“No, no, Mamduh, my harem is already more numerous than King Solomon’s, who also sought—and in vain—the one perfect queen. The multiplication table cannot help me solve the problem of love. No, Mamduh, seek no more. Your exquisite taste has already accomplished miracles. But, alas, however many zeroes we add to a number, infinity remains distant and unapproachable…
“Beauty, my friends, is a magnificent vase, broken into a thousand parts. However expert we may be at piecing them together again, some chip is missing, or is wrongly united, and if, by some supreme good fortune, we restore the vessel to its original form, we cannot hide from the touch, the cicatrice, the scar where we have joined them together.”
My friends tried to console me.
“Perhaps man should not seek to remember, but rather to forget…” I suggested.
I ordered festivities, such as Nero and Heliogabalus had never dreamt of. I invited the Rajahs and the Princes of many cities. The most famous cooks of Arabia prepared dishes of so many varieties that names could no longer be invented for them. Wines of fifty nations flowed incessantly into golden goblets. My harem danced before us to the music of all races, and at night procured us tortures that delighted, and pleasures that agonized.
Some guests, unable to endure the torments of delight, left. Many, persisting, succumbed. Among these were my two dear masters, Ali and Mamduh. At last, only Kotikokura and myself remained,—perennial survivors of the cataclysm of joy.
“Are we owls, Kotikokura, perching forever upon ruins?”
He grinned.
My women, woefully decimated, wandered in the garden, like strange peacocks, endeavoring to entice me. I saw merely the ugly feet. I heard only disagreeable voices.
“What shall I do with these creatures, Kotikokura? I can neither take them with me, should I desire to continue my wanderings, nor can I leave them here, to starve. After all, there was something of beauty in them, something that reminded me of the unforgettable past. Should Ca-ta-pha imitate other gods, who send floods and earthquakes when they can no longer endure the sight of their creatures?”
He shook his head.
“Should not Ca-ta-pha be more reasonable and more kindly?”
He nodded.
“Very well, then, Kotikokura, since we have so much time at our disposal, we shall be merciful and just. We shall wait patiently until these creatures die, one by one, and when the last is gone, we can continue our journey… Meanwhile, there are many problems that my late master, Ali—may he be happy in Paradise—has left unfinished; problems that merit solution.”
XXVII: THE MASTER OF THE HAREM—TIME DISAPPEARS—I DISCOVER RELATIVITY—FUNERALS—KOTIKOKURA ACCELERATES FATE—THE MOSQUE OF A THOUSAND GRAVES
ALI had found in me an apt pupil. My theories made the heart of the mathematician leap. I unfolded to him the knowledge I had gathered in the monasteries of Thibet. I recounted bold astronomical formulæ which I had worked out, assisted by the secret lore of the Hindus, while Asi-ma, the Rajah’s sister, purred at my feet like a magnificent lioness.
“Heaven descended into the eyes of my beloved, Ali, and it was both easy and delectable to learn the secrets of the stars.”
He sighed.
“Where is Heaven, in truth, Ali?”
“It all depends.”
“Upon what?”
“Upon where a man happens to be.”
Our discussion, purely sentimental, suggested an idea which I could not formulate clearly at the moment it took place, but which now, since the death of Ali and my futile orgies, had taken complete possession of me. If heaven depended upon one’s position, did not the earth depend upon one’s position also? Did everything depend upon one’s position? What, then, was Truth? An entity—eternal and unchangeable—or a variable thing, fluctuating with one’s position? And Time—was that not purely an illusion, nonexistent, perhaps? Had not some years appeared to me shorter than hours, and could I not remember some hours longer than years?
“Kotikokura, henceforth you are the lord of the harem, and master supreme of my earthly goods. Ca-ta-pha retires to his tower, to meditate upon time and space and the final meaning of truth.”
Kotikokura took my hands in his, and looked into my eyes, his own filled with tears.
“No, no, my friend, do not mistake my intention. Kotikokura will not disturb me. He may visit me whenever he pleases.”
His face beamed. His eyes dashed so rapidly from one corner to the other that I could not look at them.
“Kotikokura, be a kindly master. Remember that justice is mainly pity. You are dealing with creatures whose years at best are few. Should they not endeavor to derive as much pleasure as possible from a world which is generous only in pain and in disillusion? Their life will be an attempt to avoid suffering. That indeed is the meaning of happiness. They will commit theft, adultery, and murder occasionally. They will tell lies, use flattery, and gossip. They will wallow in dirt like hogs, and pretend death, like foxes. And always will they be vain and obstinate.
“But all this is in the very nature of things, and should rather amuse than irritate. Be just. Justice, Kotikokura, is three-quarters convenience and one-quarter pity. All other definitions are the rhetoric of politicians and prophets and the vain words of poets. You and I are the masters of time. We can afford to pardon and to laugh. And when absolutely necessary, we may be cruel—or what may seem to be cruel—and laugh, nevertheless. Do not attempt to reform mankind or womankind. It is vainer than sweeping the refuse from one corner of the room to the other, and only raises dust and stench, which irritate the nose and throat. However, don’t hesitate to grant favors, deserved or undeserved.”
Kotikokura murmured, “Ca-ta-pha.”
“Ca-ta-pha, meanwhile, must find out—how things should be judged, Kotikokura. No archangel whispers into his ear. He has no Father in Heaven, no Holy Spirit alighting upon his palm, in the shape of a dove. He must rely upon reason and logic—both precious jewels, hidden within a mountain of stone. Ca-ta-pha must become a hewer and breaker of rock. Hard labor harmonizes with the law of his being. He is not a fragile receptacle, but a huge hammer, hammering God.”
The conclusions I reached astounded me. Infinity, eternity, dwindled into mere circles. Time disappeared. Space changed shape and size like clouds blown about by the wind. The earth lost its solidity, and spun under my feet like a toy. The stars were underneath and above me. Everything whirled about everything else, and nothing seemed constant, save a fantastic and passionate dance. Could this be the ultimate meaning of Life and of the Universe? I rebelled against it. I yearned for something less amorphous, more tangible, more comforting. I worked over my charts and my problems again and again. Always the result was the same. The equations, like an apothecary’s scale, balanced perfectly.
I looked out of the window. A moon as clear and as dazzling as the one I had watched with Apollonius long ago from the threshold of his home, adorned as a perfect jewel, heaven’s forehead. Some clouds crept over it for a while, and vanished.
Kotikokura entered, informing me that one of my concubines had died during the day and would, according to Mohammedan law, be buried that evening.
“I shall come to the funeral, Kotikokura.”
Kotikokura looked at me, startled. It was the first time, since my seclusion, that I had spoken of my return.
“Are you glad, Kotikokura, that I shall be once again with you?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“You must not be too sentimental, my friend.”
He kissed my hand.
“Or, perhaps, it is just as well. Sentiment is a more pleasant companion than reason.”
A large part of the orchard had been cleared and turned into a cemetery. Already ninety stone slabs glared in the wide reflection of the moon, throwing their own shadows, like wraiths of the dead. Upon each tomb was engraved the name of some dead concubine, and a prayer to Allah.