“O the hinny! I’ll rope noose her (hang her) tonight,” murmurs the father. But here is his Excellency with his Sultan’s green button in his lapel. Abu-Najma bows low, rubs his hands well, offers a large cushion, brings a masnad (leaning pillow), and blubbers out many unnecessary apologies.
“This honour is great, your Excellency—overlook our shortcomings—our beit (one room house) can not contain our shame—it is not becoming your Excellency’s high rank—overlook—you have condescended to honour us, condescend too to be indulgent.—My daughter? yes, presently. She is gone to church, to mass, but she’ll return soon.”
But Najma is long gone; returns not; and the third-class Dodo will call again tomorrow. Now, Abu-Najma brings out his rope, soaps it well, nooses and suspends it from the rafter in the ceiling. And when his daughter returns from the spring, he takes her by the arm, shows her the rope, and tells her laconically to choose between his Excellency and this. Poor Najma has not the courage to die, and so soon. Her cousin Khalid is in prison, is excommunicated—what can she do? Run away? The Church will follow her—punish her. There’s something satanic in Khalid—the Church said so—the Church knows. Najma rolls these things in her mind, looks at her father beseechingly. Her father points to the noose. Najma falls to weeping. The noose serves well its purpose.
For hereafter, when the Dodo comes decorated, she has to offer him the cushion, bring him the masnad , make for him the coffee. And eventually, as the visits accumulate, she goes with him to the dressmaker in Beirut. The bridal gown shall be of the conventional silk this time; for his Excellency is travelled, and knows and reverences the fashion. But why prolong these painful details?