In a humble hair-tent near the estate of lmad Bey lived Suleiman Wida I and his wife and children. They belonged to those Bedouin Arabs who gain their living by tending sheep, and roam about from place to place in search of pastures. This Suleiman, whom people out of fear and respect called Abu Arab, was a giant of a man, with broad shoulders and a dried-up face, over which the skin was tightly drawn. As he walked along, wrapped in his great white shaw, he was like a swaying camel, and if you heard him chanting his monotonous song over his shisha, you would imagine yourself listening to a howling wolf. He was quick to anger, and if anyone provoked him, he would become like an enraged bull; yet he was easily calmed down, and, when humored, became as gentle as a lamb: all smiles and good-will.
He bore great love toward his six children and treated them with the tenderness of a mother. He also had a dog named Dahab, which had an equal place in his heart with his children. He had found the animal by chance, when it was still a puppy, almost dying of hunger. He had taken good care of it, till it grew up. and became the guardian of his flock, the protector of his tent. Dahab was a black, shaggy, ferocious-looking dog, which had grown to be like its master in character—fierce when the occasion demanded, gentle at other times.
Imad Bey, the owner of the estate, lived with his wife and Hamid, his only son, in his old house, which the peasants called ‘The Manor.’ Hamid was a spoilt lad of ten, whose parent’s love for him bordered on worship. He spent his time with his servant, Mabrouk, trying to catch birds and fish, or playing on the hills at the edge of the canal, from which the two would hurl down stones at the dogs. As a result of the boy’s teasing, bitter enmity grew up between him and Dahab. Whenever the dog divined Hamid’s presence—even a good way off—it would prick up its ears and sniff the air, glaring savagely in the boy’s direction and preparing for attack. Then it would begin to bark loudly. If Hamid, when with his friends, caught a glimpse of Dahab, he would rain down a shower of stones on the animal, and then seek the protection of his companions against possible retaliation.
One day Hamid went out as usual with Mabrouk to play on the hills. They were alone. The dog chanced to come along, and as it was busy drinking from the canal Hamid threw a sharp stone at it, which drew blood from its head. Dahab swung round furiously, looking for the culprit, though knowing it could be none other than Hamid. The boy had sought safety with his servant on the peak of a high, steep hill; but the dog, instinctively aware of this, rushed up the slope, barking and taking no heed of the hail of stones it encountered. The boy, perceiving that he was in danger, began shouting in a choked voice for Mabrouk to come to his help; but the other, to save his own skin, had taken to his heels. The dog found its path clear, and rushed forward with additional strength and courage. It had almost reached the summit of the hill, and only a short distance separated it from the boy. Hamid saw his enemy drawing near, its eyes blazing like fire, its hair bristling, and he trembled. But suddenly he was conscious of a strange power entering him, and, like a soldier with his back to the wall, he took up a desperate stand. The dog, too, paused, glaring at its adversary with blazing eyes, preparing for the mortal attack. A moment passed thus, with the two enemies facing each other, motionless as statues. At last the dog sprang; but the boy was quicker, and, hurling a stone, cut the dog’s head open. The animal staggered and recoiled. It tried to muster its strength to renew the attack, blood pouring down its face and making a red mist before its eyes. Then it lost its balance, tumbled over, and went rolling down the slope.
At the bottom it stopped and lay still. The boy stared horror-stricken at the corpse, and his eyes followed the trail of blood right down the hill. Suddenly he felt strangely faint; he sat on the ground, shaking all over, his face deathly pale.
On his way home Abu Arab heard sounds of wailing and lamentation coming from his tent. He was puzzled, and feared that there had been an accident. He entered hurriedly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
They all bowed their heads in silence. Abu Arab glanced round and saw that everyone was there. He hastened out to where his flock was grazing; he found nothing missing, but, noticing that Dahab was not to be seen, he returned to the tent.
No one answered.
“It—it was for him you were wailing?”
One of the boys nodded.
“How did he die? Was he killed, or was it an accident?”
His wife softly approached and began to tell him the manner of the dog’s death. He listened without interrupting; but soon his face paled, and he was seized by ungovernable rage.
“By the head of my father,” he shouted, “I will kill him! And in the same way as he killed Dahab.”
Several months went by, and people forgot the incident of the dog’s death. But when darkness and the silence of sleep descended on the estate, Abu Arab would prowl like a wolf round Imad Bey’s house, waiting for the opportunity to carry out the vengeance he had sworn.
One night he left his tent and made his way toward ‘The Manor.’ He was muffled in his great shawl, and carried a lot of sharp and heavy stones, which weighed him down as he crept stealthily along. He wriggled over the fence, jumping down into the garden with the agility of a cat. Then he climbed a tree very near the window of the boy’s room, and hid himself in the dense foliage. Here he waited and watched, with eyes of a predatory hawk.
An hour passed, during which time Hamid kept coming into the room and going out again into the hall, never settling anywhere. Abu Arab began nervously fingering the stones that lay in the folds of his gown.
At last Hamid’s mother came in with her son, carrying him to his bed, where she laid him down to sleep. The child clasped her round the neck, smothering her with kisses; so she took him in her arms again, hugging and kissing him, and gazing at him with tender adoration.
Abu Arab sat tense, watching as the mother lovingly fondled her son and listened to his merry, childish laughter. She rose with the boy in her arms, and walked slowly round the room, singing in a gentle voice, the child hanging round her neck, his eyes closed in sweet content.
A strange numbness, coupled with a feeling of deep depression, took possession of Abu Arab; a stone slipped from his hand. At last, when the mother perceived that her darling was asleep, she approached the bed and laid him in it. Covering him up and kissing him softly on the forehead, she tiptoed from the room.
For a long time Abu Arab gazed at the sleeping, blissfully smiling child. He, too, gave an awkward, embarrassed smile, as if in reply. A sudden pain, like a dagger-thrust, pierced his heart; he leapt to the ground, and began running along the road to his tent, filled with self-loathing. As soon as he reached his tent, he hurried to his son, who was the same age as Hamid, and, taking him in his arms, began eagerly hugging and kissing him, while the tears streamed from his eyes.