WHERE ADAM AND EVE LIVED 



559 



blacks in the Bronx, and the lunch-coun- 

 ters in Newark? 



Up from a myriad of throats comes 

 conversation in Arabic, Armenian, Turk- 

 ish, Kurdish, and Persian ; in Greek, 

 Hindustani, and French. "Barlack !" 

 your guide yells to loafers in your path — 

 "Get out of the way!" "Barlack, Ef- 

 fendi !" if the loiterer is more than mere 

 clay. 



ARABIAN HUMOR 



The peddlers have a sense of humor; 

 the flower vender shouts, "Salih Hama- 

 tak!" literally, "Appease your mother-in- 

 law." The roast-pea man sings out, 

 "Umm Ennarein !" or "Mother of Two 

 Fires," meaning the peas are twice roast- 

 ed. Slow-moving camels do not "keep 

 close to the curb," as police regulations 

 would require of them elsewhere. Here 

 are no traffic rules ; the rudest and 

 strongest only move with freedom. They 

 and the vagabond dogs, thousands of 

 whom sleep in the filth underfoot, are 

 undisturbed. 



MAKING RARE OLD RUGS 



Often you may see a fine rug lying 

 flat in the filth of the narrow street, 

 ground beneath the tramp of men and 

 beasts ; but there is method in this. For- 

 eigners make Oriental rugs, bright and 

 new, in Persia, and sell them through 

 Bagdad. Since an "old" rug is worth 

 more, wily brokers have hit on this 

 shameful way to make a new rug look 

 old ; the latest art efifort thus soon be- 

 comes a "rare old rug," so far as the 

 eventual owner in America knows. 



In short side streets are theaters, gaudy 

 places where night is turned to day and 

 much coffee is consumed. Here fakirs 

 eat swords, pull live toads from soiled 

 turbans, and roll chickens into snakes. 



And everywhere, elbowing the throng, 

 are the neat, brightly uniformed officers 

 of the Young Turk army, come in from 

 the foreign quarter to see the old bazaar. 

 The ragged, slouching zaptiehs of Abdul 

 Hamid's day are gone from view. 



Giant Kurds, called "hamals," do the 

 carrying. I saw one Kurd carry 700 

 pounds on his back, a belt passed over 

 the load and beneath his bent head to 



balance the weight. A hamal in summer 

 lives almost wholly on "khiyar" (raw 

 cucumbers), eating over three pounds 

 daily (see page 533). 



The bazaar folk eat strange things. 

 Strips of fat from the fat-tail sheep are 

 much eaten ; then there is goat sausage, 

 manna, gourds, pomegranates, citrons, 

 skins of dried dates and figs, mutton, 

 beef — everything but pork. No one 

 starves ; beggars are few. Much grain 

 comes down from up the Tigris on 

 keleks (see page 548). 



COPPERSMITHS AND SHOEMAKERS 



Old-time arts flourish here, too. Cop- 

 persmiths, naked to the waist, hammer 

 furiously in the subdued glow of their 

 forges, making vases, urns, and kettles 

 of quaint beauty. Some of the trays they 

 make are five feet across. Bedouins 

 fancy these ; they say huge vessels indi- 

 cate huge generosity. Here is much fine 

 camel gear, too, and mule bridles deco- 

 rated with colored shells, and pistol hol- 

 sters all silk-embroidered. 



In one shop I saw over 400 shoe- 

 makers, every man turning out exactly 

 the same kind of a shoe — the eternal red 

 ones with curved toes. Much ancient 

 armor, weapons, Babylonian coins, and 

 other alleged antiquities are offered for 

 sale. Most of this junk is made "fresh 

 every hour" in Birmingham, especially 

 for the Bagdad trade. Worldly-wise 

 Jews, realizing that rare things cannot be 

 had in abundance, are meeting the curio 

 demand in a business way. 



An old law says the arched roof of 

 the bazaar must be high enough so a 

 man on a camel, carrying a lance, can 

 ride under without bumping. Most Bed- 

 ouin visitors, however, leave their camels 

 outside the city gates. One identifies 

 these desert folk at a glance. Their long 

 sunburned hair, faded garments, stout 

 camel sticks, and wild, furtive looks easily 

 mark them as from the waste places. 

 You see them, too, holding one corner 

 of a soiled garment to their noses ; the 

 fetid air of the bazaar, after the desert 

 purity, is unbearable. Thousands of the 

 bazaar folk die every year from tubercu- 

 losis. 



