"Ibn-Sadif ascended the hill, and beheld a blazing pile. On a log of
wood lay a maiden with her left breast ripped open; flames licked her
feet. Around were sombre, bearded men with swords in their hands. An
ancient Shaman priest was circling in front of the funeral pyre and
shouting furiously.
"Ibn-Sadif turned aside from the fire, and descended the forest
pathway to the river.
"The sky was thickly studded with stars that shone like points of
living gold in the warm deeps of the night; the water gave back a
glittering reflection. The Arab gazed up at that vast space where the
shining constellations swam towards the bosom of the Infinite, then
down at their fantastically mirrored image in the river's depths--and
cried aloud:
"'Woe! Woe!'"
"In the far distance beyond the water the wolves howled.
"At nightfall Ibn-Sadif joined the Prince who was directing the
ancient funeral rites. The Arab raised his hands to the sky; his
white garments flew round him like the wings of a bird; in a shrill,
eerie voice like an eagle's he cried to the fierce bearded men
gathered around:
"'This night just a thousand years ago, the Archangel told the Mother
of God in Nazareth of the coming of your God, Jesus. Woe! A thousand
years ago! Can it be?'
"Thus spoke Ibn-Sadif. None in the camp knew of the Annunciation, of
that fair, sacred day when the birds will not even build their nests
lest their labour desecrate its holiness.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91