Soon Yau came to fetch him. He had put on a thin blue robe, and he wore his simple black cap at a jaunty angle. 'Let's get along!' he said briskly. 'I am rather busy tonight, you know. After dinner I have an urgent affair to attend to. Fortunately these Arab parties end rather early.'
'What do we get there?' Chiao Tai asked, as their palankeen was carried down the street.
'Rather simple fare, but quite appetizing in its own way. Not a patch on our Chinese kitchen, needless to say. Have you tried our Cantonese stewed octopus yet? Or eels?'
He started with a detailed explanation of these dishes that made Chiao Tai's mouth water, then gave an eloquent discourse on the local wine and liqueur. Evidently he does himself well, Chiao Tai thought. Although Yau was a rather vulgar upstart, he was a pleasant fellow all the same.
When they were descending from the palankeen in front of a plain whitewashed gatehouse, Chiao Tai exclaimed:
'I had my noon rice early today, and your talk has made me ravenous! I could devour a whole roasted pig, I tell you!’
'Hush!’ Yau warned quickly, 'don't mention pork! The Moslems aren't allowed to even touch it; the meat is considered unclean. They aren't allowed to drink wine either, but they have another liquor that tastes rather nice.' So speaking, he knocked on the door, which was decorated with iron bosses shaped like fishes.
It was opened by an old Arab hunchback with a striped turban. He led them through a small courtyard to a rectangular garden, planted with low flowering shrubs in an unusual pattern. A tall lean man came to meet them. His turban and flowing long gown were very white in the moonlight. Chiao Tai recognized him. It was the same man he had seen scolding the Arab sailors on the quay.
'Peace on you, Mansur!’ Yau exclaimed jovially. 'I took the liberty of bringing a friend, Colonel Chiao, from our capital.'
The Arab fixed his large, flashing eyes on Chiao Tai. The whites of them stood out clearly against his dark-brown skin. He spoke in a sonorous voice, in slow but good Chinese:
'Peace on all true believers!’
Chiao Tai reasoned that if the salutation was limited to Moslems, it did not include Yau and himself and thus was rather rude. But by the time he had thought this out, the Arab and Yau, bent over a shrub, were already deep in a discussion on raising plants.
'The noble Mansur is a great lover of flowers, just like me,' Yau explained as he righted himself. 'These fragrant plants he brought along all the way from his own country.'
Chiao Tai noticed the delicate scent drifting about in the garden, but what with the insolent greeting and his empty stomach he was not in the proper mood for flowers. He sourly surveyed the low house in the rear. Seeing behind it the minaret of the mosque outlined against the moonlit sky, he concluded that Mansur's house could not be far from his inn.
At last Mansur led his two guests into the large airy room at the back of the garden. Its faзade consisted of a row of high open arches of a quaint, pointed shape. Upon entering, Chiao Tai noticed to his dismay that there was no furniture at all, let alone a dining-table. The floor was covered by a thick blue pile carpet, and in the corners lay a few stuffed silken pillows. From the ceiling hung a brass lamp with eight wicks. All across the back wall ran a curtain of a type he had never seen before: it was attached with brass rings to a pole close to the ceiling, instead of being sewn to a bamboo stick, as it should be.
Mansur and Yau sat down cross-legged on the floor, and after some hesitation Chiao Tai followed their example. Apparently Mansur had seen his annoyed look, for he now addressed him in his measured voice:
'I trust the honoured guest doesn't object to sitting on the floor, instead of in a chair.'
'As a soldier,' Chiao Tai said gruffly, 'I am accustomed to roughing it.'
'We consider our manner of living quite comfortable,' his host remarked coldly.
Chiao Tai instinctively disliked the man, but he had to admit that he was an impressive figure. He had a regular, clean-cut face, with a thin beaked nose, and a long moustache, the ends of which curled up in foreign fashion. He carried his shoulders very straight, and flat muscles rippled smoothly under his thin white gown. Evidently he was a man capable of great feats of endurance.
To break the awkward silence, Chiao Tai pointed at the band of intricate design that ran all along the top of the wall and asked:
'What do those curlicues mean?'
'It's Arab writing,' Yau explained hastily. 'It's a holy text.'
'How many letters do you have?' Chiao Tai asked Mansur.
'Twenty-eight,' he replied curtly.
'Holy heaven!' Chiao Tai exclaimed. 'Is that all? We have more than twenty thousand, you know!’
Mansur's lips curved in a contemptuous smile. He turned round and clapped his hands.
'How in hell can they express their thoughts in only twenty-eight letters?' Chiao Tai asked Yau in an undertone.
'They haven't got so many thoughts to express!' Yau whispered with a thin smile. 'Here comes the food!'
An Arab youth entered carrying a large round tray of engraved brass. On it lay several fried chickens, and a jug and three goblets of coloured enamel. After the boy had poured out a colourless liquor, he withdrew. Mansur lifted his goblet and said gravely:
'Welcome to my house!'
Chiao Tai drank and found the strong liquor flavoured with aniseed rather good. The chickens smelled nice, but he was at a loss how to eat them, for he saw no chopsticks. After a few more rounds, Mansur and Yau tore a chicken apart with their fingers, and he followed their example. He took a bite from the leg and found it excellent. After the chicken came a platter heaped with saffron rice, fried with sliced lamb, raisins and almonds. Chiao Tai liked that too; he ate it as the others did, kneading the rice into lumps with his fingers. After he had washed his hands in scented water from the basin that the servant presented to him, he leaned back against the pillow and said with a contented grin:
'Very good indeed! Let's have another round!' After they had emptied their goblets, he said to Mansur:
'We are neighbours, you know! I am staying in the Five Immortals' Inn. Tell me, are all your countrymen living in this particular quarter?'
'Most of them do. We like to be near our place of worship. Our prayers are announced from the top of the minaret, and when one of our ships enters the estuary, we light a beacon fire there and say prayers for a safe landing.' He took a long draught, then went on: 'About fifty years ago a relative of our Prophet — the peace of Allah be upon him! — came to this city and died in his abode outside the north-east gate. Many true believers settled down in that holy place, to tend to his tomb. Further, our sailors live as a rule in the six large hostels, not far from the custom-house.'
'I met here a Chinese sea captain,' Chiao Tai resumed, 'who speaks your language. Fellow called Nee.'
Mansur gave him a wary look. He said in a level voice:
'Nee's father was a Chinese, but his mother a Persian. The Persians are no good. Our valiant warriors, led by our great Khalif, made mincemeat out of them. Forty years ago, at the battle of Nehavent.'
Yau proposed another round, then asked:
'Is it true that to the west of the Khalif's domain there live white-skinned people, with blue eyes and yellow hair?'
'There can't be real men like that!’ Chiao Tai protested. 'Must be ghosts or devils!’
'They do indeed exist,' Mansur said gravely. 'They fight well, too. They can even write, but the wrong way round, from left to right.'
'That clinches it!’ Chiao Tai said with satisfaction. 'They are ghosts! In the Nether World everything is done exactly the other way round as in the world of men.'