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Updated: May 20, 2025
And he struck his long fingers upon the goatskin of his instrument, while Kouïdah, the boy who played upon the little glasses and shook the tambourine of reeds, slipped forth to tell in the city what Ben-Abid had spoken. Halima was enraged when she heard of it, more especially as there were found many to believe Ben-Abid's words.
And then he plucked the guitar of goatskin that was ever in his hands, and sang softly of the joys of Ladham Pacha, half closing his eyes, and swaying his head from side to side. And Kouïdah, the boy, ran back across the camel market to tell in the court of the dancers the words of Ben-Abid.
At the sound of his call many women ran to their doors, some half dressed, some fully attired, like Jezebels of the great desert. "It is Ben-Abid!" went up the cry of many voices. "It is Ben-Abid, who laughs to scorn the power of the hedgehog's foot. It is the son of the camel with the swollen tongue. Halima, Halima, the child of the scorpion calls thee!"
Kouïdah, the boy, who was ever about, ran barefoot from the court into the café to tell of the doings of Ben-Abid, and in a moment the people crowded in, Zouaves and Spahis, Arabs and negroes, nomads from the south, gipsies, jugglers, and Jews. There were, too, some from Tamacine, and these were of all the most intent. "Where is Halima?" went up the cry. "Where is Halima?"
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