Achmed Abdullah

“ There came a shriek of mad laughter, then very softly he chanted "Once a nightingale warbled in the villages of the Moustaffa-Khel, and now she is dead. The death-gongs are ringing in the city of the plains—"
"Shoot him," I shouted again to Ali-Khan, "or, by Allah, I myself will shoot him." And I picked up the rifle.
But he put his hand across its muzzle.
"But why, why?" he asked. "He is blood-cousin to Bibi Halima. Also does it seem that reason has departed his mind. He is a madman, a man beloved by Allah. Shall I thus burden my soul with a double sin because of your bidding?" ”

“ Ahi! the carrion of the clan of Ebrahim Asif will feed the kites of the Salt Hills, and for many a day to come the jackals of the Nadakshi will not feel the belly-pinch of hunger. And the family of Ebrahim Asif shall be no more, and thus will the feud be stanched, if God be willing. And then my son will return to the north, to Bokhara. And tracking him will be like tracking the mists of dawn to their home. For what is one soldier more or less in the great land of the czar, where there are thousands and thousands and thousands of them? ”

“ For, if I kill my enemy, my enemy's son, knowing my name and race, will kill me, and thus through the many generations. A life for a life, and yet again a life for a life. And where, then, is the balancing of lives? Where, then, is the profit to me and mine? So I have made peace between Ebrahim Asif and myself, cunningly, declaring him a madman, beloved by Allah, thus sacrosanct. And I shall sell my house here, and take my little son and go north to Bokhara. I shall sit under the shadow of the Russian czar, and I shall prosper exceedingly ”

“ The old woman broke into a storm of tears, but Bibi Halima silenced her with a gesture.
"It is as God wills," she said, and the doctor marveled at her vitality. "Let but the child be born first, and let that child be a man-child. The rest matters not. And you"—she turned to me—"and you, my friend, go to the hills and fetch me my lord."
I bowed assent, and went to the door.
"Wait!" Her voice was firm despite her loss of blood. "If on the way you should meet Ebrahim Asif, you must not kill him. Let him be safe against my husband's claiming." ”

“ A man-child, a twirler of strength, a breaker of stones, a proud stepper in the councils of fighting men!" chimed in the old woman, using a tribal saying of the Moustaffa-Khel.
Ali-Khan, as was his wont, snapped his fingers rapidly to ward off the winds of misfortune. He bent over Bibi Halima's hands, and kissed them very gently, for you must remember that he was a soft man, city-bred, very like a Persian. ”

“ I have taken my rifle and my cheray, and I have gone into the plains to kill. I descended into the plains like a whirlwind of destruction, leaving behind me desolation and grief. Blood is on my hands, blood of feud justly taken, and therefore I praise Allah, opener of the locks of hearts with His name, and—"
The words died in his throat, and he threw himself on the ground, mouthing the dirt like a jackal hunting for a buried corpse. ”

“ Ali-Khan said submissively; and he returned, half an hour later, bearing many gifts, silk and bracelets and sweetmeats and perfume from Ispahan.
But Bibi Halima waved them aside with a short, impatient gesture. No, no, no, she did not want these man-made things. She wanted him to go to the hills to bring back to her the flowers of the hills, purple rhododendrons, soft-colored mimosas, and wild hibiscus smelling strongly of summer.
"Go to the hills, O pilgrim," added the old woman as she saw his anxious face. "We women need no man around in the hour of trial. Ho!" ”

“ He will have gone south, to these very hills, and there will be no desire in his heart but the desire to kill. He will kill Ebrahim Asif and his sons—may he have as many as there are hairs in my beard!—and also the women, at night, when they go to the brook to fetch water for the evening meal. He will kill from ambush, wasting no shots, being a soldier trained to war. ”

“ I added, still laughing, "he is a soft man, with the manners of a Persian. Assuredly he will show you mercy."
"Yes," he replied, "perhaps he will show me mercy." Again the cunning look shone in his eyes, and a second later he broke into riotous, high-shrilling laughter.
"Why the laughter?" I asked, astonished.
"Because you shall behold the impossible."
"What?"
"When the impossible happens, it is seen," he answered, using the Sufi saying: "for eyes and ears prove the existence of that which cannot exist: a stone swims in the water; an ape sings a Kabuli love-song—"
"Go on!" ”

“ He spent many a day in the hills, the Khwadja Hills, called poetically Hill A12, C5, K-K67, and so forth, in the Russian and British survey-maps. There he would shoot bighorns and an occasional northern tiger that had drifted down in the wake of the outer Mongolian snows. This was strange, for an Afghan does not kill for the sake of killing, the sake of sport. He kills only for the sake of food or of feud. ”

“ And one day the young soldier, bearing a Russian name, even as will his father, will desert from his regiment for a week or a month, and the tale will be spread that he has gone north to Moscow because of his young blood's desire to see new sights and kiss strange women. ”

“ He gave us pleasant greeting, speaking in Persian, and dipped hands in our morning meal. Two hours later, traveling on the trail of the first man, another man passed the kafilah, a hillman, with the manners of the hills, and the red lust of killing in his eyes, nosing the ground like a jackal. We did not speak to him. for we do not hold with hillmen and hill-feuds. We be peaceful men, trading into Kabul."
It was clear to me that the hillman intended to forestall just fate by killing Ali-Khan before the latter had heard of what had befallen Bibi Halima. ”

“ He will be trained after the manner of the North, and he will shoot as straight as a hawk's flight. He will be the pride of the regiment, and he will wear the little silver medal on a green ribbon which is given to the best marksman in the army. ”

“ For one day my son will wear a plaited, green coat and a tall chugerma cap of white fur, and serve the czar. He will learn to shoot straight, very straight, and then," he adds, with a meaning smile, if he happens to be speaking to one of the three men whom he trusts,—"then he will desert. ”

“ A true Russian man he calls himself, and his name, too, has a Russian purring and deep ringing to it—"Pavel Alikhanski." Also there is talk in the town that he is in the pay of that great Bokharan magnate, the kushbegi, friend of the czar, bringing tales to him about his Highness the ameer, and receiving milled gold for the telling of them. And why cannot the kushbegi be the future Ameer of Bokhara if, indeed, the tales be cunningly woven and Russia willing? ”