Burning Sands

by Arthur E. P. Brome Weigall

  CHAPTER XXIX--IN THE PRESENCE OF DEATH

  By the middle of March Muriel's enforced residence at El Hamran wasdrawing to a close. Already she had been with Daniel for eleven ortwelve days, and he had kept her so busy that the time had passedrapidly. These days had been like a fantastic dream to her, and shecould hardly believe in the reality of her actions. The whole situationwas absurd; and yet, notwithstanding her artificial outward stiffnessand her actual inward rebellion, she was conscious that her experiencehad not been unprofitable.

  In spite of Daniel's hectoring and churlish manners--for so she thoughtthem--she felt that she had seen something of life as it is lived underprimitive conditions which otherwise she would never have known. She hadeven experienced, latterly, a pleasant sense of calm while she had beencarrying out her duties: it was almost as though being under orders werea satisfactory condition--now and then. And as to her physical health,she was obliged to admit that she had never before felt so thoroughlyfit.

  Her attitude to her monitor was one of unbending hostility, but now nolonger of furious anger. She was not afraid of him, but very decidedlyshe did not feel the contempt for him which she endeavoured to show. Sheregarded him as a man of difficult and contrary character, but she nowrealized that she had greatly misjudged his outlook upon life. She hadthought that in regard to women he was a prurient savage: she now knewthat he was a high-principled and rather fastidious celibate.

  Undoubtedly he had taught her the lesson of her life, but she wascertainly not going to grasp his hand and thank him kindly on thataccount. He had built up a barrier between them which would remain afixture for all time, and, though her heart often ached, she was far tooestranged from him to think of any future intimacy whatsoever betweenthem.

  Only in one respect, in these days of their life together, did she feeldrawn towards him. He had an indefinably benevolent and humorousattitude towards life, of which she was daily more conscious. It wassomething which could not be described, but on more than one occasion itnearly served to break down the wall of ice within in which she hadenclosed herself. Sometimes it would be merely that he stopped in hiswalk to make an absurd remark to a passing cow or to a wandering goat;sometimes it would be the way in which he played with his dogs; orsometimes it was his manner to the native children which would cause herto unbend towards him. It was as though he had a private joke with everyliving creature. It was too quiet to be termed joviality: it was in nowise rollicking. It was a subtle droll and whimsical good-nature; itseemed almost as if, conscious of his own great strength, he were saying"Bless your little heart!" to all things weaker than he.

  One morning, just as they were finishing a silent breakfast, Husseinentered the room, and delivered himself of a few rapid words in theArabic tongue, which so much upset Daniel that he rose to his feet andpaced up and down the floor in great perturbation.

  "Anything wrong?" asked Muriel, temporarily unfreezing.

  "Yes; very bad news," he replied. "Old Sheikh Ali is very ill. It soundslike pneumonia. I must go down to him at once."

  He snatched up his hat, and, without taking any further notice ofMuriel, hurried out of the room. Sheikh Ali was a man whom he loved andrespected, and the possible death of his friend was so great a sorrow tohim that his mind was filled full of darkness, like a room in which theblinds have suddenly been pulled down. And the condition in which hefound the old man confirmed his worst fears; and presently, in deepanxiety, he hastened back to the house to procure the necessaries forhis proper nursing.

  "Will you come with me," he said to Muriel, "and help me to look afterhim?"

  She hesitated. "I am not much good as a nurse," she demurred, "but I'lldo what I can."

  "Thank you," he replied, and the words were uttered with genuinegratitude.

  Daniel knew something of the rudiments of medical science, and he wasaware that there was very little to be done in a case of pneumoniaexcept to keep the patient warm and to maintain his strength. When hereturned, therefore, to the Sheikh's house with Muriel, he was carryingwith him a small oil stove with which to warm the sick-room at night,and a pillow in its clean white cover was thrust under his arm, whileMuriel held a basket containing a number of articles from thestore-cupboard and medicine-chest.

  The house, a whitewashed building of two storeys, stood amongst thepalms, not more than three or four hundred yards distant from themonastery. As they approached it they heard the sound of wailing in thewomen's quarters, and at this Daniel uttered an exclamation of disgust.

  "Oh, these women!" he muttered. "We mustn't let them do that. Wait aminute."

  He went to the side door and knocked upon it. An old negress, a servantof the house, opened the door, her eyes red with weeping, and herwithered breast bare.

  "The Sheikh is dying, the Sheikh is dying!" she wailed, as Danielquestioned her.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. "Go and tell them," he said, "that if Ihear another sound of weeping I shall send somebody to beat you all witha stick. Do you not know the saying of the Prophet: 'Trust in God, buttether the camel'? If God has decreed that your camel shall run away itwill certainly run away, but nevertheless you must do your part inpreventing it. If the Sheikh is going to die he will die; but until heis dead you must do all you can to tether him to life. Let me hear nomore sounds of mourning until the breath has left his body. In mycountry we say 'While there is life there is hope.' Go now andhope--hope in silence."

  He pushed her back into the house and returned to Muriel.

  _A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY--BURNING SANDS_]

  They found the Sheikh lying upon a couch in the whitewashed upper room,into which the sun struck through the open casements. He was propped upupon the hard square pillows taken from an ordinary native divan, andhis laboured breathing sounded ominously in their ears. His son Ibrahim,a grave, black-bearded man of middle age, stood by his side, drummingthe fist of one hand into the palm of the other in his great distress.

  "See," said Daniel, speaking to the patient in Arabic, "I have broughther Excellency to nurse you. Let me put this soft pillow under yourhead; and, look, here is a stove to keep off the chill of night. In twoor three days, my father, we shall bring you back to health."

  The old man shook his head. "No, my dear," he whispered, "I am going tomy God. God has said, 'I am a hidden treasure. I have made man that hemight find Me!' I go now to find Him."

  Daniel knelt down by his side, and, taking the thin hand in his,remained silent for some moments, his eyes shut, his brows knitted.Muriel watched him in surprise. It was evident that he was praying; andshe had never before seen anybody pray, though in church she had knownpeople go through the correct postures and outward formalities ofprayer.

  Presently he rose to his feet, and at once became businesslike andpractical. He took the patient's temperature; dexterously pinned thenative shawl about him; arranged the pillows under his head; opened abottle of meat-extract and administered a little of its contents; and,sending for milk and eggs, made Muriel go out on the rickety landing tobeat up the eggs into the milk.

  When she returned with the beverage she found that he and Ibrahim hadfastened grass matting across the windows to check the glare of the sun,and now were standing in the subdued light talking in quiet cheerfultones to the sick man.

  Presently Daniel turned to her. "I think the best thing you can do," hesaid, "is to sit beside him and fan away the flies when you see thembothering him."

  He handed her a fly-whisk, and placed a small stool beside the couch;and here she sat herself, while her patient closed his eyes and drowsedin some degree of comfort.

  They went back to the house for luncheon, and during the meal Danieltold her of the troubles which might ensue in the Oasis if the Sheikhwere to die. He spoke of the feud between the sick man's family and thatof their rivals; and he explained how Sheikh Ali desired to be succeededin his office as headman by his son Ibrahim, and that there was a dangerof the other party taking advantage of the absence of so many of theSheikh's adh
erents, who had gone to El Khargeh.

  "If Sheikh Ali dies," he pointed out, "the other faction may carry out a_coup_, and establish their candidate in power while all these men areaway. That would be a disaster; for the man they wish to set up is acrook, if ever there was one. He would be just the sort of fellow toplay into Benifett Bindane's hands and sell himself to the Company."

  "But," said Muriel in surprise, "aren't you in favour of this Company?"

  "No," he answered. "I have come to the conclusion that it is not in thebest interests of the natives. They are happier as they are, for theirproducts are sufficient to their needs, and are pretty evenlydistributed. I don't trust these Stock Exchange fellows: they'll exploitthe Oasis to fill their own pockets. That's what I'm going to tell yourfather when I get back to Cairo."

  "Poor Mr. Bindane!" Muriel smiled. "He has set his heart on thisbusiness."

  In the afternoon they returned to the sick-room, where she made herselfvery useful, and showed a remarkable aptitude for nursing; and the sunwas setting before they came back to the house once more. Muriel wasvery tired by now, and as soon as the evening meal was over Danieladvised her to go to bed.

  "What about yourself?" she asked.

  "Oh, I'll go back to him for a bit," he answered, but he would notaccept her proffered help.

  She therefore went early to her room and soon fell asleep, nor did sheawake again until Hussein aroused her at sunrise with his clatteringpreparations for her bath.

  She found herself alone at breakfast, and it was explained to her bysigns that Daniel was with Sheikh Ali. Presently, therefore, she wentdown to the sick man's house, a little ashamed of herself for not havingrisen earlier.

  As she entered the upper room she caught sight of Daniel's face, and itsexpression of weary sorrow checked her. He was seated beside the couch,his hand on the patient's pulse, his eyes fixed upon the old man, wholay panting for breath, the beads of perspiration upon his wrinkledforehead.

  "Is there anything I can do?" she whispered.

  He raised his head and gazed at her: she had never seen him look sohaggard before. "No," he answered, "he is beyond human aid. It's only aquestion of minutes now."

  "I ought to have come to help you sooner," she said. "How long have youbeen here?"

  "All night," he replied. "I couldn't leave my _friend_, could I?" Therewas something in the inflection of his voice which very much touchedher.

  The Sheikh turned his head slightly, and Daniel bent forward to catchthe laboured words.

  "Ibrahim," he whispered.

  Muriel understood, and, at a nod from Daniel, went out of the room tofind the dying man's son, whom she had seen at the doorway of the house,on her arrival, kneeling upon the praying-carpet, his hands extendedtowards the East. He had just risen to his feet as she came now to him,and she made signs to him to go upstairs.

  When she entered the sick room once more she saw the younger mankneeling beside his father's couch. Daniel was holding the feeble oldhand, so that it rested upon Ibrahim's turbaned head. She heard andseemed almost to understand the whispered words of the old man'sblessing, and presently, to her surprise, she observed the tears startfrom Daniel's eyes, and their quick brushing away, with the back of hishand. She had not thought him capable of tears.

  Then suddenly she saw the dying man raise himself; she saw Daniel andIbrahim leaning forward to support him. She heard the rattling of hisbreath, and she recognized the words that he uttered as those of theMoslem formula which Daniel had more than once repeated to her: "Itestify that there is no God but God...." They came rolling now from hislips with passionate energy: it was as though the sum of his whole lifewere being expressed in these guttural, rhyming sounds. But thedeclaration remained unfinished. The voice ceased upon the name ofAllah, the mouth dropped open, and the patriarchal head fell back.

  Muriel had only once before stood at a deathbed; and later, as shewalked back to the monastery, she compared the scene of her mother'sdeath with that from which she had just come.

  In the one case there had been the big four-poster bed, with itshangings of embroidered velvet; the sombre room, lit by a shaded bedsidelamp and by the flickering of the fire in the wide Tudor grate; thetapestried walls with their designs of dim huntsmen pursuing phantomdeer through the time-worn twilight of forgotten forests; the fadedJacobean painting upon the ceiling, representing the fat back-view of areclining Venus and the fat front-view of naked Cupid. There had beenthe pompous family doctor and the frigid specialist in their black frockcoats, and in the bed, between the embroidered sheets, her mother hadlain inert, her dyed hair, tidy to the end, framing her carefullypowdered face.

  "Come here, my dear," she had whispered to Muriel. "Tell me, do youbelieve in a God?"

  "Yes, I think I do," she had replied.

  "Well, I don't," was her mother's reply; and those were almost her lastwords.

  And, in contrast, there was this patriarchal scene in the bare,whitewashed room, the sun beating upon the grass matting, the palmsrustling outside, and the flies droning: the old, saintly face of thedying man, his withered hand laid upon the head of his beloved son, andthe fervent affirmation of his faith in God upon his lips.

  Muriel was in a very subdued and reflective mood when she returned, andas she stood at the window of the living-room, listening to the wailingof the mourners in the distance, she wondered how best she could showher sympathy with Daniel in his loss, without in other respectsunbending to him. He relieved her of the difficulty, however, when hecame in; for he showed no outward signs of his grief, and seemed in nowise to be asking for her condolence. He spoke of the beauty of theSheikh's life, and of the serenity of his death; and when Muriel madesome remark in regard to the sadness of the event he quietly correctedher.

  "Death," he said, "is not a calamity when a man has reached old age. Itis like the ripeness of corn, as Marcus Aurelius says, when the souldrops out of the husk almost of its own accord. It is a natural action,just as birth is. It is only we who are left behind who areunhappy--because we have lost a friend; and as for that, why, I am notgoing to let my loss make me wretched."

  "That sounds extremely selfish," she remarked, coldly.

  "No," he answered, "sorrow is selfish, not happiness. There's never anyuse in pulling a long face."