THE MOHAMMEDANS
219
"Dignity! What they mean is
demeOJUJr-a
window-shade to
hide their flesh and their sin!"
"Why that's a very good remark," cried Simon. "Excellent!
I must remember that! And may I say in passing that you yourself
have plenty of demeanor, what with that turban of yours and your
solemn air. But of course you don't find that funny, and at bottom
I don't mean it to be. When it pops out that way, it sounds in–
sulting. The fact is-I'm an artist." He paused a moment, cock–
ing his head. "I mean I'm a poet, I write poetry."
"Yes?"
"Please believe me-l have the greatest respect for you. I'm
excited, and so everything comes out topsy-turvy. In fact, when
I'm with you I feel slightly wacky, so to speak, I can't quite decide
what tone to take. To begin with, I have an ambiguous feeling
towards you. You've at once outraged me, by moving into my
house and all that, and you've intrigued me with your turbans
and mysteries and air of superior knowledge. Secondly, I'm a
poet of the old school. I haven't the faintest idea how to talk to
people who don't read poetry and don't give a damn about it."
"It
so happens," said Wiley Bey, "that I'm very fond of
poetry. For me, the greatest of them all is Ahmed Ali, a Negro
who wrote in Alexandria, in the 12th century."
"I flatter myself," Simon went on, "that mine is the funda–
mentally poetic endowment. I feel everyone's feelings to the point
where I have almost none of my own. At the same time, one
must live, that is make decisions and have attitudes. It's very
difficult.... And then there's this country!" Simon rolled his eyes
and made a gesture of desperation. "Do you see what I mean?"
At that moment, one of the women-a slatternly sexy-looking
girl who seemed to be wearing nothing at all beneath her apron–
came into the room and whispered something in Wiley Bey's ear.
The Negro turned to Simon:
"Excuse me a moment, do you have any money?"
"Not very much," said Simon apprehensively.
"Do you mind lending me a dollar?"
Simon handed over his dollar. Being very poor and very
miserly, this was in the nature of a catastrophe. Yet for a moment
he was quite carried away by the simplicity of the Negro in taking
(Continued on page
281)
