Chapter
Seven
Hafid, with his animal, entered the walled city of Damascus through the East gate. He rode along the street called Straight with doubts and trepidations and the noise and shoutings from hundreds of bazaars did little to ease his fear. It was one thing to arrive in a large city with a powerful trade caravan such as that of Pathros; it was another to be unprotected and alone. Street merchants rushed at him from all sides holding up merchandise, each screaming louder than the next.
He passed cell-like shops and bazaars displaying craftsmanship of copper smiths, silversmiths, saddlers, weavers, carpenters; and each step of his mule brought
him face to face with another vender, hands outstretched, wailing words of selfpity. Directly ahead of him, beyond the western wall of the city, rose Mt. Hermon.
Although the season was summer, its top was still capped with white and it seemed to look down on the cacophony of the market place with tolerance and forbearance. Eventually Hafid turned off the famous street and inquired about lodging which he had no difficulty finding in an inn called Moscha. His room was clean and he paid his rent for a month in advance which immediately established his standing with Antonine, the owner. Then he stabled his animal behind the inn, bathed himself in the waters of the Barada and returned to his room.
He placed the small cedar chest at the foot of his cot and proceeded to unroll the leather strappings. The cover opened easily and he gazed down at the leather scrolls. Finally he reached inside and touched the leather. It gave under his fingers as if it were alive and he hurriedly withdrew his hand. He arose and stepped toward the latticed window through which sounds poured from the noisy
market place nearly half a mile distant. Fear and doubt returned again as he looked in the direction of the muffled voices and he felt his confidence waning.
He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall, and cried aloud, “How foolish I am to dream that I, a mere camel boy, will one day be acclaimed as the greatest salesman in the world when I have not even the courage to ride through the stalls of the hawkers in the street. Today mine eyes have witnessed hundreds of salesmen, all far better equipped for their profession than I. All had boldness,
enthusiasm, and persistence. All seemed equipped to survive in the jungle of the market. How stupid and presumptuous to think I can compete with and surpass them. Pathros, my Pathros, I fear that I will fail you again.”
He threw himself on his cot and weary from his travels he sobbed until he slept. When he awoke it was morning. Even before he opened his eyes he heard the chirp. Then he sat up and stared in disbelief at the sparrow perched on the open cover of the chest containing the scrolls. He ran to the window. Outside, thousands of sparrows clustered in the fig trees and sycamores, each welcoming
the day with song. As he watched, some landed on the window ledge but quickly flew away when Hafid moved even slightly. Then he turned and looked at the chest again. His feathered visitor cocked its head and stared back at the youth. Hafid walked slowly to the chest, his hand extended. The bird leaped into his palm.
“Thousands of your kind are outside and afraid. But you had the courage to come through the window.” The bird pecked sharply at Hafid‟s skin and the youth carried him toward the
table where his knapsack contained bread and cheese. He broke off chunks and placed them beside his small friend who began to eat. A thought came to Hafid and he returned to the window. He rubbed his hand against the openings in the lattice. They were so small that it seemed almost impossible for the sparrow to have entered. Then he remembered the voice of Pathros and he repeated the words aloud,
“Failure will never overtake you if your determination to succeed is strong enough.” He returned to the chest and reached inside. One leather scroll was more worn than the rest. He removed it from the box and gently unrolled it. The fear he had known was gone. Then he looked toward the sparrow. He too was gone. Only crumbs of bread and cheese remained as evidence of his visit from the little bird
with courage. Hafid glanced down at the scroll. Its heading read The Scroll Marked I. He began to read.…
This is dummy text. It is not meant to be read. Accordingly, it is difficult to figure out when to end it. But then, this is dummy text. It is not meant to be read. Period.
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