He laughed. “I am thirty-five. You would be astounded how much I had to learn—and lose—from thirty to thirty-five.”

“What then would you call the age of reason?”

“Thirty-five.” The Arab alternated his remarks about business with pungent aphorisms about life and women.

“The Koran is right. Woman must always be man’s slave. He must crack the whip, else– —” he laughed. “They say that in Africa there is a nation where men wear skirts. Imagine that! A nation ruled by woman, where men are women’s slaves, where female chieftains have harems of males!”

“What is the religion of this country?” I asked.

“They worship a parrot.”

‘A parrot,’ I mused. ‘Women having harems of men.’ How much was truth, how much invention?

“In Africa, you said?”

“Just beyond the desert.”

‘Just beyond the desert—a woman ruler and a parrot god.’ Something within me cried out: ‘Salome—Kotikokura.’

The Arab pulled me aside and showed me a ring with a small opal. “Anyone who wears this is bound to be lucky, for it was worn by the Prophet’s nephew—may he be blessed forever! I shall present it to you for a trifling sum.”

He mentioned a price about ten times greater than its actual value. I had learned enough from him to pay for my lesson. “It fits your finger as if it had been made expressly for you. You are the Man of Destiny.”

“What destiny?” I asked.

He smiled. “Who knows?” Walking off, he muttered in Hebrew: “What fools these Gentiles are! “ I was startled. This Arab was a Jew—the new Jew, the Jew that had drifted from Palestine—but nevertheless, a Jew!

Meanwhile, something much more important occupied my mind. Was it possible to find both Kotikokura and Salome again?

Who but Salome would think of establishing a matriarchy, with a harem of men? Where would Kotikokura go, if not to his native land? Curiosity, vanity, natural instinct, would prompt him to revisit Africa. Also, perhaps, the feeling that I would seek him where I had originally found him.

Was it possible that so much joy awaited me? I turned the ring about my finger. Would it really bring me good luck? Life was illogical. If two bits of wood nailed in opposite directions could work miracles, why not this ring?

I BOUGHT camels and hired four experienced drivers who had crossed the desert several times. I asked them whether they had heard about the country where men were the slaves of women and a queen ruled. They answered that beyond the desert everything was possible.

I bought a young parrot, whom I taught to say.—”Carr-tarr-pharr…” and perch upon my camel’s head. The drivers were much amused at my whim, and made many puns on the word.

With the exception of a mild sandstorm, the passage was uneventful and suited my mood exceedingly. One morning, the drivers pointed ahead of us. “Look, Prince! Smoke! We have reached the end of our journey.”

I paid them what we had agreed upon, to which I added valuable gifts. I kept only my camel and the parrot and one day’s food and water. The other animals and the rest of the provisions I allowed the men to take back with them.

I waited until sunset, and having painted the sun upon my turban, the moon upon the camel’s forehead and dotted the parrot’s beak as of yore, I began my ride in the direction of the smoke.

As I approached, I heard the violent beating of an iron kettle and I saw many men run from various directions. I thought it advisable to hide within hearing distance. A large tree served my purpose admirably. The parrot was asleep, and the camel, weary from the travel, did not stir.

A man waved his arms violently, and shouted at the top of his voice. The rest formed a circle about him. “How long will you endure the tyranny of this terrible queen and of her women?”

The language was that of my tribe, with the exception of a few words, which seemed a corruption of some European tongue.

“Are you such cowards indeed? Are you not men?”

“Yes, yes!” growled the others.

“Has not God Ca-ta-pha made man in His image?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Woman is an unclean animal!”

“True! True!”

“Have we not found comradeship more pleasant than the love of our women?”

“More! More!”

“Shall we obey the order to become the fathers of their children?”

“No! No! By the Sacred Parrot, a thousand times, no!”

“Should we not rather die?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Can you forget the great history of our country, as our old men tell it to us, from generation to generation? Can you forget that Ca-ta-pha, Supreme God of Heaven, came Himself among us?”

“We shall never forget!”

“Has He not commanded man to rule woman?”

“He has!”

“Was He a man or a woman?”

“A man!”

“Shall you violate his commandment?”

“Never! Never !”

Meanwhile, more men came, some of them carrying long spears, others hatchets. In the reflection of the fire, which was burning a little away from them, they appeared like animated black shadows of invisible people,

“Have they not tortured us enough? Have they not tickled hundreds to death? Have they not given us refuse to feed upon?”

“True! True!”

“Her knives!”

“Her spears, chief!”

“Her sorceries!”

“What of it? If we are defeated, we can at least refuse to be fathers!”

“Right! Right!”

“How can we refuse to beget their children?”

“Her virgins inflame our passion…”

“The Queen’s wines and spices set our blood on fire…”

“The Queen’s instruments of pleasure incite the flesh in spite of itself…”

“We formed a Sacred Band to resist her enchantments. Emasculate yourselves to assert your manhood! Better castrates than slaves!”

“Better castrates than slaves!”

Knives flashed.

One man laughed hysterically.

“Who laughs?”

No one answered.

From the distance several men shouted, “Chief! Chief!”

The Chief shouted back, “Hurry, brothers, hurry!”

The men approached.

“The Queen…has driven .. . the High Priest out of the Temple.”

“What!”

“Is it true?”

“She has broken the altar!”

“She has outraged the Keeper of the Holy Camel.”

“Hear, men!”

“She has opened the cage of the Sacred Bird.”

“She shall not live!”

“She cannot live!”

“Heaven will strike her blind!”

“She proclaims herself God!”

“Sacrilege!”

“Ca-ta-pha will destroy us all!”

“Death to the Sorceress.”

“The High Priest is coming with the sacred image of Ca-ta-pha!”

“Here he is! Here he is!” some shouted.

Kotikokura, dressed as a Bishop, carrying in his hand an immense golden image of a rider upon a camel, upon whose head perched an open-mouthed parrot, approached pompously, preceded and followed by several priests. All men dropped on their faces, calling out: “Ca-ta-pha!”

I did not know whether to shout for joy or to laugh uproariously. My parrot, awakened by the noise and hearing my name pronounced, screeched: “Carr-tarr-pharr!… Carr-tarr-pharr!…”

There was a deadly silence.

I struck the camel’s back with my open palm and the animal, half asleep, trudged slowly toward the people, who at my approach, began to roar and howl and shout. They beat their faces with their fists, rolled upon the ground, kissed the camel’s hoofs.

“Carr-tarr-pharr! Carr-tarr-pharr!…”

The frightened parrot screeched, flying from the camel’s forehead to a bush and back again.

“Ca-ta-pha! Ca-ta-pha!” the people repeated ceaselessly.

Kotikokura saw me.

“Ca-ta-pha! Ca-ta-pha! My Master!”

He gave the image to one of the priests, helped me descend from the animal, and embraced me, weeping on my chest. I called him endearing names. He turned to the men, who, seeing how I treated their High Priest, remained stock-still, their mouths and eyes wide open, their bodies bent.