198 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



I counted three more courts and five passages before 

 Mohammed and Yusuf were spirited away to their 

 separate banquet. Still our guide went on past various 

 pairs of yellow shoes discarded at several entrances. At 

 last, after two more yards and several passages, we 

 entered the central court, with broad, matted and 

 carpeted verandas running along two sides. 



Hastily removing our shoes, we went to meet our 

 stately host, who beamed his welcome and waved us 

 across the wide space between the arches into a long, 

 high room whose walls seemed to be entirely hung with 

 clocks, barometers, thermometers and other such objects. 

 I cannot tell how many instruments there were, but I 

 counted fifteen clocks, most of them going. At either 

 end was a row of the huge painted, carved chests that 

 the great folk carry on their long caravan journeys and 

 in most of the alcoves, which were hung with rugs, were 

 tea-caddies of every size, shape and colour. A large 

 pianola bore reels of Pagliacci and Carmen. Thick dark 

 carpets were piled on the matted floor, with rows of stiff 

 cushions round the walls, but the thing that interested 

 me most, after the meagre rations of our journey, was 

 the fringed, scarlet cloth in the centre of which reposed 

 a round brass tray laden with food and flanked with all 

 sorts of bowls and bottles. 



Our host wished us good appetite. "Bilhana! 

 Bilshifa!" "With pleasure and health!" He then 

 vanished and a slave lifted an exquisite silver and brass 

 ewer to pour water over our hands into its companion 

 bowl with a fretted cover. Another brought minute 

 cups of black coffee strongly flavoured with red pepper. 

 Then we sank cross-legged beside the tray, wide-eyed 

 with wonder at the array before us. Arab hospitality 

 is prodigious. Everyone gives of his best, but only a 

 very great man could provide the Arabian Nights' feast 



