Morocco - Tapa blanda

Sinopsis

BY CAPE SPARTEL

O

ver the meadows that blossom and wither Rings but the note of a sea-

bird's song, Only the sun and the rain come hither All year long.

The Deserted Garden.

Before us the Atlantic rolls to the verge of the "tideless, dolorous inland sea."

In the little bay lying between Morocco's solitary lighthouse and the famous

Caves of Spartel, the waters shine in colours that recall in turn the emerald,

the sapphire, and the opal. There is just enough breeze to raise a fine spray as

the baby waves reach the rocks, and to fill the sails of one or two tiny vessels

speeding toward the coast of Spain. There is just enough sun to warm the

water in the pools to a point that makes bathing the most desirable mid-day

pastime, and over land and sea a solemn sense of peace is brooding. From

where the tents are set no other human habitation is in sight. A great spur

of rock, with the green and scarlet of cactus sprawling over it at will, shuts

off lighthouse and telegraph station, while the towering hills above hide the

village of Mediunah, whence our supplies are brought each day at dawn and

sun-setting.

3 S. L. (SAMUEL LEVY) BENSUSAN

Two fishermen, clinging to the steep side of the rock, cast their lines into

the water. They are from the hills, and as far removed from our twentieth

century as their prototypes who were fishing in the sparkling blue not so very

far away when, the world being young, Theocritus passed and gave them

immortality. In the valley to the right, the atmosphere of the Sicilian Idylls is

preserved by two half-clad goatherdswho have brought their flock to pasture

from hillside Mediunah, in whose pens they are kept safe from thieves at

night. As though he were a reincarnation of Daphnis or Menalcas, one of

the brown-skinned boys leans over a little promontory and plays a tuneless

ghaitah, while his companion, a younger lad, gives his eyes to the flock and

his ears to the music. The last rains of this favoured land's brief winter have

passed; beyond the plateau the sun has called flowers to life in every nook and

cranny. Soon the light will grow too strong and blinding, the flowers will

fade beneath it, the shepherds will seek the shade, but in these glad March

days there is no suggestion of the intolerable heat to come.

On the plot of level ground that Nature herself has set in position for a camp,

the tents are pitched. Two hold the impedimenta of travel; in the third Salam

and his assistant work in leisurely fashion, as befits the time and place. Tang-

ier lies no more than twelve miles away, over a road that must be deemed un-

commonly good for Morocco, but I have chosen to live in camp for a week

or two in this remote place, in preparation for a journey to the southern

country. At first the tents were the cynosure of native eyes. Mediunah came

down from its fastness among the hilltops to investigate discreetly from se-

cure corners, prepared for flight so soon as occasion demanded it, if not be-

fore. Happily Salam's keen glance pierced the cover of the advance-guard

and reassured one and all. Confidence established, the village agreed after

much solemn debate to supply eggs, chickens, milk, and vegetables at prices

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