Re: Twentieth Wife Ebook Free Download
Takeshi Krueger
The midwife rose slowly from her haunches, aged joints creaking, and hobbled to the entrance. She fastened the flap, came back to the woman, lifted the blanket, and peered between her legs. The woman winced as callused dirt-encrusted fingers prodded her.
The brazier in the corner flared to life as the midwife fanned the camel-dung embers. The woman lay back, sweat cooling on her forehead, her face worn with pain. In a few minutes, another contraction swept her lower back. She clamped down on her lower lip to keep from crying out, not wanting them to worry outside the tent, unaware that the screeching gale swallowed even the loudest wail.
Ghias Beg broke away from the group around the fire and, picking his way past the animals, trudged to the tent where his wife lay. Barely visible in the flying sand, three children crouched against the flapping black canvas, arms around one another, eyes shut against the gale. Ghias Beg touched the shoulder of the elder boy. Muhammad, he yelled over the sound of the wind. Is your mother all right?
Ghias raised his head as the howling wind faltered for a second and the faint scream of a newborn babe pierced through the sudden lull. He immediately turned west toward Mecca, knelt on the hard ground, and raised his hands. Allah, let the child be healthy and the mother safe, he prayed in silence. His hands fell to his side when the prayer was done. Another child now, when his fortunes were at their lowest. He turned to look toward the camp, the black tents barely distinguishable in the dust storm. He should go to Asmat, but his feet would not move toward his darling wife.
Ghias rose, leaving his wife near the fire, and went into the tent. He had thought about this for a long time. Asmat could not feed the child because her milk had dried up, and at every cry her heart broke, for her child cried for milk, and she had none. They were feeding Mehrunnisa sugar water, into which they dipped a clean cloth and gave it to her to suck on, but it was not enough. She had lost weight at an alarming rate and was now much smaller than she had been at birth. Ghias was deeply ashamed that he could not take care of his family, that he had brought them to this. And he was terrified about this decision. But in his mind, it had to be done. He could not watch as Mehrunnisa became weaker and weaker each day. If he left her for someone else to find, they would bring her up and look after her. Others had done this, Ghias knew. Others had found children on the wayside and brought them into their homes as their own children. He picked up the baby and an oil lantern. She had fallen asleep again, a fretful sleep of hunger. When he came out of the tent he said to Asmat, I should do so now, when she is asleep.
Just such a poor little cottage as this was the one in my story, and init dwelt a husband and wife. Few as their possessions were, one of themthey could do without, and that was a horse, that used to graze in the[Pg 10]ditch beside the highroad. The good-man rode on it to town, he lent itto his neighbors, and received slight services from them in return, butstill it would be more profitable to sell the horse, or else exchange itfor something they could make of more frequent use. But which shouldthey do? sell, or exchange?
"Better and better!" cried the wife. "You are always so thoughtful; wehave only just grass enough for a sheep. But now we shall have ewe'smilk, and ewe's cheese, and woolen stockings, nay, woolen jackets too;and a cow would not give us that; she loses all her hairs. But you arealways such a clever fellow."
"Then I must give thee a kiss," cried the wife. "Thanks, my own husband.And now I have something to tell. When you were gone I thought how Icould get a right good dinner ready for you: omelets with parsley. Now Ihad the eggs, but not the parsley. So I went over to the schoolmaster's;they have parsley, I know, but the woman is so crabbed, she wantedsomething for it. Now what could I give her? nothing grows in ourgarden, not even a rotten apple, not even that had I for her; but now Ican give her ten, nay, a whole sackful. That is famous, good-man!" andshe kissed him again.
Certainly virtue is her own reward, when the wife is sure that herhusband is the wisest man in the world, and that whatever he does isright. So now you have heard this old story that was once told to me,and I hope have learnt the moral.[Pg 17]
THERE was once upon a time a fisherman who had fished all day long andhad caught not so much as a sprat. So at night there he sat by the fire,rubbing his knees and warming his shins, and waiting for supper that hiswife was cooking for him, and his hunger was as sharp as vinegar, andhis temper hot enough to fry fat.
The fisherman's wife stood gasping and staring at the strange figure,but the old man in red walked straight into the hut. "Bring your nets,fisherman," said he, "and come with me. There is something that[Pg 20] I wantyou to catch for me, and if I have luck I will pay you for your fishingas never fisherman was paid before."
"Not I," said the fisherman; "I go out no more this night. I have beenfishing all day long until my back is nearly broken, and have caughtnothing, and now I am not such a fool as to go out and leave a goodsupper and a warm fire at your bidding." But the fisherman's wife hadlistened to what the old man had said about paying for the job, and shewas of a different mind from her husband. "Come," said she, "the old manpromises to pay you well. This is not a chance to be lost, I can tellyou, and my advice to you is that you go."
The fisherman grumbled and grumbled, and swore that he would not go. Thewife said nothing but one thing. She did not argue; she did not lose hertemper; she only said to everything that he said, "My advice to you isthat you go."
At last the fisherman's anger boiled over. "Very well," said he,spitting his words at her; "if you drive[Pg 21] me out into the night, Isuppose I will have to go." And then he spoke the words that so many mensay: "Many a man has come to trouble by following his wife's advice."
The good wife was in bed, snoring away for dear life; but such a noiseas the fisherman made coming into the house was enough to wake the dead.Up she jumped, and there she sat, staring and winking with sleep, andwith her brains as addled as a duck's egg in a thunderstorm.
"Ay," laughed Len, deep an' hearty. "The winds are at the will o' himthat handles it; but too great a power is that to be given careless tomortal man. What reward will ye have, now? Whether gold, or power aboveother men, or the fairest o' maids for yer wife?"
Now, if Thessaly is the country of magic, it is also the country ofrobbers, and Apuleius soon noticed that everybody he met was in fear ofthem. Indeed, they made this fear the excuse for all sorts of mean andfoolish ways. For instance, Milo, who loved money and could not bear tospend a farthing, refused to have any seats in his house that could beremoved, and in consequence there was nothing to sit upon except twomarble chairs fixed to the wall. As there was only room in these for oneperson, the wife of Milo had to retire to her own chamber when the youngman entered.
The breath was hardly back in his body before he heard footsteps, andalong the beach came a woman, and passed close by to him. He lay veryquiet, and as she came near he saw 'twas Sarah Rowett, that used to beArchelaus's wife, but had married another man since. She was knitting asshe went by, and did not seem to notice my grandfather; but he heard hersay to herself, "The hour is come, and the man is come."[Pg 292]
Then, without a word more, Childe Rowland drew the good brand that neverstruck in vain, and off went the horse-herd's head, and Childe Rowlandwent on further, till he came to the cow-herd, and asked him[Pg 303] the samequestion. "I can't tell thee," said he, "but go on a little further, andthou wilt come to the hen-wife, and she is sure to know." Then ChildeRowland out with his good brand, that never struck in vain, and off wentthe cow-herd's head. And he went on a little further, till he came to anold woman in a gray cloak, and he asked her if she knew where the DarkTower of the King of Elfland was. "Go on a little further," said thehen-wife, "till you come to a round green hill, surrounded withterrace-rings, from the bottom to the top; go round it three times,'widershins,' and each time say:
and the third time the door will open, and you may go in." And ChildeRowland was just going on, when he remembered what he had to do; so heout with the good brand, that never struck in vain, and off went thehen-wife's head.
Now Tam's wife, whose name was Kate, was a grievous scold; alwaysnagging and faultfinding, and I fear making it far easier for Tam to dowrong than if she had treated him more kindly. However that may be, Tamwas happier away from home; and this day had escaped his wife's scoldingtongue, mounted his good gray mare Meg, and galloped off as fast as hecould go to Market.
There was a kind of closet, formed by a wooden partition on thekitchen-stairs, and a large knot having been driven out of one of thedeal-boards of which it was made, there remained a round hole. Intothis, one day, the farmer's youngest boy stuck the shoe-horn with whichhe was amusing himself, when immediately it was thrown out again, andstruck the boy on the head. Of course it was the Boggart did this, andit soon be[Pg 328]came their sport, which they called larking with theBoggart, to put the shoe-horn into the hole and have it shot back atthem. But the gamesome Boggart at length proved such a torment that thefarmer and his wife resolved to quit the house and let him have it allto himself. This settled, the flitting day came, and the farmer and hisfamily were following the last loads of furniture, when a neighbor namedJohn Marshall came up.
Called 'the king of Correspondents', Henry W. Nevinson (1856-1941) captured the political zeitgeist in his newspaper journalism and books about conflicts across the globe. He provided astute, first-hand observations on events such as war between Greece and Turkey, the Siege of Ladysmith in South Africa, the aftermath of the 1905 Russian Revolution and the Gallipoli tragedy in the First World War, his copy obtained in perilous situations.
He bravely exposed the persistence of slavery in Angola, unrest in India and conflict in Ireland, his vivid and exquisite prose shocking and enlightening British readers. He cultivated controversy with his brave stance on issues like women's suffrage and the self-determination of small nations such as Georgia. His first wife, Margaret Wynne Nevinson, was a suffragette and writer, their son the celebrated artist C.R. W. Nevinson. In the 1920s Henry Nevinson accompanied Ramsay MacDonald on the first visit of a British Prime Minister to an American President. His perspectives, whether on the Middle East, the Balkans, Russia or the United States, illuminate many of the conflicts which resonate in today's uncertain world.