Christian fiction; Second Advent -- Fiction; Tribulation (Christian eschatology) -- Fiction
"He stood over me while I dressed warmly, then hurried me out into the
open again. Grandmother had made no sound, given no sign of waking,
and I wondered. I wanted to go into the little room where her bed was,
but my captor would not let me--I never saw her again, and can only
fear that, if God had not already taken her in her sleep (and sometimes
I think this must have been the case), she was slain with the rest of
the old people.
"Of the next week I have no distinct remembrance. I believe I
travelled, travelled, travelled, ate, drank, slept, but all my
faculties seemed numbed, and my mind was largely a blank. It was when
I was being taken into Constantinople, that I began to arouse from my
strange mental and physical stupor.
"It was through the cool mist of the morning that I got my first
glimpse of the city of which I had heard so much. Santa Sophia, rising
like some beautiful dream-structure, with the points of its four light,
airy, minarets flashing in the sunlight. Then, little by little,
kiosks, tall sad-looking cypresses, sycamores, and the other
thousand-and-one wonders of that city of beautiful and revolting
contradictions, took shape and form.
"By seven o'clock we were in the heart of the city, and breakfasting.
My captor had treated me with a certain rough kindness through all the
journey, and done his best to hearten me. He had told me my fate--to
be sold into a harem--but he had pictured it as glowingly, as
glitteringly as his rough eloquence would let him. And, with all the
blood of countless centuries of Eastern races coursing in my veins, and
in the more or less stunned, stupified condition in which that awful
night-tragedy had left me, I yielded, for the time, to the fatalism
with which we Easterns are familiarized from our babyhood.
"My captor was no novice at the business of selling a girl, neither was
he a stranger to the house to which he had taken me. For, after
breakfast, he showed me into a little room with one quaint, Arabesque
window. In this room there was a bath, and every toilette requisite,
while, from a tin box that he brought in, he took out a number of most
exquisite outer and under garments. Telling me to make myself as
beautiful-looking as I knew how, he presently left me.
"I am afraid that for a time I was too overwhelmed to do more than
weep. Then as I remembered that it would be the worse for me if I
angered my master, I bathed and anointed myself, though I remember how
once I paused, as I scented my body, and said, through my blinding
tears: 'This is like preparing myself for a sacrificial altar.'
"I was sitting an hour later, on an ottoman in the room outside the
bath-room, when I heard voices, and steps, and a moment later my
master, accompanied by a little tub of a man, with fatted-hog kind of
face, greasy-looking, and wrinkled with fat, out of which peered two
tiny black eyes--like currants stuck in a bladder of lard--and
twinkling most villainously, entered the room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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