit: itwould do you all the good in the world."

  Muriel looked at him questioningly. "Were you alone in the desert?" sheasked. There had come into her mind a vision of that harim of which shehad heard tell.

  "Well, I wasn't exactly alone ...," he replied; for he had many friendsamong the natives.

  His answer gave fresh colour to her thoughts, and a sense of annoyancecrept over her.

  "It seems to me," she remarked, "that I ought to remind you of theBiblical saying, 'Physician, heal thyself.'"

  She got up, and, with a little nod to him, strolled back to therose-bushes. He watched her as she added fresh blooms to the bunch shewas carrying; and he noticed how the sunlight caught her hair and madeit beautiful. He would have liked to have gone after her and taken herin his arms.

  Presently he returned to the house, and, finding that there were no morenative visitors, went to talk over serious matters of policy with theregular Secretaries.

  He remained to luncheon at the Residency, and at the table Lord Blairenquired eagerly as to whether he had found his first morning's workinteresting, and appeared to be relieved to hear that such was the case.

  Muriel joined in the conversation. "I was eavesdropping behind thebushes," she said, "and I can say with confidence that Mr. Lane enjoyedit all thoroughly, especially the part where he smashed up thegardener's work of weeks." Therewith she related the incident of thewooden stake, but in her narrative the faggot became an immensetree-trunk.

  Lord Blair rubbed his hands. "That's the sort of thing!" he exclaimed."Dear me, dear me!--what strength you have, Daniel!"

  "Yes," said Muriel, "his mere presence would make the dullest partypiquant. One has only to recollect that if he were suddenly to get outof control, every person in the vicinity would run the risk of beingbanged into a boneless emulsion...."

  She broke off with a laugh, and Daniel smiled affably. Somehow, in spiteof his Herculean proportions, he was not a man one would associate withviolence.

  After luncheon, Daniel spent some time in talking to Lord Blair inregard to native affairs; and it was already half past three when heleft the Great Man's study, and walked across the hall to the mainentrance. Here he encountered Lady Muriel, who was just going off uponher visit to the bazaars. She was about to step into a very new andluxurious automobile, which Mrs. de Courcy Cavilland, wife of theColonel of the Dragoons, had recently purchased to the honour of theregiment and to the dismay of her husband. This lady, a small fluffywoman, with innocent blue eyes and sharp little teeth, was makinggushing remarks to Muriel as Daniel appeared at the head of the steps;and three young Dragoon officers were standing behind her, like nicelittle dogs awaiting their turn to go through their tricks. Actuallythey were excellent fellows, but in the presence of their colonel'swife, they bore little resemblance to the fire-eating cavalrymen oftradition; and Daniel, as he looked down upon them from the top of thesteps, wondered which was the more disastrous influence in aregiment--that of the colonel's wife upon the younger officers, or thatof the younger officers upon the colonel's wife.

  He felt a sort of gloomy interest in the group before him; and, as hispresence seemed to be unnoticed, he leaned against the jamb of the door,hat in hand, watching the scene through a recurrent haze oftobacco-smoke.

  "I suggest," Mrs. Cavilland was saying to Muriel whose back was turnedto him, "that we drive up the Mousky, and go first to the scent bazaar.Willie Purdett, here, wants to buy some scent for his mother--Lady Mary,you know. And then I must go to the brass bazaar: I promised dear LadyAgatha Lawer I'd get her one of those tea-tray things. She so hatesgoing to the bazaars herself: she says they're so smelly. Personally, Isimply love the East...."

  Muriel took her seat in the car, and as she did so she caught sight ofDaniel.

  "Hullo!" she exclaimed, "I thought you'd gone."

  He took his pipe out of his mouth, and told her he was just going.

  Muriel introduced him to Mrs. Cavilland, who stared at him with disdain,casting a withering glance upon the disreputable hat he was holding inone hand, and upon the pipe in the other. She then turned away as thoughthe sight were unbearable.

  "Mr. Lane is a cousin of your friend Charles Barthampton," Muriel toldher; and thereat her manner changed with surprising suddenness, for theBritish peerage was as meat and drink to her.

  "Why, of course," she answered, "I can see the likeness now;" and sheglanced with surprise at the mischievous smile--almost a wink--whichMuriel directed at him. "You're new to Cairo?" she added. "You must comeand see me: I'm always at home on Tuesdays."

  "Yes," said Muriel, "that will be very nice for him: he lovestea-parties, don't you, Daniel dear?"

  Daniel looked at her curiously. His Christian name sounded strange fromher lips, and he wondered why she had used it now for the first time.Her expression suggested that there was a private joke between them, andthe intimacy pleased him.

  "Yes, Muriel dear," he replied, gravely, and Muriel gasped; "but youneedn't blurt out my secret." He turned to Mrs. Cavilland as though toexplain. "I'm rather addicted to tea-drinking and quiet gossip," hesaid.

  Mrs. Cavilland thought him somewhat forward, but she excused it in onewho was so well-connected. "We tear each other to pieces on Tuesdays,"she laughed.

  He did not reply. He was still wondering why his name, Daniel, shouldhave sounded so pleasant to his ears, and why the expression of silentunderstanding on Muriel's face should have stirred him so subtly. It wasas though their friendship had taken a leap forward.

  He stepped to the side of the car, and put his hand on Muriel's arm."Don't get too tired," he said, "or you won't enjoy your dance tonight."

  "Are you coming?" Mrs. Cavilland asked him.

  "No," he answered, "I have a previous engagement with a lady in thedesert."

  "Who?" asked Muriel, quickly. She was taken off her guard.

  "A very dear friend," he replied. "Her name is Sleep."