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Updated: May 21, 2025
The Taleb. "The truth, by G d! If God please, we shall see all soon." A small caravan of Arabs, bringing sheep for the Ayed, arrived this morning from Tunis. The route is viâ Jibel Douerat, and only seven days. If the roads were safe, travelling indeed about North Africa could soon be rendered expeditious.
They repeatedly addressed Abu Taleb in the style of reproach and menace. "Thy nephew reviles our religion; he accuses our wise forefathers of ignorance and folly; silence him quickly, lest he kindle tumult and discord in the city. If he persevere, we shall draw our swords against him and his adherents, and thou wilt be responsible for the blood of thy fellow-citizens."
"He is gone to The Desert, run away, for he has broken our cooking-pot; see here are the pieces, here's the meat spoilt; what am I to do for dinner?" I added, "He ought to have a good beating." The poor old negro stared and looked really grieved. At last he muttered, "Why, Christian, that breaking comes from God, and not Said." "The truth," said the taleb laughing.
But there was a humming in the air like the song of bees, which floated rhythmically out from the zaouïa, the school in the mosque where many boys squatted cross-legged before the aged Taleb who taught the Koran; bowing, swaying towards him, droning out the words of the Prophet, some half asleep, nodding against the onyx pillars.
On the whole, however, I have not seen so many cases of indelicacy in this part of the world, as are to be seen almost every day in Paris and London. No, the morals of The Desert are mostly pure and continent as compared to those of our great European cities. My taleb to-day made a vocabulary of the Touarghee, Ghadamsee, and Arabic languages.
I was talking with a taleb about longevity, when he observed, "There is but one person who is always alive." "Who is that?" I inquired very anxiously. "It is our lord Jonas, who is living in distant and unknown parts of the world," he said. "Is he alone?" I further inquired.
The dusky courier is near by, engaged in a little game with several companion guides, for the Arab as a rule loves gaming, and will risk everything but his horse. When Mustapha catches his eye he comes up hastily, understanding there is something in the wind. "We are to go again into the old town." "When, monsieur?" "This night. See! Ben Taleb has sent me a message."
So John, as in times of old, is unable to fathom the depths of his father's thoughts. He is wretched, not knowing whether the coming of Craig, Sr., will influence his mission for good or evil. And still the expected message from Ben Taleb does not come.
This is certainly fair enough, and Ben Taleb presumes to be a man who desires to do that which is right. Hence he agrees, but will not let John know whether news can be sent to him at the hotel on the morrow, or a week later. He must learn to practice the divine art of patience, and bide his time.
The trouble that I've taken to deserve That pretty one, has been for me like that Of daring merchant who doth undertake A venture and gets nothing back but loss And weariness. Where is thy cure, O Taleb? Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. The Taleb answered unto me and said: "Support her rigors. Listen now to me, And I will give thee counsel sound and good.
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