Letters From My Windmill by Alphonse Daudet (korean novels in english TXT) 📕

Now, where on earth would I be able to have a nice time, on a grey

Sunday like this? I know! Sid'Omar's shop is open. I'm going there.

He may have a shop, Sid'Omar, but he is no shopkeeper. He is a princeof the blood line, the son of a former Dey of Algeria, who wasstrangled to death by Turkish soldiers…. When his father was killed,he sought refuge in Milianah with his adored mother. He lived there forseveral years like a fine gentleman philosopher with his greyhounds,falcons, horses, and wives in this attractive and refreshing palace,amongst the orange trees and fountains. Then the French came; we came.Sid'Omar was our enemy at first and allied himself with Abd-el-Kader,but then he fell out with the Emir and surrendered to us. WhileSid'Omar was away from Milianah, the Emir took revenge by pillaging hispalace. He flattened his orange trees, made off with his horses andwives; and killed his mother, cruelly crushing her throat under the lidof a large chest…. Sid'Omar's anger knew no bounds: within the hourhe had enrolled himself in the French army, and we had no better,fiercer soldier, for as long as our war with the Emir lasted. Sid'Omarreturned to Milianah; but even today at the merest mention ofAbd-el-Kader, he grows pale and his eyes light up.

Sid'Omar is sixty now, and despite his age and the smallpox, his facehas stayed rather handsome. He has long eyelashes, with an appealinglook and a charming smile; very prince-like. The war ruined him, andall he has left of his former opulence is a farm in the plain of Chélifand a house in Milianah, where he lives a bourgeois life with his threesons, who are being brought up under his aegis. The local bigwigs holdhim in some veneration. If a dispute breaks out they are only too happyto let him arbitrate; and his judgement usually carries the weight oflaw. He seldom goes out; you can usually find him every afternoon nextdoor in a shop which opens onto the road. It is not opulentlyfurnished; the walls are whitewashed, and there are a circular woodenbench, cushions, long pipes, and two braziers…. This is whereSid'Omar gives his audiences and dispenses justice. Hey! Solomon in ashop.

* * * * *

Today is Sunday and there is a good turn out. A dozen leaders, each intheir burnous, are squatting all around the room, a large pipe andsmall fine filigreed eggcup full of coffee to hand. I go in; nobodymoves…. From where he is, Sid'Omar gives me his most charming smileby way of a greeting and beckons me to sit next to him on a largeyellow silk cushion. He puts a finger to his mouth to indicate that Ishould listen.

The case is between the leader of the Beni-Zougzougs and a Jew fromMilianah, who are having a dispute about a plot of land. The twoparties had agreed to put their differences to Sid'Omar and to abide byhis judgement. The meeting is set for this very day, and the witnessesare assembled. Surprisingly, it is my Jew, and he is having secondthoughts and has come alone, without witnesses, declaring that he wouldprefer to rely on the judgement of a French Justice of the Peace thanon Sid'Omar's…. That was where things stood when I arrived.

The Jew—old, greying beard, brown jacket, blue stockings, and velvetcap—raises his eyes to the sky and rolls them, kisses Sid'Omar's silkslippers, bows his head, kneels down, and clasps his hands together,pleadingly…. I have no Arabic, but from the Jew's miming and from thewords Joustees of the peace, Joustees of the peace, which he keepsrepeating, I get the gist of what he is saying.

—I have no doubts about Sid'Omar, Sid'Omar is wise, Sid'Omar isjust…. But, the Joustees of the Peace would be more suitable for ourbusiness.

The audience is indignant, and yet remains impassive as Arabs do….Stretched out on his cushion, his eyes blurred, the amber book to hislips, Sid'Omar—that master of irony—smiles as he listens. Suddenly,at the height of his pleas, the Jew is interrupted by an energeticcaramba! which stops him. Dead. The voice belongs to a Spanishcolonial, who has come as a witness for the leader, and who then leaveshis place and approaches the Judas Jew, and pours a bucketful ofimprecations in all tongues and shades of blue over his head—mixedwith other French expressions too gross to repeat…. Sid'Omar's son,who understands French, reddened on hearing such words in front of hisfather and leaves—keeping up an Arabic tradition. The audience isstill impassive, Sid'Omar still smiling on. The Jew stands up and backstowards the door, trembling and scared, and babbles on about hiseverlasting, Joustees of the Peas, Joustees of the Peas…. Heleaves. The Spaniard, furious, is at his heels and meets up with him inthe road before hitting him; twice; full in the face…. the Jew fallsto his knees, with his arms covering his face. The Spaniard, a littleashamed of himself, comes back into the shop…. As soon as he issafely inside, the Jew gets up with a shifty look at the motley crowdsurrounding him. There were people of many races and coloursthere—Maltese, Minorcans, Negroes, and Arabs, all united—for once—inhating the Jew and loving to see him so maltreated…. The Jewhesitates a while, then grabs an Arab by his burnous:

—You saw him … Achmed, you saw him … you were there!… TheChristian hit me … you shall be a witness … yes … yes … youshall be a witness.

The Arab frees his burnous and pushes the Jew away…. He knowsnothing; he's seen nothing; he was looking the other way….

—How about you, Kaddour, you saw him…. You saw the Christian strikeme … shouts my unfortunate Jew to a big Negro who is impassivelypeeling a Barbary fig….

The Negro spits his contempt and moves away, he hasn't seen a thing.Neither has the little Maltese, whose coal-black eyes glisten viciouslyunder his biretta; nor the rust-coloured girl from Mahon who, placing abasket of pomegranates on her head, laughs it all, and him, off….

No matter how much the Jew shouts, pleads, demeans himself … nowitnesses! Nobody saw anything…. By chance, just