When Victoria regained2 consciousness, it was with a sense of an immensepassage of time. Confused memories stirred in her—jolting in a car—highjabbering and quarrelling in Arabic—lights that flashed into her eyes—ahorrible attack of nausea—then vaguely3 she remembered lying on a bedand someone lifting her arm—the sharp agonizing4 prick5 of a needle—thenmore confused dreams and darkness and behind it a mounting sense ofurgency….
Now at last, dimly, she was herself—Victoria Jones…And something hadhappened to Victoria Jones—a long time ago—months—perhaps years…after all, perhaps only days.
Babylon—sunshine—dust—hair—Catherine. Catherine, of course, smil-ing, her eyes sly under the sausage curls—Catherine had taken her to haveher hair shampooed and then—what had happened? That horrible smell—she could still smell it—nauseating—chloroform, of course. They hadchloroformed her and taken her—where?
Cautiously Victoria tried to sit up. She seemed to be lying on a bed—avery hard bed—her head ached and felt dizzy—she was still drowsy6, hor-ribly drowsy…that prick, the prick of a hypodermic, they had been drug-ging her…she was still half-drugged.
Well, anyway they hadn’t killed her. (Why not?) So that was all right.
The best thing, thought the still half-drugged Victoria, is to go to sleep. Andpromptly did so.
When next she awakened7 she felt much more clearheaded. It was day-light now and she could see more clearly where she was.
She was in a small but very high room, distempered a depressing palebluish grey. The floor was of beaten earth. The only furniture in the roomseemed to be the bed on which she was lying with a dirty rug thrown overher and a rickety table with a cracked enamel8 basin on it and a zincbucket underneath9 it. There was a window with a kind of wooden lattice-work outside it. Victoria got gingerly off the bed, feeling distinctlyheadachy and queer, and approached the window. She could see throughthe latticework quite plainly and what she saw was a garden with palmtrees beyond it. The garden was quite a pleasant one by Eastern standardsthough it would have been looked down on by an English suburbanhouseholder. It had a lot of bright orange marigolds in it, and some dustyeucalyptus trees and some rather wispy10 tamarisks.
A small child with a face tattooed11 in blue, and a lot of bangles on, wastumbling about with a ball and singing in a high nasal whine12 rather likedistant bagpipes13.
Victoria next turned her attention to the door, which was large andmassive. Without much hope she went to it and tried it. The door waslocked. Victoria went back and sat on the side of the bed.
Where was she? Not in Baghdad, that was certain. And what was she go-ing to do next?
It struck her after a minute or two that the last question did not reallyapply. What was more to the point was what was someone else going to doto her? With an uneasy feeling in the pit of the stomach she rememberedMr. Dakin’s admonition to tell all she knew. But perhaps they had alreadygot all that out of her whilst she was under the drug.
Still—Victoria returned to this one point with determined14 cheerfulness—she was alive. If she could manage to keep alive until Edward found her—what would Edward do when he found she had vanished? Would he goto Mr. Dakin? Would he play a lone15 hand? Would he put the fear of theLord into Catherine and force her to tell? Would he suspect Catherine atall? The more Victoria tried to conjure16 up a reassuring17 picture of Edwardin action, the more the image of Edward faded and became a kind of face-less abstraction. How clever was Edward? That was really what it amoun-ted to. Edward was adorable. Edward had glamour18. But had Edward gotbrains? Because clearly, in her present predicament, brains were going tobe needed.
Mr. Dakin, now, would have the necessary brains. But would he havethe impetus19? Or would he merely cross off her name from a mentalledger, scoring it through, and writing after it a neat RIP. After all, to Mr.
Dakin she was merely one of a crowd. They took their chance, and if luckfailed, it was just too bad. No, she didn’t see Mr. Dakin staging a rescue.
After all, he had warned her.
And Dr. Rathbone had warned her. (Warned her or threatened her?)And on her refusing to be threatened there had not been much delay incarrying out the threat….
But I’m still alive, repeated Victoria, determined to look upon the brightside of things.
Footsteps approached outside and there was the grinding of an outsizekey in a rusty21 luck. The door staggered on its hinges and flew open. In theaperture appeared an Arab. He carried an old tin tray on which weredishes.
He appeared to be in good spirits, grinned broadly, uttered some incom-prehensible remarks in Arabic, finally deposited the tray, opened hismouth and pointed22 down his throat and departed relocking the door be-hind him.
Victoria approached the tray with interest. There was a large bowl ofrice, something that looked like rolled up cabbage leaves and a large flapof Arab bread. Also a jug23 of water and a glass.
Victoria started by drinking a large glass of water and then fell to on therice, the bread, and the cabbage leaves which were full of rather peculiartasting chopped meat. When she had finished everything on the tray shefelt a good deal better.
She tried her best to think things out clearly. She had been chloro-formed and kidnapped. How long ago? As to that, she had only the foggiestidea. From drowsy memories of sleeping and waking she judged that itwas some days ago. She had been taken out of Baghdad—where? Thereagain, she had no means of knowing. Owing to her ignorance of Arabic, itwas not even possible to ask questions. She could not find out a place, or aname, or a date.
Several hours of acute boredom25 followed.
That evening her gaoler reappeared with another tray of food. With himthis time came a couple of women. They were in rusty black with theirfaces hidden. They did not come into the room but stood just outside thedoor. One had a baby in her arms. They stood there and giggled26. Throughthe thinness of the veil their eyes, she felt, were appraising27 her. It was ex-citing to them and highly humorous to have a European woman im-prisoned here.
Victoria spoke28 to them in English and in French, but got only giggles29 inreply. It was queer, she thought, to be unable to communicate with herown sex. She said slowly and with difficulty one of the few phrases shehad picked up:
“El hamdu lillah.”
Its utterance30 was rewarded by a delighted spate31 of Arabic. They noddedtheir heads vigorously. Victoria moved towards them, but quickly theArab servant or whatever he was, stepped back and barred her way. Hemotioned the two women back and went out himself, closing and lockingthe door again. Before he did so, he uttered one word several times over.
“Bukra—Bukra…”
It was a word Victoria had heard before. It meant tomorrow.
Victoria sat down on her bed to think things over. Tomorrow? Tomor-row, someone was coming or something was going to happen. Tomorrowher imprisonment32 would end (or wouldn’t it?)—or if it did end, she herselfmight end too! Taking all things together, Victoria didn’t much care for theidea of tomorrow. She felt instinctively33 that it would be much better if bytomorrow she was somewhere else.
But was that possible? For the first time, she gave this problem full at-tention. She went first to the door and examined it. Certainly nothing do-ing there. This wasn’t the kind of lock you picked with a hairpin—if in-deed she would have been capable of picking any lock with a hairpin,which she very much doubted.
There remained the window. The window, she soon found, was a muchmore hopeful proposition. The wooden latticework that screened it was inthe final stages of decrepitude34. Granted she could break away sufficient ofthe rotten woodwork to force herself through, she could hardly do sowithout a good deal of noise which could not fail to attract attention.
Moreover, since the room in which she was confined was on an upperfloor, it meant either fashioning a rope of some kind or else jumping withevery likelihood of a sprained35 ankle or other injury. In books, thought Vic-toria, you make a rope of strips of bedclothes. She looked doubtfully at thethick cotton quilt and ragged36 blanket. Neither of them seemed at all suit-able to her purpose. She had nothing with which to cut the quilt in strips,and though she could probably tear the blanket, its condition of rottennesswould preclude37 any possibility of trusting her weight to it.
“Damn,” said Victoria aloud.
She was more and more enamoured of the idea of escape. As far as shecould judge, her gaolers were people of very simple mentality38 to whomthe mere20 fact that she was locked in a room spelt finality. They would notbe expecting her to escape for the simple reason that she was a prisonerand could not. Whoever had used the hypodermic on her and presumablybrought her here was not now on the premises—of that she was sure. Heor she or they were expected “bukra.” They had left her in some remotespot in the guardianship39 of simple folk who would obey instructions butwho would not appreciate subtleties40, and who were not, presumably, aliveto the inventive faculties41 of a European young woman in imminent42 fear ofextinction.
“I’m getting out of here somehow,” said Victoria to herself.
She approached the table and helped herself to the new supply of food.
She might as well keep her strength up. There was rice again and some or-anges, and some bits of meat in a bright orange sauce.
Victoria ate everything and then had a drink of water. As she replacedthe jug on the table, the table tilted43 slightly and some of the water went onthe floor. The floor in that particular spot at once became a small puddleof liquid mud. Looking at it, an idea stirred in Miss Victoria Jones’ alwaysfertile brain.
The question was, had the key been left in the lock on the outside of thedoor?
The sun was setting now. Very soon it would be dark. Victoria went overto the door, knelt down and peered into the immense keyhole. She couldsee no light. Now what she needed was something to prod44 with—a pencilor the end of a fountain pen. How tiresome45 that her handbag had beentaken away. She looked round the room frowning. The only article of cut-lery on the table was a large spoon. That was no good for her immediateneed, though it might come in handy later. Victoria sat down to puzzle andcontrive. Presently she uttered an exclamation46, took off her shoe and man-aged to pull out the inner leather sole. She rolled this up tightly. It wasreasonably stiff. She went back to the door, squatted47 down and poked48 vig-orously through the keyhole. Fortunately the immense key fitted looselyinto the lock. After three or four minutes it responded to the efforts andfell out of the door on the outside. It made little noise falling on theearthen floor.
Now, Victoria thought, I must hurry, before the light goes altogether. Shefetched the jug of water and poured a little carefully on a spot at the bot-tom of the door frame as near as possible to where she judged the key hadfallen. Then, with the spoon and her fingers she scooped49 and scrabbled inthe muddy patch that resulted. Little by little, with fresh applications ofwater from the jug, she scooped out a low trough under the door. Lyingdown she tried to peer through it but it wasn’t easy to see anything.
Rolling up her sleeves, she found she could get her hand and part of herarm under the door. She felt about with exploratory fingers and finally thetip of one finger touched something metallic50. She had located the key, butshe was unable to get her arm far enough to claw it nearer. Her next pro-cedure was to detach the safety-pin which was holding up a torn shoulderstrap. Bending it into a hook, she embedded51 it in a wedge of Arab breadand lay down again to fish. Just as she was ready to cry with vexation thehooked safety pin caught in the key and she was able to draw it withinreach of her fingers and then to pull it through the muddy trough to herside of the door.
Victoria sat back on her heels full of admiration52 for her own ingenuity53.
Grasping the key in her muddy hand, she got up and fitted it into the lock.
She waited for a moment when there was a good chorus of pi-dogs bark-ing in the near neighbourhood, and turned it. The door yielded to herpush and swung open a little way. Victoria peered cautiously through theaperture. The door gave onto another small room with an open door at theend of it. Victoria waited a moment, then tiptoed out and across. This out-side room had large gaping54 holes in the roof and one or two in the floor.
The door at the end gave on the top of a flight of rough mudbrick stairs af-fixed to the side of the house, and which led down to the garden.
That was all Victoria wanted to see. She tiptoed back to her own place ofimprisonment. There was little likelihood that anyone would come nearher again tonight. She would wait until it was dark and the village or townmore or less settled down to sleep and then she would go.
One other thing she noted55. A torn shapeless bit of black material lay in aheap near the outside door. It was, she thought, an old aba and wouldcome in useful to cover her Western clothes.
How long she waited Victoria did not know. It seemed to her intermin-able hours. Yet at last the various noises of local humankind died down.
The far- off blaring of a gramophone or phonograph stopped its Arabsongs, the raucous56 voices and the spitting ceased, and there was no morefar-off women’s high-pitched squealing57 laughter; no children’s crying.
At last she heard only a far-off howling noise which she took to be jack-als, and the intermittent58 bursts of dog barking which she knew would con-tinue through the night.
“Well, here goes!” said Victoria and stood up.
After a moments cogitation59 she locked the door of her prison on the out-side and left the key in the lock. Then she felt her way across the outerroom, picked up the black heap of material and came out at the top of themud stairs. There was a moon, but it was still low in the sky. It gave suffi-cient light for Victoria to see her way. She crept down the stairs, thenpaused about four steps from the bottom. She was level here with themudwall that enclosed the garden. If she continued down the stairs shewould have to pass along the side of the house. She could hear snoringfrom the downstairs rooms. If she went along the top of the wall it mightbe better. The wall was sufficiently60 thick to walk along.
She chose the latter course and went swiftly and somewhat precariouslyto where the wall turned at right angles. Here, outside, was what seemedto be a palm garden, and at one point the wall was crumbling61 away. Vic-toria found her way there, partly jumped and partly slithered down and afew moments later was threading her way through palm trees towards agap in the far wall. She came out upon a narrow street of a primitivenature, too small for the passage of a car, but suitable for donkeys. It ranbetween mudbrick walls. Victoria sped along it as fast as she could.
Now dogs began to bark furiously. Two fawn- coloured pi- dogs camesnarlingly out of a doorway63 at her. Victoria picked up a handful of rubbleand brick and shied a piece at them. They yelped64 and ran away. Victoriasped on. She rounded a corner and came into what was evidently themain street. Narrow and heavily rutted, it ran through a village of mud-brick houses, uniformly pale in the moonlight. Palms peeped over walls,dogs snarled65 and barked. Victoria took a deep breath and ran. Dogs con-tinued to bark, but no human being took any interest in this possible nightmarauder. Soon she came out on a wide space with a muddy stream and adecrepit humpbacked bridge over it. Beyond, the road, or track, lay head-ing towards what seemed infinite space. Victoria continued to run untilshe was out of breath.
The village was well behind her now. The moon was high in the sky. Tothe left and the right and in front of her, was bare stony66 ground, uncultiv-ated and without a sign of human habitation. It looked flat but was reallyfaintly contoured. It had, as far as Victoria could see, no landmarks67 and,she had no idea in what direction the track led. She was not learnedenough in the stars to know even towards what point of the compass shewas heading. There was something subtly terrifying in this large emptywaste, but it was impossible to turn back. She could only go on.
Pausing a few moments to get her breath back, and assuring herself bylooking back over her shoulder, that her flight had not been discovered,she set forth68, walking a steady three and a half miles an hour towards theunknown.
Dawn came at last to find Victoria weary, footsore, and almost on theverge of hysteria. By noting the light in the sky she ascertained69 that shewas heading roughly southwest, but since she did not know where shewas, that knowledge was of little use to her.
A little to the side of the road ahead of her was a kind of small compacthill or knob. Victoria left the track and made her way to the knob, thesides of which were quite steep, and climbed up to the top of it.
Here she was able to take a survey of the country all around and herfeeling of meaningless panic returned. For everywhere there was noth-ing…The scene was beautiful in the early morning light. The ground andhorizon shimmered70 with faint pastel shades of apricot and cream andpink on which were patterns of shadows. It was beautiful but frightening.
“I know what it means now,” thought Victoria, “when anyone says theyare alone in the world….”
There was a little faint scrubby grass in dark patches here and there andsome dry thorn. But otherwise there was no cultivation71, and no signs oflife. There was only Victoria Jones.
Of the village from which she had fled there were no signs either. Theroad along which she had come stretched back apparently72 into an infinityof waste. It seemed incredible to Victoria that she could have walked sofar as to have lost the village altogether from view. For a moment she hada panic-stricken yearning73 to go back. Somehow or other to regain1 touchwith humankind….
Then she took herself in hand. She had meant to escape, and had es-caped but her troubles were not likely to be at an end simply because shehad placed several miles between her and her gaolers. A car, however oldand rickety, would make short work of those miles. As soon as her escapewas discovered, someone would come in search of her. And how on earthwas she going to take cover or hide. There simply wasn’t anywhere tohide. She still carried the ragged black aba she had snatched up. Now tent-atively she wrapped herself in its folds, pulling it down over her face. Shehad no idea what she looked like because she had no mirror with her. Ifshe took off her European shoes and stockings and shuffled74 along withbare feet, she might possibly evade75 detection. A virtuously76 veiled Arab wo-man, however ragged and poor, had, she knew, all possible immunity77. Itwould be the height of bad manners for any man to address her. Butwould that disguise fool Western eyes who might be out in a car lookingfor her. At any rate, it was the only chance.
She was much too tired to go on at present. She was terribly thirsty too,but it was impossible to do anything about that. The best thing, she de-cided, was to lie down on the side of this hillock. She could hear a car com-ing and if she kept herself flattened78 into a little ravine which had erodeddown the side of the hillock, she could get some idea of who was in thecar.
She could take cover by moving round the back of the hillock so as tokeep out of sight of the road.
On the other hand, what she badly needed was to get back to civiliza-tion, and the only means, as far as she could see, was to stop a car withEuropeans in it and ask for a lift.
But she must be sure that the Europeans were the right Europeans. Andhow on earth was she to make sure of that?
Worrying over this point, Victoria quite unexpectedly fell asleep, wornout by her long trudge79 and her general exhaustion80.
When she awoke the sun was directly overhead. She felt hot and stiffand dizzy and her thirst was now a raging torment81. Victoria gave a groan82,but as the groan issued from her dry sore lips, she suddenly stiffened83 andlistened. She heard faintly but distinctly the sound of a car. Very cau-tiously she raised her head. The car was not coming from the direction ofthe village but towards it. That meant that it was not in pursuit. It was asyet a small black dot far-off on the track. Still lying as much concealed84 asshe could, Victoria watched it come nearer. How she wished she had fieldglasses with her.
It disappeared for a few minutes in a depression of landscape, then re-appeared surmounting85 a rise not very far away. There was an Arab driverand beside him was a man in European dress.
“Now,” thought Victoria, “I’ve got to decide.” Was this her chance?
Should she run down to the road and hail the car to stop?
Just as she was getting ready to do so, a sudden qualm stopped her. Sup-pose, just suppose, that this was the Enemy?
After all, how could she tell? The track was certainly a very desertedone. No other car had passed. No lorry. Not even a train of donkeys. Thiscar was making, perhaps for the village she had left last night….
What should she do? It was a horrible decision to have to make at a mo-ment’s notice. If it was the Enemy, it was the end. But if it wasn’t the En-emy, it might be her only hope of survival. Because if she went on wander-ing about, she would probably die of thirst and exposure. What should shedo?
And as she crouched86 paralysed with indecision, the note of the ap-proaching car changed. It slackened speed, then, swerving87, it came off theroad and across the stony ground towards the mound88 on which she squat-ted.
It had seen her! It was looking for her!
Victoria slithered down the gully and crawled round the back of themound away from the approaching car. She heard it come to a stop andthe bang of the door as someone got out.
Then somebody said something in Arabic. After that, nothing happened.
Suddenly, without any warning, a man came into view. He was walkinground the mound, about halfway89 up it. His eyes were bent90 on the groundand from time to time he stooped and picked something up. Whatever hewas looking for, it did not seem to be a girl called Victoria Jones.
Moreover, he was unmistakably an Englishman.
With an exclamation of relief Victoria struggled to her feet and came to-wards him. He lifted his head and stared in surprise.
“Oh please,” said Victoria. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”
He still stared.
“Who on earth,” he began. “Are you English? But—”
With a spurt91 of laughter, Victoria cast away the enveloping92 aba.
“Of course I’m English,” she said. “And please, can you take me back toBaghdad?”
“I’m not going to Baghdad. I’ve just come from it. But what on earth areyou doing all alone out here in the middle of the desert?”
“I was kidnapped,” said Victoria breathlessly. “I went to have my hairshampooed and they gave me chloroform. And when I woke up I was inan Arab house in a village over there.”
She gesticulated towards the horizon:
“In Mandali?”
“I don’t know its name. I escaped last night. I walked all through thenight and then I hid behind this hill in case you were an Enemy.”
Her rescuer was staring at her with a very odd expression on his face.
He was a man of about thirty-five, fair-haired, with a somewhat supercili-ous expression. His speech was academic and precise. He now put on apair of pince-nez and stared at her through them with an expression ofdistaste. Victoria realized that this man did not believe a word of what shewas saying.
She was immediately moved to furious indignation.
“It’s perfectly93 true,” she said. “Every word of it!”
The stranger looked more disbelieving than ever.
“Very remarkable,” he said in a cold tone.
Despair seized Victoria. How unfair it was that whilst she could alwaysmake a lie sound plausible94, in recitals95 of stark96 truth she lacked the powerto make herself believed. Actual facts she told badly and without convic-tion.
“And if you haven’t got anything to drink with you, I shall die of thirst,”
she said. “I’m going to die of thirst anyway, if you leave me here and go onwithout me.”
“Naturally I shouldn’t dream of doing that,” said the stranger stiffly. “Itis most unsuitable for an Englishwoman to be wandering about alone inthe wilds. Dear me, your lips are quite cracked…Abdul.”
“Sahib?”
The driver appeared round the side of the mound.
On receiving instructions in Arabic he ran off towards the car to returnshortly with a large Thermos97 flask98 and a bakelite cup.
Victoria drank water avidly99.
“Oo!” she said. “That’s better.”
“My name’s Richard Baker100,” said the Englishman.
Victoria responded.
“I’m Victoria Jones,” she said. And then, in an effort to recover lostground and to replace the disbelief she saw by a respectful attention, sheadded:
“Pauncefoot Jones. I’m joining my uncle, Dr. Pauncefoot Jones on his ex-cavation.
“What an extraordinary coincidence,” said Baker, staring at her sur-prisedly. “I’m on my way to the Dig myself. It’s only about fifteen milesfrom here. I’m just the right person to have rescued you, aren’t I?”
To say that Victoria was taken aback is to put it mildly. She was com-pletely flabbergasted. So much so that she was quite incapable101 of saying aword of any kind. Meekly102 and in silence she followed Richard to the carand got in.
“I suppose you’re the anthropologist,” said Richard, as he settled her inthe back seat and removed various impedimenta. “I heard you were com-ing out, but I didn’t expect you so early in the season.”
He stood for a moment sorting through various potsherds which he re-moved from his pockets and which, Victoria now realized, were what hehad been picking up from the surface of the mound.
“Likely looking little Tell,” he said, gesturing towards the mound. “Butnothing out of the way on it so far as I can see. Late Assyrian ware103 mostly—a little Parthian, some quite good ring bases of the Kassite period.” Hesmiled as he added, “I’m glad to see that in spite of your troubles your ar-chaeological instincts led you to examine a Tell.”
Victoria opened her mouth and then shut it again. The driver let in theclutch and they started off.
What, after all, could she say? True, she would be unmasked as soon asthey reached the Expedition House—but it would be infinitely104 better to beunmasked there and confess penitence105 for her inventions, than it wouldbe to confess to Mr. Richard Baker in the middle of nowhere. The worstthey could do to her would be to send her into Baghdad. And, anyway,thought Victoria, incorrigible106 as ever, perhaps before I get there I shallhave thought of something. Her busy imagination got to work forthwith. Alapse of memory? She had travelled out with a girl who had asked her to—no, really, as far as she could see, she would have to make a completebreast of it. But she infinitely preferred making a clean breast of it to Dr.
Pauncefoot Jones whatever kind of man he was, than to Mr. RichardBaker, with his supercilious107 way of lifting his eyebrows108 and his obviousdisbelief of the exact and true story she had told him.
“We don’t go right into Mandali,” said Mr. Baker, turning in the frontseat. “We branch off from the road into the desert about a mile farther on.
A bit difficult to hit the exact spot sometimes with no particular land-marks.”
Presently he said something to Abdul and the car turned sharply off thetrack and made straight for the desert. With no particular landmarks toguide him, as far as Victoria could see, Richard Baker directed Abdul withgestures—the car now to the right—now to the left. Presently Richard gavean exclamation of satisfaction.
“On the right track now,” he said.
Victoria could not see any track at all. But presently she did catch sightevery now and again of faintly marked tyre tracks.
Once they crossed a slightly more clearly marked track and when theydid so, Richard made an exclamation and ordered Abdul to stop.
“Here’s an interesting sight for you,” he said to Victoria. “Since you’renew to this country you won’t have seen it before.”
Two men were advancing towards the car along the cross track. Oneman carried a short wooden bench on his back, the other a big woodenobject about the size of an upright piano.
Richard hailed them, they greeted him with every sign of pleasure.
Richard produced cigarettes and a cheerful party spirit seemed to be de-veloping.
Then Richard turned to her.
“Fond of the cinema? Then you shall see a performance.”
He spoke to the two men and they smiled with pleasure. They set up thebench and motioned to Victoria and Richard to sit on it. Then they set upthe round contrivance on a stand of some kind. It had two eye-holes in itand as she looked at it, Victoria cried:
“It’s like things on piers109. What the butler saw.”
“That’s it,” said Richard. “It’s a primitive62 form of same.”
Victoria applied110 her eyes to the glass-fronted peephole, one man beganslowly to turn a crank or handle, and the other began a monotonous111 kindof chant.
“What is he saying?” Victoria asked.
Richard translated as the singsong chant continued:
“Draw near and prepare yourself for much wonder and delight. Prepareto behold112 the wonders of antiquity113.”
A crudely coloured picture of Negroes reaping wheat swam into Vic-toria’s gaze.
“Fellahin in America,” announced Richard, translating.
Then came:
“The wife of the great Shah of the Western world,” and the Empress Eu-génie simpered and fingered a long ringlet. A picture of the King’s Palacein Montenegro, another of the Great Exhibition.
An odd and varied114 collection of pictures followed each other, all com-pletely unrelated and sometimes announced in the strangest terms.
The Prince Consort115, Disraeli, Norwegian Fjords and Skaters in Switzer-land completed this strange glimpse of olden far-off days.
The showman ended his exposition with the following words:
“And so we bring to you the wonders and marvels116 of antiquity in otherlands and far-off places. Let your donation be generous to match the mar-vels you have seen, for all these things are true.”
It was over. Victoria beamed with delight. “That really was marvellous!”
she said. “I wouldn’t have believed it.”
The proprietors117 of the travelling cinema were smiling proudly. Victoriagot up from the bench and Richard who was sitting on the other end of itwas thrown to the ground in a somewhat undignified posture118. Victoriaapologized but was not ill pleased. Richard rewarded the cinema men andwith courteous119 farewells and expressions of concern for each other’s wel-fare, and invoking120 the blessing121 of God on each other, they parted com-pany. Richard and Victoria got into the car again and the men trudgedaway into the desert.
“Where are they going?” asked Victoria.
“They travel all over the country. I met them first in Transjordan com-ing up the road from the Dead Sea to Amman. Actually they’re bound nowfor Kerbela, going of course by unfrequented routes so as to give shows inremote villages.”
“Perhaps someone will give them a lift?”
Richard laughed.
“They probably wouldn’t take it. I offered an old man a lift once whowas walking from Basrah to Baghdad. I asked him how long he expectedto be and he said a couple of months. I told him to get in and he would bethere late that evening, but he thanked me and said no. Two monthsahead would suit him just as well. Time doesn’t mean anything out here.
Once one gets that into one’s head, one finds a curious satisfaction in it.”
“Yes. I can imagine that.”
“Arabs find our Western impatience122 for doing things quickly extraordin-arily hard to understand, and our habit of coming straight to the point inconversation strikes them as extremely ill-mannered. You should alwayssit round and offer general observations for about an hour—or if youprefer it, you need not speak at all.”
“Rather odd if we did that in offices in London. One would waste a lot oftime.”
“Yes, but we’re back again at the question: What is time? And what iswaste?”
Victoria meditated123 on these points. The car still appeared to be proceed-ing to nowhere with the utmost onfidence.
“Where is this place?” she said at last.
“Tell Aswad? Well out in the middle of the desert. You’ll see the Zigguratvery shortly now. In the meantime, look over to your left. There—whereI’m pointing.”
“Are they clouds?” asked Victoria. “They can’t be mountains.”
“Yes, they are. The snowcapped mountains of Kurdistan. You can onlysee them when it’s very clear.”
A dreamlike feeling of contentment came over Victoria. If only she coulddrive on like this forever. If only she wasn’t such a miserable124 liar24. Sheshrank like a child at the thought of the unpleasant denouement125 ahead ofher. What would Dr. Pauncefoot Jones be like? Tall, with a long greybeard, and a fierce frown. Never mind, however annoyed Dr. PauncefootJones might be, she had circumvented126 Catherine and the Olive Branch andDr. Rathbone.
“There you are,” said Richard.
He pointed ahead. Victoria made out a kind of pimple127 on the far hori-zon.
“It looks miles away.”
“Oh no, it’s only a few miles now. You’ll see.”
And indeed the pimple developed with astonishing rapidity into first ablob and then a hill and finally into a large and impressive Tell. On oneside of it was a long sprawling128 building of mudbrick.
“The Expedition House,” said Richard.
They drew up with a flourish amidst the barking of dogs. White robedservants rushed out to greet them, beaming with smiles.
After an interchange of greetings, Richard said:
“Apparently they weren’t expecting you so soon. But they’ll get your bedmade. And they’ll take you in hot water at once. I expect you’d like to havea wash and a rest? Dr. Pauncefoot Jones is up on the Tell. I’m going up tohim. Ibrahim will look after you.”
He strode away and Victoria followed the smiling Ibrahim into thehouse. It seemed dark inside at first after coming in out of the sun. Theypassed through a living room with some big tables and a few batteredarmchairs and she was then led round a courtyard and into a small roomwith one tiny window. It held a bed, a rough chest of drawers and a tablewith a jug and basin on it and a chair. Ibrahim smiled and nodded andbrought her a large jug of rather muddy-looking hot water and a roughtowel. Then, with an apologetic smile, he returned with a small lookingglass which he carefully affixed129 upon a nail on the wall.
Victoria was thankful to have the chance of a wash. She was just begin-ning to realize how utterly130 weary and worn out she was and how verymuch encrusted with grime.
“I suppose I look simply frightful,” she said to herself and approachedthe looking glass.
For some moments she stared at her reflection uncomprehendingly.
This wasn’t her—this wasn’t Victoria Jones.
And then she realized that, though her features were the small neat fea-tures of Victoria Jones, her hair was now platinum131 blonde!
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1
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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wispy
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| adj.模糊的；纤细的 | |
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tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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bagpipes
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| n.风笛；风笛( bagpipe的名词复数 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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28
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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29
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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spate
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| n.泛滥，洪水，突然的一阵 | |
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32
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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33
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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decrepitude
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| n.衰老；破旧 | |
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sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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preclude
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| vt.阻止，排除，防止；妨碍 | |
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mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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subtleties
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| 细微( subtlety的名词复数 )； 精细； 巧妙； 细微的差别等 | |
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41
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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42
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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43
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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prod
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| vt.戳，刺；刺激，激励 | |
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45
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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46
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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47
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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48
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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49
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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50
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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51
embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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52
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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53
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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54
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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55
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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56
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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57
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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58
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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59
cogitation
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| n.仔细思考，计划，设计 | |
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60
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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61
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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62
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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63
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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64
yelped
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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66
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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67
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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68
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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69
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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72
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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73
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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74
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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75
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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76
virtuously
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| 合乎道德地，善良地 | |
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77
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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78
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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79
trudge
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| v.步履艰难地走；n.跋涉，费力艰难的步行 | |
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80
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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81
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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82
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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83
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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84
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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85
surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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86
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
swerving
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
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88
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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89
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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90
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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91
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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92
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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93
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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94
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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95
recitals
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| n.独唱会( recital的名词复数 )；独奏会；小型音乐会、舞蹈表演会等；一系列事件等的详述 | |
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96
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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97
thermos
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| n.保湿瓶，热水瓶 | |
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98
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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99
avidly
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| adv.渴望地，热心地 | |
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100
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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101
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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102
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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103
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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104
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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105
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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106
incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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107
supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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108
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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109
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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110
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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111
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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112
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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113
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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114
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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115
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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116
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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117
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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118
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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119
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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120
invoking
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| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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121
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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122
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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123
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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124
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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denouement
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| n.结尾，结局 | |
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126
circumvented
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| v.设法克服或避免（某事物），回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 )；绕过，绕行，绕道旅行 | |
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127
pimple
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| n.丘疹，面泡，青春豆 | |
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128
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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129
affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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130
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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platinum
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| n.白金 | |
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