The Bride of the Nile — Complete by Georg Ebers (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📖

a mother.—Or she would talk of the present; all between was like a night-sky black, and only lighted up by an awful comet and shining stars. That comet was Orion. All she had enjoyed with him and suffered through him she consigned to the period of her craziness; she had taught herself to regard it all as part of the madness to which she had been a victim. Her nature was not capable of cherishing hatred and she could feel no animosity towards the Mukaukas’ son. She thought of him as of one who, without evil intent, had done her great wrong; one whom she might not even remember without running into peril.

“Then you mean to say,” the Masdakite began once more, “that you would really miss me if Haschim sent for me?”

“Yes indeed, Rustem; I should be very sorry.”

“Oh!” said the other, passing his hand over his big head, on which the dense mane of hair which had been shaved off was beginning to grow again. “Well then, Mandane, in that case—I wanted to say it yesterday, but I could not get it out.—Tell me: why would you be sorry if I were to leave you?”

“Because—well, no one can have all their reasons ready; because you have always been kind to me; and because you came from my country, and talk Persian with me as my mother used.”

“Is that all?” said the man slowly, and he rubbed his forehead.

“No, no. Because—if once you go away, you will not be here.”

“Aye that is it; that is just the thing. And if you would be sorry for that, then you must have liked being here—with me.”

“And why not? It has been very nice,” said the girl blushing and trying not to meet his eyes.

“That it has—and that it is!” cried Rustem, striking his palm with the other huge fist. “And that is why I must have it out; that is why, if we have any sense, we two need never part.”

“But your master is sure to want you,” said she with growing confusion, “and we cannot always remain a burthen on the kind folks here. I shall not work at the loom again; but as I am now free, and have the scroll that proves it, I must soon look about for some employment. And a strong, healthy fellow like you cannot always be nursing yourself.”

“Nursing myself!” and he laughed gaily. “I will earn money, and enough for three!”

“By your camels always, up and down the country?”

“I have done with that,” said he with a grin. “We will go back to our own country; there I will buy a good piece of pasture land, for my eldest brother has our little estate, and you may ask Haschim whether I understand camel-breeding.”

“But Rustem, consider.”

“Consider! Think this, and think that! Where there’s a will there’s a way. That is the upshot of it all. And if you mean to say that before you buy you must have money, and that the best may come to grief, all I can tell you is.... Can you read? No? nor I; but here in my pocket I have my accounts in the master’s own hand. Eleven thousand, three hundred and sixty drachmae were due to me for wages the last time we reckoned: all the profit the master had set down to my credit since I led his caravan. He has kept almost all of it for me; for food was allowed, and there was almost always a bit of stuff for a garment to be found among the bales, and I never was a sot. Eleven thousand, three hundred and sixty drachmae! Hey, little one, that is the figure. And now what do you say? Can we buy something with that? Yes or no?”

He looked at her triumphantly, and she eagerly replied: “Yes, yes indeed; and in our country I think something worth having.”

“And we—you and I—we will begin a quite new life. I was seventeen when I first set out with my master, and I was twenty-six last midsummer. How many years wandering does that make?”

They both thought this over for some time; then Mandane said doubtfully

“If I am not mistaken it is eight.”

“I believe it is nine,” he exclaimed. “Let us see. Here, give me your little paw! There, I begin with seventeen, that is where I started. First your little-finger—what a mite of a thing, and then the rest.” He took her right hand and counted off her fingers till he ended with the last finger of the left. The result puzzled him; he shook his head, saying: “There are ten fingers on both hands, sure enough, and yet it cannot be ten years; it is nine at most I know.”

He began the counting, which he liked uncommonly, all over again; but with the same result. Mandane said it was but nine, she had counted it up herself; and he agreed, and declared that her little fingers must be bewitched. And this game would have gone on still longer but that she remembered that the seventeen must not be included at all, and that he ought to begin with eighteen. Rustem could not immediately take this in, and even when he admitted it he did not release her hand, but went on with gay resolution:

“And you see, my girl, I mean to keep this little hand—you may pull it away if you choose—but it is mine, and the pretty little maid, and all that belongs to it. And I will take you and both your hands, bewitched fingers and all, home with me. There they may weave and stitch as much as you like; but as man and wife no one shall part us, and we will lead a life such a life! The joys of Paradise shall be no better than a rap on the skull with an olive-wood log in comparison!”

He tried to take her hand again, but she drew it away, saying in deep confusion and without looking up: “No, Rustem. I was afraid yesterday that it would come to this; but it can never, never be. I am grateful—oh! so grateful; but no, it cannot be, and that must be the end of it. I can never be your wife. Rustem.”

“No?” he asked with a scowl, and the veins swelled in his low forehead. “Then you have been making a fool of me!—as to the gratitude you talk of....”

He stood up in hot excitement; she laid her hand on his arm, drew him down on to the seat again, and ventured to steal an imploring look into his eyes, which never could long flash with anger. Then she said:

“How you break out! I shall really and truly be very grieved to part from you; cannot you see that I am fond of you? But indeed, indeed it will never do, I—oh! if only I might go back, home, and with you. Yes, with you, as your wife. What a proud and happy thought! And how gladly would I work for us both—for I am very handy and hard-working, but...”

“But?” he repeated, and he put his big, sun-burnt face close to hers, looking as if he could break her in pieces.

“But it cannot be, for your sake; it must not be,