Everybody's Magazine/The Chain

by George E. Holt

 

The Chain

You Are Familiar, Perhaps with the Methods of
Our Home Brand of Office-Getters. Here's the Way
It Is Done in the Orient

By George E. Holt

THE basha of Tangier was a Moroccan notable with a long and euphonious name and an honorable pedigree. He was a shareef, or descendant of the Prophet, and, although comparatively poor, a man of importance, riding in state when he went forth, surrounded by an escort of guards and subordinate officials. His robes and turban, like his beard, were always immaculately white; he rode inevitably a spotless, snowy mule, sleek and fat, with trappings of silk and embroidered leather; and some of his guards preceded him, clearing a pathway to the shouts of: “Balak! Balak! Make way for the master!”

Mustapha, in contrast, was a muleteer who drove caravans between Tangier and Fez. He had once had a last name, but he had forgotten it. He was pretty sure as to his father but not at all as to his grandfather. His brown djellaba—almost his only garment—was patched and dirty and, like Mustapha himself, smelled of mules. His head was shaven except for the scalp-lock by which he confidently believed Allah some day would jerk him into paradise, and about it was wrapped a thin and shiny rope of braided camel's hair. His brown legs were bare and spotted with white scars, where hekka, or camel-itch, had bitten into the flesh, and his heavy sandals were held in place by leather thongs over his big toes.

Between basha and muleteer stretched the bottomless abyss of difference in birth. Yet the whim of Allah created a chain of fate, at one end of which he placed the basha and at the other end the muleteer.

Politics in Morocco are worse than in America or Europe. The pot boils more fiercely and more constantly. Those who hold offices must fight always to retain them. Those who do not apparently must fight always to secure them. And above all the sultan sits, lifting and casting down as becomes his mood, and thereby upsetting the plans of men.

Now it came about that his majesty found it necessary to appoint a new vizier. One had been indiscreet and, having drink a cup of tea in the wrong place, had suddenly passed on into the smiles of Allah. As his successor, the eye of the sultan came to rest upon the basha of Tangier. Shortly the basha received a careful word-of-mouth communication that the higher post was his—for a certain consideration. The consideration was about fifteen thousand dollars in our monetary system. All Moorish officials buy their posts.

Greatly did the basha desire to accept the offer. The title carried with it many things, all of which were more than acceptable to him. He was not a rich man, and he did not have the necessary money. But he felt sure of his ability to secure it. Wherefore he asked three days of grace to arrange the matter, and these were granted.

Promptly he called to his side his khalifa or chief subordinate officer, and to his interested ears explained the situation.

“Bring me at once, then,” he concluded, “the sum of ten thousand dollars, which, with what I have, will make the necessary total, and I shall see that you are appointed basha in my place.”

Now, the khalifa did not have the ten thousand dollars. The utmost that he could lay his hands upon was half this amount. But he did not tell the basha this. That would have caused the basha to turn elsewhere. Wherefore he assured his master that the money would be forthcoming, and went away to consider the matter.

As a result of his meditations, his slippers led him to the little office of the kadi, or judge, whom he found squatting cross-leg upon his cushions, reading the Koran. The kadi was an old acquaintance of his, wherefore he spoke what was in his mind without the usual verbal detours.

“And so,” he finished, “give me the sum of five thousand dollars, and when I become basha, I will appoint you khalifa"

Now, the post of khalifa was much more remunerative than that of kadi, and the judge greatly desired to take advantage of the offer. The five thousand dollars it would cost him he could regain by the appointment of subordinates. He had available just about one-half of the requisite amount. But he assured the khalifa that the money would be forthcoming.

The khalifa thereupon took his departure, and the kadi sent a messenger for his scribe, who was in shraa, or court. When the scribe arrived, he told him what was in the wind.

“And thus,” he ended, “there is opportunity for you to become kadi. Give me two thousand and five hundred dollars, and when I become khalifa, I will appoint you my successor as judge.”

These were sweet words to the scribe, and he hesitated not at all in accepting the terms.

“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall bring you the money.” And hastened away to one Achmed Farji, the owner of a little coffee-house, because he himself did not have the two thousand five hundred dollars he needed. But he held a mortgage on Achmed Farji's coffee-house, and, although the mortgage was not yet due, his only chance lay in collecting it. He found Achmed squatting on his cushions, drinking a cup of his own coffee. In a hundred words he presented the case, and offered not only to forgive the six months' interest due at ten per cent. but to be fully satisfied with twelve hundred dollars, if paid at once, instead of the full amount of close to two thousand.

“And of course,” he concluded, “I shall secure the money somewhere, and I shall become kadi; and to be a friend of the kadi is very wise.”

Of this the coffee-house keeper was well satisfied; indeed, he had suffered no little at the hands of unfriendly kadis. If the judge were to be personally interested in his misfortunes— Besides, there was much money to be saved. So, having finished his coffee, the scribe departed, with the assurance of Achmed Farji that the twelve hundred dollars would be awaiting him in the morning. And while the scribe was hastening back to shraa, Achmed sought out the master of the fandak, or caravanserai, which lay just behind the coffeehouse. He came at once to the point.

“Thrice,” he said, “you have desired me to sell you my café, and thrice I have declined. But now I am desirious of leaving this city, to go to my old home in Fez. Therefore I will sell you the café for seven hundred dollars. But I must have the money early to-morrow morning.”

“Aweely! Aweely!” cried the fandak-master. “Only yesterday I had the money in hand. Some I still have. But I bought mules. But, let me see—I must have the coffee-house. I have plans for it. Yes; I am certain it can be managed. By to-morrow morning.”

HARDLY had the coffee-house proprietor left the fandak before there was a clatter of hoofs and a half-dozen laden mules ambled into the enclosure, followed by Mustapha, the muleteer. At sight of him, the fandak-master's face brightened.

“Mustapha,” he said, “I have been considering the matter of which you have spoken many, many times, and——”

“Concerning Amina?” interrupted Mustapha.

“Concerning my daughter Amina,” agreed Amina's father. “And I have changed my mind. You are industrious, and she will not have to work unduly hard. You will make her a good husband, inshallah. And so—she is yours for three hundred dollars. But at once.”

“Now, how have I offended Allah?” cried Mustapha, raising his gnarled brown hands toward heaven. “To-day I have not that amount. Aweely! Aweely!” His voice cracked in pain, for he had long desired the buxom Amina. “But—wait!” He laid a pleading hand upon his companion's shoulder. “Perhaps—perhaps. Give me until sunset. There is one who owes me money; perhaps he will pay.”

“Go to him at once, then,” commanded Amina's father, “and return as soon as you may. The business is pressing. Besides, there is Hadj Omar——”

“May Allah confound him!”—this from Mustapha, who knew that the ancient Hadj Omar likewise desired the girl. “I go speedily.”

A quarter of an hour later, the guard at the door of the basha's house stopped Mustapha, the muleteer. To his first requests and final pleadings that he be permitted to see the basha, they returned jeers and threatened blows.

“But it is a matter of greatest importance,” sobbed Mustapha.

“Ho! Ho!” jeered the guards. “Is one of your mules ill of a belly-pain—or desire you to tell his excellency how to fill the city treasury?” So said one. And another:

“He must pass! He carries a letter from the throne concerning—concerning the new vizier. Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Words suddenly died, and the laughter, and the guards grew swiftly stiff in salute. Behind them the door had opened silently, and a figure in a flowing white k'sa stood framed in the doorway.

“What is the jest—and the talk of a new vizier?” The voice of the basha sounded loud in the embarrassed silence.

“'Twas but a joke, O master!” explained one of the guards. “This fellow demanded audience with you on—on a matter of greatest importance, he said. At that we laughed.”

“And, O master,” broke in Mustapha, “it is a matter of greatest importance, to me.”

The basha drew back a step and laid one hand upon the door, as if to close it. Then Kismet bridged the abyss between them; he smiled slowly and commanded Mustapha to enter.

“And now?” he asked, when the door closed behind them.

Mustapha fell upon his knees and blurted out an account of the situation. In order to secure Amina, he must have a hundred dollars more than he possessed.

“But—what have I to do with that?” asked the basha, puzzled. He was a kind-hearted man—but was not accustomed to be asked for a hundred dollars by muleteers.

“O master—it is thus: I have been carrying grain for your Excellency's stables. It amounts to more than one hundred dollars now. I should not have asked payment except—except for the matter of Amina. And—if your Excellency could but give me an order, Allah will bless you, and—and——”

The basha stiffened for one surprised moment; then his angry impulse subsided. He clapped his hands, and in answer a guard appeared and saluted.

“Take this man to my treasurer and give him a hundred dollars. At once!”

THUS, while the purple mists of night were spreading like gossamer upon the opalescent city, a series of transactions took place without loss of time. Mustapha returned to the fandak and gave three hundred dollars into the hands of Amina's father. Amina's father opened the door of his house to Mustapha, and went swiftly to the café, where he gave over seven hundred dollars and became its owner. After a glass of coffee with the new proprietor, the former host went to the house of the scribe, to whom he gave twelve hundred dollars in exchange for a certain document. Shortly thereafter, the scribe sat with the kadi and handed to him the sum of twenty-five hundred dollars. And this money, with its equal, very soon thereafter was passed on to the khalifa, who thereupon went to the house of the basha, carrying two bags of gold in which there was ten thousand dollars. The next day the basha remanded to the sultan's treasury the price agreed upon for the viziership. And the following day a notice of his appointment was posted upon the wall at the Place of the Three Gates for all to read who could. Mustapha, the muleteer, could not, but he asked of a guard at the gate what the proclamation might be.

“It concerns a new vizier,” replied the other roughly. “Which in no way concerns a lousy driver of flea-bitten mules.”

Mustapha grinned at the rebuff.

“True!” he observed philosophically. “What have I to do with viziers?”

And he resumed thinking of Amina.