Lord Byron's Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

Ali, who had before tried with all his might to leap from his bounding perch upon the beast’s rump, now in fear clung to the rider, lest he be flung from that height down upon the stones, or under the hooves. When some leagues had been put between the two of them and the Pacha’s still-advancing forces, the warrior slowed his pace; and Ali—already farther from home and familiar scenes than he had ever been—had no choice but to keep his seat, and bounce along into what might come. No word had yet passed between him and the rider—perhaps they would not have understood each other’s dialect —and indeed there was nothing to say—for Ali knew not what to ask, and the other would not have answered. When the day was at length drowned in green evening, they made their camp, and the brigand gave food to his captive, and, smiling upon him as before, bade him with many gestures to eat his fill; but when they retired—upon the ground, beneath the blanket of their capotes, and the black tester of the infinite spangled night—he tied Ali’s wrists to his own wrist by a thong of leather. Then did Ali beg to know what was to become of him, and why he alone had been rapt from the catastrophe of his people and his beloved; whereupon—whether he understood, or did not—the fellow ceased to grin, and waggled at Ali a long and dirty finger, expressive of Prohibition and Silence, and turned to sleep. Ali at his side wept, when he thought he would not be heard: wept, for Iman—for his old Mentor—for his goats, whose familiar names he spoke in silent syllables—for the life of slavery he had reason to be certain was all that was to come.
    But instead—and one who has read the tale thus far will not be astonished to learn it—he was brought after many stages to the Pacha’s house in Tepelene, the largest and finest he had ever seen, not as a slave but as an honoured Guest. He was brought before the Pacha himself, who smiled upon him, and caressed his dark curls—took his hands in his own, and look’d gloatingly upon the mark he bore—placed him on his silken Sopha at his right hand, and gave him sugared nuts, and sweetmeats, while his own grandson look’d on shocked and affronted. When we know nothing at all of the world beyond a single valley and its slopes and vineyards, then we are perhaps not so amazed at the things that befall when we are suddenly and swiftly transported beyond it, having no means to form expectations. Ali took no exception to his treatment by the smiling old tyrant, and was moved neither to gratitude nor devotion; he put on without question the rich apparel that was given him, consisting of a long white kilt of softest wool, a gold-worked cloak, an embroidered vest heavy as a breastplate, great belt, and a scarf for his head of as many colors as Joseph’s coat. Only the sword that the Pacha himself put in his hands, curved and brilliant like the Devil’s smile and meant as much for hurt, moved him, and caused him to speak—he vowed that he would not ever after be parted from it: nor would he, till years had passed, and a stern magistrate demanded its surrender—but all that was long to come, in a far land he yet knew naught of. How he went thither, and what then befell him, all remains to be told; however, having proffered more than sufficient matter for a Chapter, I shall here break my page, and rest my pen.



 
    From: “Smith”
To: “Thea” Subject: Hey
    Sweetie—
    Here I am, here I really am. God what a trip that is. I know you said so but jeez. I think that pill you gave me was the wrong one—it was sposed to be a valium right—well I took it somewhere out over the Atlantic and had a mini-bottle of wine and slept 20 minutes and then I was AWAKE from then on, and jittery and anxious—are you sure it wasn’t some kind of upper? And then you get to London and it’s dawn of the next day, though it should be like two in the morning,