“The Gods be good to us! Since when have men and women been other than men and women?”
“A priest is a priest. He says he will go upon this hour. I am his chela , and I go with him. We need food for the Road. He is an honoured guest in all the villages, but”—he broke into a pure boy’s grin—“the food here is good. Give me some.”
“What if I do not give it thee? I am the woman of this village.”
“Then I curse thee—a little—not greatly, but enough to remember.” He could not help smiling.
“Thou hast cursed me already by the down-dropped eyelash and the uplifted chin. Curses? What should I care for mere words?” She clenched her hands upon her bosom … “But I would not have thee to go in anger, thinking hardly of me—a gatherer of cow-dung and grass at Shamlegh, but still a woman of substance.”
“I think nothing,” said Kim, “but that I am grieved to go, for I am very weary; and that we need food. Here is the bag.”
The woman snatched it angrily. “I was foolish,” said she. “Who is thy woman in the Plains? Fair or black? I was fair once. Laughest thou? Once, long ago, if thou canst believe, a Sahib looked on me with favour. Once, long ago, I wore European clothes at the Mission-house yonder.” She pointed towards Kotgarh. “Once, long ago. I was Ker-lis-ti-an and spoke English—as the Sahibs speak it. Yes. My Sahib said he would return and wed me—yes, wed me. He went away—I had nursed him when he was sick—but he never returned. Then I saw that the Gods of the Kerlistians lied, and I went back to my own people … I have never set eyes on a Sahib since. (Do not laugh at me. The fit is past, little priestling.) Thy face and thy walk and thy fashion of speech put me in mind of my Sahib, though thou art only a wandering mendicant to