“What!” Mohammed stood up. Only then did I realize how tall and masculine he was, as compared to the Nazarene. He waved his clenched fist. “Christianity shall never pollute the East!”

“The East, then, shall continue to feel the joy of the senses. The East shall continue to sing of the lips and breasts of women; of the prowess of men in battle. The East shall exclaim forever ‘Allah is the only God and Mohammed is His Prophet!’ ”

Abu-Bekr raised my hands to his lips. “Stranger, your words are sweeter than honey, and your thought deeper than the ocean. You have opened the door wide, and let the light of truth fall at the feet of the Prophet—who was born in the desert and whose advent the ancient and sacred books of your great country announce.”

“Prophet of Allah, what is the symbol of Christianity…a cross…a man wriggling upon a tree, helpless and ridiculed! And to what purpose this suffering? Is it that a man may receive forever in Paradise an incomparable reward? Shall his joy make up for his agony?” I laughed. “The Paradise of the Christians knows neither man nor woman, but vague sexless wraiths, wandering aimlessly and disconsolately about, remembering how much more agreeable was the earth, even when enduring pain.”

“Who can accept such a religion?” asked Abu-Bekr.

“It is the creed of eunuchs and of women!”

Mohammed, his eyes burning with a curious mixture of passion and dream, stood gazing into the distance. Was he wrestling with himself to overcome the final doubt? Did he see beyond the walls of the room, his followers, lovers of the sword and lovers of woman, in endless phalanxes, march against the West, conquering the Nazarene,—the soft preacher of mercy and self-denial?

Closing his eyes, he spoke: “The sincere servants of God shall have a certain provision in Paradise…they shall be honored; they shall be placed in gardens of pleasure, leaning on couches opposite one another; a cup shall be carried around unto them filled from a limpid fountain, for the delight of those who drink. Near them shall lie the virgins of Paradise, refraining their looks from beholding any besides their spouses, having large black eyes, and resembling the eggs of an ostrich covered with feathers.”

He breathed rapidly, and tottered. We grasped him in our arms, and stretched him gently upon the couch. Two spots of foam dotted the corners of his mouth, and whitened his beard.

His breathing became gradually regular again. He opened his eyes. “Thus speaks Allah,—may his name be praised through Mohammed, his Prophet.”

“Allah is the only God and Mohammed is His Prophet,” we answered.

Mohammed stood up again and exclaimed: “Every spot of the earth that believes not in Allah and Mohammed shall from now on be darul harb,—a place of endless conflict!”

Mohammed turned toward the East and knelt. We did likewise.

“Thy will be done, Allah, God of the world.”

“Allah is the only God and Mohammed is His Prophet.”

KOTIKOKURA came running toward me. “Ca-ta-pha! Ca-ta-pha! The tortoise…the tortoise!”

“What about the tortoise, my friend?”

“Gone…gone! Ca-ta-pha!”

“Did you not watch your sweetheart, Kotikokura?”

He nodded violently as if to frantically deny my aspersion.

“Then how could the tortoise be gone?”

“Gone, Ca-ta-pha! Gone!”

Kotikokura seemed so disturbed that I promised I would help him search for it. We looked through the streets, in deserted gardens, in abandoned houses. Kotikokura called out from time to time: “Salome! Salome!” I asked many people if they had seen a tortoise. Most of them had never heard of such an animal, and my description only made them smile. “Can such an animal live?” they asked. One old woman hissed through her toothless mouth, “Tortoise? I saw one when I was a child. A tortoise lives forever…and always changes masters.”

“Were you ever in Persia?” I asked.

She walked away, grumbling.

Kotikokura’s eyes filled with tears.

“Salome deserts even her favorites, it seems, Kotikokura.”

“Salome,” he muttered.

I could not tell whether he meant the woman or the tortoise.

“Salome does not matter just now, Kotikokura. We are called by more important affairs. Christianity must be destroyed!”

Kotikokura grumbled, “Salome.”

“Mohammed, the true Prophet of Allah, shall vanquish the Man on the Cross.”

“Salome.”

“And we shall live, Kotikokura! We need no longer tremble before the name of Jesus! We shall live!”

“Salome.”

“Comfort yourself. We shall meet her again, Kotikokura. We have passed the bend of the road. Once more the path before us is endless…”

“Oh, that I had a daughter who might find favor in your eyes, Cartaphilus!” exclaimed Abu-Bekr, as I crossed the threshold. “Alas! My two remaining daughters are aged, and already married.”

“Cartaphilus considers you as a father, nevertheless, Abu-Bekr.”

He embraced me.

“Abu-Bekr,” I said, “does not blood always speak?”

“More powerful is blood than swords and spears.”

“And more enduring than rock, Abu-Bekr.”

He nodded.

“I am a Hindu, Abu-Bekr…but my ancestors came from a far-off country.”

“Arabia?” he asked, anxiously.

“From Arabia, also, but more recently from Palestine. My ancestors were Jews, Semites as your people, speaking a language akin to yours and worshiping the same God.”

Abu-Bekr raised his arms: “May Allah be praised, and His Prophet live forever!”

“I was drawn to your country, as the water of the rain is drawn by the thirsty earth. The country of my fathers has been destroyed, Abu-Bekr. What part of the world is left me, save Arabia?”

“Arabia is your country, Cartaphilus.”

“Arabia is my country, and Abu-Bekr my father.”

“As true as Allah is the only God, and Mohammed is His Prophet.”

I stood up. “My country has been razed to the ground, and my people dispersed by those who profess the weak and effeminate religion of the Nazarene. Abu-Bekr and the Prophet shall avenge us!”

He stood up in his turn. “They shall avenge you, Cartaphilus, I swear it by Allah, and the beard of the Prophet!”

We reseated ourselves.

“Mohammed is wiser than all men, and nearer to Allah,—but for that reason, a little visionary.”

“Very true. Had it not been for me, he would have gone into the desert to speak with the angels, while our enemies slaughtered his followers.”

“It is for us, then, to attend to all practical affairs.”

“Yes, Cartaphilus.”

“It is not meet for me, a stranger, however, to be too much in evidence.”

“That is true.”

“Let it be known, then, that the Hindu merchant has bought all your camels and your wheat, and that he has gone home. Let the people see the animals laden, driven through the streets by many slaves. But the faithful slaves at night shall drive them back. Our enemies will think us weakened, and will attack us. Then shall Prophet of Allah triumph, and conquer the world!”

Abu-Bekr was silent.

“I understand, Abu-Bekr. You need the gold. That is why you wished to sell the animals. Well, you shall have both gold and animals.”

He raised my hands to his lips. “Allah has sent His angel Gabriel to His Prophet, that he may tell him the truth, and his other angel Cartaphilus, that the truth may be heard by all men.”

Mohammed’s camp seemed deserted. Many of the believers were sent about the town, instructed to look dejected and humble. Our enemies jeered at them, shouting: “Where is your Prophet, fool? Has he spoken to the angel again? What did the angel say to him?” Frequently, they slapped their faces or spat upon them. The believers, more Christian than the followers of the Nazarene, bent their backs and grumbled, “Mercy, masters.”