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268 BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD
one hears the rattle of his scraper and the ever tinkling
bell. The cook is stirring our evening meal in a pot
on the fire outside our tent. Hassan fetches our
rugs and spreads them on the ground; we lie down
and he covers us over with his sheepskin cloak.
" Rahat" (Rest), he says, and lifts his hands over us
as if pronouncing a blessing. Then he sits down
beside us and lights a cigarette. " Bourda ehe," he
goes on, describing the universe with a sweep of his
hand. " Kimse yok" (It is well here—there is no
one). "Is Allah here?" asks X. "Allah is here,"
he answers with simple reverence, " Allah is every
where"; and we all lie motionless under the stars,
unwilling to probe the silence by the sound of uttered
thoughts. The murmur of the men's voices gradually
dies away as, one by one, they doze off; a jackal cries
in the distance ; a star falls down to earth. The day
is over, and in this land of the Oriental there is no
thought of the morrow.
The passive silence of sleep; the active silence of
communing souls; the silence of night—all fitful
expressions of the one great Silence brooding over
all, be one asleep or awake, by night and by day, in
desert places and in busy haunts of men.
face page •
A CLIMB TO THE SARACENIC CASTLE AT PALMYRA.