Samarkand Read Free Page B

imagine what distress we would be
     in today if the crowd had not been contained and dispersed. I tell you that heads would not be resting easy on shoulders!’
    He stopped to get his breath, to drive his point home and let fear work its way into the audience’s hearts.
    ‘Happily one of my old students, who is with us here, recognized our eminent visitor and came to warn me.’
    He pointed a finger towards Scar-Face and invited him to rise.
    ‘How did you recognize Imam Omar?’
    He muttered a few syllables in answer.
    ‘Louder! Our old uncle here cannot hear you!’ shouted the
qadi
, indicating an ancient man with a white beard to his left.
    ‘I recognized the eminent visitor by his eloquence,’ Scar-Face could hardly get the words out. ‘and I asked him who he was
     before bringing him to our
qadi.’
    ‘You did well. Had the riot continued, there might have been blood-shed. You deserve to come and sit next to our guest.’
    As Scar-Face was approaching with an air of false submission, Abu Taher whispered in Omar’s ear, ‘He may not be your friend,
     but he will not dare to lay into you in public.’
    He continued in a loud voice, ‘Can I hope that in spite of everything that he has been through,
Khawaja
Omar will not have too bad a memory of Samarkand?’
    ‘I have already forgotten whatever happened yesterday evening,’replied Khayyam. ‘In the future, when I think of this city, a completely different image will spring to mind, the image of
     a wonderful man. I am not speaking of Abu Taher. The highest praise one can give to a
qadi
is not to extol his qualities but the honesty of those for whom he has responsibility. As it happens, on the day I arrived
     my mule had struggled up the last slope leading to the Kish Gate, and I myself had hardly put my feet on the ground when a
     man accosted me.
    ‘“Welcome to this town,” he said. ‘Do you have family, or friends here?”
    ‘I replied that I did not, without stopping, fearing that he might be some sort of crook, or at the very least a beggar or
     irksome. But the man went on:
    ‘“Do not be mistrustful of my insistence, noble visitor. It is my master who has ordered to wait here and offer his hospitality
     to all travellers who turn up.”
    The man seemed to be of a modest background, but he was dressed in clean clothes and not unaware of the manners of respectable
     people. I followed him. A few steps on, he had me enter a heavy door and I crossed a vaulted corridor to find myself in the
     courtyard of a caravansary with a well in the centre and men and animals bustling all about. Around the edges, on two floors,
     there were rooms for travellers. The man said, “You can stay here as long as you wish, be it one night or the whole season.
     You will find a bed and food and fodder for your mule.”
    ‘When I asked him how much I had to pay, he was offended.
    ‘“You are my master’s guest.”
    ‘“Tell me where my generous host is, so that I can address my thanks to him.”
    ‘“My master died seven years ago, leaving me a sum of money which I must spend to honour visitors to Samarkand.”
    ‘“What was your master’s name, so that I can tell of his acts of kindness?”
    ‘“You should give thanks to the Almighty alone. He knows whose acts of kindness are being carried out in His name.”
    ‘That is how it came about that I stayed with this man for several days. I went out and about, and whenever I came back I
     foundplates piled high with delicious dishes and my horse was better cared for than if I myself had been looking after him.’
    Omar glanced at this audience, looking for some reaction, but his story had not caused any looks of surprise or mystery. The
qadi
, guessing Omar’s confusion, explained.
    ‘Many cities like to think that they are the most hospitable in all the lands of Islam, but only the inhabitants of Samarkand
     deserve the credit. As far as I know, no traveller has ever had to pay for his lodgings or food. I