So we ate of the food we had brought with us, and afterwards lay down to
rest in a little chamber, painted round with gods, that Martina found in
the ruins of the temple.
During that night no dreams came to me, nor did anything happen to
disturb us, even in this old temple, of which the very paving-stones
were worn through by the feet of the dead.
Before the dawn Martina led me back to the colossal statues, and we
waited there, hoping that we should hear them sing, as tradition said
they did when the sun rose. Yet the sun came up as it had done from the
beginning of the world, and struck upon those giant effigies as it had
done for some two thousand years, or so I was told, and they remained
quite silent. I do not think that ever I grieved more over my blindness
than on this day, when I must depend upon Martina to tell me of the
glory of that sunrise over the Egyptian desert and those mighty ruins
reared by the hands of forgotten men.
Well, the sun rose, and, since the statues would not speak, I took my
harp and played upon it, and Martina sang a wild Eastern song to my
playing. It seemed that our music was heard. At any rate, a few folk
going out to labour came to see by whom it was caused, and finding only
two wandering musicians, presently went away again. Still, one remained,
a woman, Coptic by her dress, with whom I heard Martina talk. She
asked who we were and why we had come to such a place, whereon Martina
repeated to her the story which we had told a hundred times. The woman
answered that we should earn little money in those parts, as the famine
had been sore there owing to the low Nile of the previous season. Until
the crops were ripe again, which in the case of most of them would not
be for some weeks, even food, she added, must be scarce, though few were
left to eat it, since the Moslems had killed out most of those who dwelt
in that district of Upper Egypt.
Martina replied that she knew this was so, and therefore we had proposed
either to travel on to Nubia or to return north. Still, as I, her blind
uncle, was not well, we had landed from a boat hoping that we might find
some place where we could rest for a week or two until I grew stronger.
“Yet,” she continued meaningly, “being poor Christian folk we know not
where to look for such a place, since Cross worshippers are not welcome
among those who follow the Prophet.”
Now, when the woman heard that we were Christians her voice changed. “I
also am a Christian,” she said; “but give me the sign.”
So we made the sign of the Cross on our breasts, which a Moslem will die
rather than do.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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