The marabout had gone out to meet his son, who had been away
from school on a pilgrimage, and returning at dark, to avoid the great
heat of the day, had been bitten by a viper. Thus, at least, pronounced
the learned Arab physician. It was of the viper bite he died, so it was
said, and no one outside the Zaouia knew of the great man's death until
days afterwards, when he was already buried. Even in the Zaouia it was
not known by many that he had gone away or returned from a journey, or
that he lay ill. In spite of this secrecy and mystery, however, there
was no gossip, but only wild wailing, of mourners who refused to be
comforted. And if certain persons, to the number of twenty or more, were
missing from their places in the Zaouia, nothing was said, after Si
Maieddine had talked with the holy men of the mosque. If these missing
ones were away, and even if they should never come back, it was because
they were needed to carry out the marabout's wishes, at a vast distance.
But now, the dearest wishes of Sidi Mohammed would never be fulfilled.
That poignant knowledge was a knife in every man's heart; for men of
ripe age or wisdom in the Zaouia knew what these wishes were, and how
some day they were to have come true through blood and fire.
All were sad, though no tongue spoke of any other reason for sadness,
except the inestimable loss of the Saint. And sadder than the saddest
was Si Maieddine, who seemed to have lost his youth.
Pages:
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627