ARTHUR
12

We arrived at the brick wall, through which we passed through the gate to a large field or courtyard. The darkness will allow me to see nothing but lines. Compared to the dimensions of my father's wooden hut, the building in front of me was magnificent. The horses here are accommodated much more magnificently than I was before. Through the large door we entered the elevated hall. "Stay here" he said, "while I take the lamp."

He came back, carrying a candle, before I could reflect on my current situation.

We are now climbing the stairs, covered with painted canvas. No one whose experience is less than mine can imagine for himself the impression made on me by the objects around him. The height of this staircase rises, its dimensions, and its ornaments, to me seem to be a combination of all that is arrogant and extraordinary.

We didn't stop until we reached the third floor. Here my friend unlocks and leads the way to a room. "This," he said, "is my room; allow me to welcome you into it."

I didn't have time to check this room before, by accident, the candle went out. "Cursed be my carelessness!" said. "I have to go down again and light a candle. I'll be back in a moment. In the meantime, you can take off your clothes and go to sleep." He came out, and, as I remembered later, locked the door behind him.

Not that I did not want to follow his advice, but my curiosity would first be satisfied by observing the room. Its height and breadth cannot be perfectly seen by the starlight, and by the light from the street lamp. The floor is covered with carpet, the walls with brilliant decoration; the bed and windows are covered with curtains with rich texture and shiny color. Until now I have only read these things. I know them as decorations of luxury; however, when I look at them, and remember where and what I was at the same hour the day before, I can hardly believe myself waking up, he said, or that my senses were not deceived by a spell.

"Where," I said, "this adventure will end? I woke up the next morning at dawn and hastened my way to the countryside. When tonight is remembered, what it looks like! If I tell that story from the fire-kitchen, my truth will be debated. I'll be aligned with the storytellers Shiraz and Baghdad."

Despite being preoccupied with this reflection, I do not ignore the progress of time. I think my friend was very slow. He had gone only to re-light the candle, but of course he might, all along, have performed tenfold operations. Some unexpected accidents may cause delays.

Another interval passed, and there was no sign of his arrival. I am starting to get nervous. I can't take responsibility for his detention. Wasn't there a betrayal designed? I went to the door, and found that it was locked. This raised my suspicion. I was alone, a stranger, in the upper room of the house. If my conductor disappeared, intentionally or unintentionally, and someone from my family found me here, what would be the consequences? Should I not be arrested as a thief, and put in jail? My transition from street to room will not be faster than my trip to prison.

These ideas panic me. I turned it around again, but they only gained greater possibilities. No doubt I have been the victim of malicious trickery. However, that tendency elicited opposing sentiments, and my fears began to subside. What motives, I ask, can cause humans to injure unintentionally? I can't explain the delay; but how uncountable the possibilities are!

Right now the same voice was heard again, and now I felt that it was coming from the bed. It was accompanied by movements like someone changing his posture. What I initially thought of as moans turned out to be nothing more than the end of a sleeping man. What should I conclude from this incident? My colleague did not tell me that the apartment was inhabited. Is the trick funny or evil?

No need to be intentional. There was no way to hide or escape. That person will one day wake up and detect me. The interval will only be fraught with suffering, and it is wise to shorten it. Should I not pull the curtain, wake the person up, and immediately face all the consequences of my situation? I slid gently onto the bed, as the thought arose, Could it be that the sleeping one is female?

I cannot describe the mixture of fear and shame that shone in my veins. The light in which such a visitor might be perceived by the fear of a woman, the warnings that might be given, the wounds that I might unknowingly inflict or suffer improperly, he said, it makes my mind a painful confusion. My presence may pollute a clean reputation, or fuel jealousy.

Still, even if it was a woman, wouldn't fewer injuries be done by gently disturbing her sleep? But the question of**** is still to be decided. For this purpose I once again approached the bed, and pulled the silk to the side. The one who slept was a baby. This I found with a glimmer of street light.

Part of my attention has now been removed. It was clear that this room belonged to a nurse or a mother. He hasn't come to bed yet. Perhaps it is a married couple, and their approach will probably be expected soon. I imagined for myself their entrance and my own detection. I could not imagine any harmless and terrible consequences, and from him I would not escape in any way. I went back to check the door, and found that a way out through this path was impossible. There's another door in this room. Any practical means in this extremity must be carried out. One of them is bolted. I opened it and found a large space inside. Should I immerse myself in this closet? I don't see the benefits that will eventually result from it. I found that there were bolts on the inside, which somewhat contributed to the safety. Because it was pulled, no one could enter without breaking down the door.

I had just stopped, when the sound of long-awaited footsteps rang out at the entrance. Is that my friend, or a stranger? If it's the latter, I haven't gathered enough courage to meet him. I cannot praise the generosity of my process; but no one can expect a brave or wise action from someone in my circumstances. I stepped into the closet, and closed the door. Someone as soon as they open the door. He is unattended by the light. Footsteps, as they move along the carpet, are almost inaudible.

I waited impatiently for some signs with which I could be arranged. I pressed my ear against the keyhole, and finally heard a voice, but not the voice of my friend, exclaiming, somewhat above the whisper, "The smiling Club! safe and sound, I understand. May my experiment be successful, and you may find a mother where I have found a wife!" There he stopped. She shows up to kiss the baby, and, in retirement, locks the door after him.

These words have no consistent meaning. They served, at least, to convince me that I had been treated fraudulently. This room, it turns out, doesn't belong to my colleague. I prayed to my God that he would free me from this hard work. What is my condition! Drowning in the real darkness! shut up at this unknown recess! lurking like a robber!

My meditation was interrupted by new voices. The door is unlocked, more than one person enters the apartment, and light flows through the keyhole. I saw; but the openings were too small and the numbers passed too quickly to allow me to see them. I bent my ears, and this provided some more authentic information.