Atlantic Narratives

on clamps set into the marble of the quay. Shaban, the grizzled gatekeeper, who was standing at the top of th

my Pasha?' asked

if to put a question. And as

n the kiosque. She sent down wor

the Pasha stepped into his garden. 'Is there comp

replied Shaban, following his master up the

mind to say anything else he stopped instead to sniff at a ros

my Pasha, but I

ening! And just ask Mustafa to bring me a coffee at the fount

the Albanian, turni

ied wall. A thread of water started mysteriously out of the top of a tall marble niche into a little marble basin, from which it overflowed by two flat bronze spouts into two smaller basins below. From the

the opposite hills of Europe and the firing West. How definitely he thought it, I cannot say, for the Pasha was not greatly given to thought. Why should he be, as he possessed without that trouble a goodly share of what men acquire by taking thought? If he had been lapped i

with their watering-pots, and birds twittered among the branches, and the fountain plashed besi

carry coffee!' protested the Pasha, re

, my Pasha. Have I not eaten your bre

as that? We are g

ld,' assented the

imented him that afternoon on his youthfulness. And, choosing a cigarette, he handed the ca

e you have been to y

not sip his coffee quite so noisily had his French wife been sitting with him

months,

are you go

Ramazan, if God wills. Or perh

ban? We have plenty of room to build you a house somewhere, and you could s

ot be good for the children. In Constantinople they become rascals. There are too many

n here, behind the hou

jected Shaban gravely, hunting in his mind fo

the Pasha. 'Is it good to leave a youn

now. My brothers watch, and the other women. She is safer t

long intended to, and I never have been. But I must climb my mountain or they will think tha

, my Pasha? Zümbü

ha irritably. 'No, you needn't com

Shaban to pick up t