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Updated: May 24, 2025
All this Israel saw on the instant, and then his sight grew dim, his heart beat as if it would kill him, a thick mist seemed to cover everything, and through the dense waves of semi-consciousness he heard the dull hum of Fatimah's muffled voice coming to him as from far away. "My pretty Naomi! My little heart! My sweet jewel of gold and silver! It is nothing! Nothing! Look! See!
Underneath this garment is a kind of dressing gown with tight-fitting sleeves. Such is Fatimah's wardrobe. She wears no shoes, not even sandals. Would you like to walk in the hot sand with no covering for your feet? Sometimes I visit the school where Fatimah teaches the smaller girls A, B, C. It is a topsy-turvy school indeed.
Some are very short and others are very long; some parts of the book are very good, but most of it is a jumble of events and of things that never happened all mixed up topsy-turvy. A slave woman was Fatimah's teacher and now she is helper in the school of this teacher. She is the prompter, and always begins each sentence of the recitation, and the other children follow on.
For some days after the night when her emancipated tongue had rescued Israel from his enemies on the Sok, she seemed to say nothing beyond "Yes" and "No," notwithstanding Ali's eager questions, and Fatimah's tearful blessings, and Habeebah's breathless invocations, and also notwithstanding the hunger and thirst of the heart of her father, who, remembering with many throbs of joy the voice that he heard with his dreaming ears when he slept on the straw bed of the poor fondak at Wazzan, would have given worlds of gold, if he had possessed them still, to hear it constantly with his waking ears.
The farmers heard it across the fields, and sometimes Israel heard it from over the hill by their hut. Often she seemed to them like a bird that is hidden in a tree, and only known to be there by the outbursts of its song. Fatimah's ditties were still her delight. Some of them fell strangely from her pure lips, so nearly did they border on the dangerous.
"Yes, yes," said Fatimah; "but you can never go to her any more. She is in the women's apartments " Then a great hoarse groan came from Israel's throat. "Poor child, it was not her fault. Listen," said Fatimah; "only listen." But Israel would hear no more. The torrent of his fury bore down everything before it. Fatimah's feeble protests were drowned. "Silence!" he cried.
She had seen nothing but her father in Fatimah's protest, just as she had seen nothing but her father in Habeebah's promises. She did not know what to do, she was such a poor weak little thing, and there was no strong hand to guide her. They led her through dark passages to an open place which she thought she had seen before. It was a great patio, paved and walled with tiles.
There were few of the kind she ever heard, and few of that few were beautiful, and none were beautifully sung. Fatimah's homely ditties were all she knew, the same that had been crooned to her a thousand times when she had not heard.
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