Africa, North -- Fiction; British -- Africa, North -- Fiction; Love stories; Married women -- Fiction
Now all the notes of the living things that do not sleep by night, but
make music by reedy pools, in underwood, among the blades of grass and
along the banks of streams, were audible to her again, filling her mind
with the mystery of existence. The glassy note of the frogs was like
a falling of something small and pointed upon a sheet of crystal. The
whirs of the insects suggested a ceaselessly active mentality. The faint
cries of the birds dropped down like jewels slipping from the trees.
And suddenly she felt that she was as nothing in the vastness and the
complication of the night. Even the passion that she knew lay, like a
dark and silent flood, within her soul, a flood that, once released from
its boundaries, had surely the power to rush irresistibly forward to
submerge old landmarks and change the face of a world--even that seemed
to lose its depth for a moment, to be shallow as the first ripple of
a tide upon the sand. And she forgot that the first ripple has all the
ocean behind it.
Red deepened and glowed in the gold behind the three palms, and the
upper rim of the round moon, red too as blood, crept about the desert.
Domini, leaning forward with one hand upon her horse’s warm neck,
watched until the full circle was poised for a moment on the horizon,
holding the palms in its frame of fire. She had never seen a moon look
so immense and so vivid as this moon that came up into the night like a
portent, fierce yet serene, moon of a barbaric world, such as might have
shone upon Herod when he heard the voice of the Baptist in his dungeon,
or upon the wife of Pilate when in a dream she was troubled. It
suggested to her the powerful watcher of tragic events fraught with long
chains of consequence that would last on through centuries, as it turned
its blood-red gaze upon the desert, upon the palms, upon her, and,
leaning upon her horse’s neck, she too--like Pilate’s wife--fell into
a sort of strange and troubled dream for a moment, full of strong, yet
ghastly, light and of shapes that flitted across a background of fire.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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