Among the Faithful Read Free Page B

around a curve, or suddenly from behind a camel loomed upon us, lopingalong with an inexorable tread that stepped aside for neither man nor beast, a pack of shaggy goats scampered, bleating and bolting in and out of doorways, to the frenzy of the goatherd. Majestic Arabs swept by conversing with ringing voices and wide gestures, uncouth bundles of black or white drapery – veiled women, as we lived – brushed us, their bright slippers clip-clapping on the cobbles, and I could have sworn that one of them nudged me. There were women without veils, bedouin women who might have been struck from copper. They moved through the crowd like goddesses, their loose blue robes revealing now and then a breast or a lean thigh. Small girls with large babies on their backs simply flew past, clutching their headshawls and boys with school-bags contrived to walk arms around. A sound from another world – an imperious honk-honk-honk – announced a relic of the goggles-and-duster era packed with hilarious youths who had the air of enjoying that mode of conveyance for the first time in their lives. We had no sooner taken to the road again when a two-wheeled cart, as fantastic as a Czechoslovakian toy, loaded with turnips and pulled by a perfect giant of a camel, drove us once more to the curb. The street swung through the town like an S – at times it was broad, the shops set well in from the street, then it narrowed to a lane, and the very curb served as doorsteps. A sudden turn brought us into the heart of the town. I couldn’t rid myself of the impression that we had come upon it at a time of carnival. The din, the swarm, the shifting colours of robes and turbans made it hard to believe that this was an everyday street scene. Here the shop-fronts were crowded with booths, and on the high counters turbaned vendors sat cross-legged fanning the flies from their wares, their cries jangling with the shouts of pedlars who strode through the streets bearing upon their heads trays of glistening cakes or loaves of bread. The fruit and vegetable stands, too, suggested fair day; it was as if a prize was to be awarded the most conspicuous display, but I couldn’t take my eyes from the hideous little meat-stalls. On hooks above each block hung a frieze of staring sheeps’ skulls. Scraps of gold leaf adorned the meat, the very fat of which was carved in naïve arabesques, and the piles of cloven hoofs and entrails could hardly be seen for the flies. Cats, grown enormous on butchers’ offal, lurked about or slept on the sagging roofs, and the sight of them,combined with the unholy stench and the sickening hum of the flies, made me feel a little faint. The sun beat down upon our bare heads. ‘God, let’s get out of this!’ Beatrice exclaimed. Casting about for an escape we spied an arched portal through which people were passing in and out. We dived through the door into a cool, shadowy arcade. Light sifted through apertures in the beams overhead and open shops occupied niches in the walls. Each cubicle was exactly like the next in its display of saddles, reins, and other accoutrements fashioned of dyed leather heavily embroidered; the stone step, on a level with the floor, was the customer’s seat. Within the dim recesses the shopkeepers lounged at ease over their coffees, or sat on pleated legs busily stitching, conversing the while with competitors across the aisle. The street ended at right-angles to a similar passage, the street of the slipper-makers. The walls of these shops were bright with slippers of cherry red and canary yellow. The workers sat on low stools, noses fastened to their work-blocks, industriously stitching, fitting, pounding, clippng, measuring, and cutting like a bevy of gnomes with hearts set on shoeing the entire populace before sundown. One passage merged with another, crossed by still others, and if the footing had been precarious on the highway it was doubly so in the bazaars, where the passage of a diminutive donkey