"Stay here," he had said to Naomi when the first outburst of her grief was quelled; "never leave this place.Whatever they say, stay here.I will come back." After that he had been like a man who was dumb.Neither insult nor tyranny had availed to force a word or a cry out of him.He had walked on in silence doggedly, hardly once glancing up into the faces of his guard, and never breaking his fast save with a draught of water by the way.
At Shawan, as elsewhere in Barbary, the prisoners were supported by their own relatives and friends, and on the day after Israel's arrival a number of women and children came to the prison with provisions.
It was a wild and gruesome scene that followed.First, the frantic search of the prisoners for their wives and sons and daughters, and their wild shouts as each one found his own."Blessed be God!
She's here! here!" Then the maddening cries of the prisoners whose relatives had not come."My Ayesha! Where is she?
Curses on her mother! Why isn't she here?" After that the shrieks of despair from such as learned that their breadwinners were dying off one by one."Dead, you say?" "Dead!" "No, no!" "Yes, yes!""No, no, I say!" "I say yes! God forgive me! died last week.
But don't you die too.Here take this bag of zummetta."Then inquiries after absent children."Little Selam, where is he?""Begging in Tetuan." "Poor boy! poor boy! And pretty M'barka, what of her?" "Alas! M'barka's a public woman now in Hoolia's house at Marrakesh.No, don't curse her, Jellali; the poor child was driven to it.What were we to do with the children crying for bread?
And then there was nothing to fetch you this journey, Jellali.""I'll not eat it now it's brought.My boy a beggar and my girl a harlot? By Allah! May the Kaid that keeps me here roast alive in the fires of hell!" Then, apart in one quiet corner, a young Moor of Tangier eating rice out of the lap of his beautiful young wife."You'll not be long coming again, dearest?"he whispers.She wipes her eyes and stammers, "No--that is--well--""What's amiss?" "Ali, I must tell you--" "Well?" "Old Aaron Zaggoory says I must marry him, or he'll see that both of us starve.""Allah! And you--_you_?" "Don't look at me like that, Ali;the hunger is on me, and whatever happens I--I can love nobody else.""Curses on Aaron Zaggoory! Curses on you! Curses on everybody!"No one had come with food for Israel, and seeing this 'Larby the negro swaggered up to him, singing a snatch and offering a round cake of bread--Rusks are good and kiks are sweet And kesksoo is both meat and drink;It's this for now, and that for then, But khalia still for married men.
"You're like me, Sidi," he said, "you want nothing," and he made an upward movement of his forefinger to indicate his trust in Providence.
That was the gay rascal's way of saying that he stole from the bags of his comrades while they slept.
"No? Fasting yet?" he said, and went off singing as he came--It will make your ladies love you;
It will make them coo and kiss--
"What?" he shouted to some one across the prison "eating khalia in the bird-cage? Bad, bad, bad!"All this came to Israel's mind through thick waves of half-consciousness, but with his heart he heard nothing, or the very air of the place must have poisoned him.He sat by the pillar at which he had first placed himself, and hardly ever rose from it.With great slow eyes he gazed at everything, but nothing did he see.Sometimes he had the look of one who listens, but never did he hear.Thus in silence and languor he passed from day to day, and from night to night, scarcely sleeping, rarely eating, and seeming always to be waiting, waiting, waiting.
Fresh prisoners came at short intervals, and then only was Israel's interest awakened.One question he asked of all.
"Where from?" If they answered from Fez, from Wazzan, from Mequinez, or from Marrakesh, Israel turned aside and left them without more words.
Then to his fellows they might pour out their woes in loud wails and curses, but Israel would hear no more.
Strangers from Europe travelling through the country were allowed to look into the prison through the round peephole of the door kept by the Kaid el habs, who played the ginbri.The Jews who made baskets took this opportunity to offer their work for sale;and so that he might see the visitors and speak with them Israel would snatch up something and hang it out.Always his question was the same."Where from last?" he would say in English, or Spanish, or French, or Moorish.Sometimes it chanced that the strangers knew him.
But he showed no shame.Never did their answers satisfy him.
He would turn back to his pillar with a sigh.
Thus weeks went on, and Israel's face grew worn and tired.
His fellow prisoners began to show him deference in their own rude way.
When he came among them at the first they had grinned and laughed a little.To do that was always the impulse of the poor souls, so miserably imprisoned, when a new comrade joined him.
But the majesty and the suffering in Israel's face told on their hearts at last.He was a great man fallen, he had nothing left to him;not even bread to eat or water to drink.So they gathered about him and hit on a way to make him share their food.Bringing their sacks to his pillar, they stacked them about it, and asked him to serve out provisions to all, day by day, share and share alike.He was honest, he was a master, no one would steal from him, it was best, the stuff would last longest.It was a touching sight.
Still the old eagerness betrayed itself in Israel's weary manner as often as the door opened and fresh prisoners arrived.
Once it happened that before he uttered his usual question he saw that the newcomers were from Tetuan, and then his restlessness was feverish."When--were you--have you been of late--" he stammered, and seemed unable to go farther.
But the Tetawanis knew and understood him."No," said one in answer to the unspoken question; "Nor I," said another; "Nor I," said a third, "Nor I neither," said a fourth, as Israel's rapid eyes passed down the line of them.
