North Central High School - Tamarack Yearbook (Spokane, WA)

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THE TAMARACK The Beggar of Tripoli Second Pbizk Story By Margaret Carter The streets of Tripoli are very narrow and crooked. They are jiaved with cobblestones, and vaults overhead make them look like long winding tunnels with patches of blue sky showing intermittently above. The homes of the wealthy merchants and C.iids i)resent solid gloomy fronts which seem to guard jealously secrets and mysteries of the East. Murder could be committed behind them and no one know. Their only evidence of life lies in the small barred windows through which wistful, almond shai)ed eyes may be furtively watch- ing the doings of the busy street below. At three o ' clock in the morning, however, Tripoli was asleep. A concealing fog shrouded the details of the cold mansions so th.it the opening of one of the massive, carved doors was barely di.scernible. The huge iron hinges creaked ominously; the door swung slowly open, and an aged beggar slipped forth. It would seem as if a black hearted pirate should have stepped from the misty gloom rather than th.it crippled, bent old man. Filthy rags, which were loosely wrapped around him, drag- ged behind him, making a soft whispering sound on the cobblestones. He wore a turban of old sacking which was pulled low over his bushy white eyebrows and contrasted, even in its dingy grayness, with the darkness of his comi)lcxion. His eyes peered forth upon the world with an evil, intelligent look. His face was furrowed with wrinkles, all but the skin over his cheekbones. This was smooth as a baby ' s and tended to accent his already high cheekbones. His brows were drawn together and two extremely deep lines ran vertically between his eyes. His feet were bound with rags and he aided his walking by using a long crooked stick which was worn smooth and shiny by continual use. Old Grund, as he was called, crept slowly and painfully along to the bazaar el-Attarin, the market of perfumery, W ' here he seated himself in a conspicuous place. He was the first arrival at the bazaar, but soon other beggars came, Jewish money changers appeared, and perfume sellers arrived and opened their shops. They started the mixing of clear colored liquids in tiny viands, and a lieavy, vague odor gradually filled the bazaar. Later the customers came. Sheiks in from the desert were buying jjerfume for their wives and daughters. Women, with beautiful black lace veils concealing their features, bought perfumes to enhance their charms and perhaps gain favor with their husbands. The beggars immediately set up a wail in whining, monoto- nous voices, In the name of Allah give alms — in the name of Allah give alms. The dreamy odors of the perfumes, the gloomy wails of beggars, the whir of wings of ])igeons and the gesticulating, chattering shop keepers all combined in forming a depressing atmosphere, steeped in the mysteries of the East. The Koran, religious book of the Moslems, teaches that alms should be given freely to the poor. The customers of the bazaar lawfully avoided these donations by saying simply, May Allah satisfy all thy wants. And they passed on. They gave to no beggar until they came to Old Grund. No person, rich or poor, passed him by without giving him alms. His eyes had a strong, hypnotising quality that seemed to read the very thoughts of all he looked at. No one could resist his In the n.ime of Allah give alms which he repeated over and over in a high, penetrating voice that fell un] leasantly on the ear. He placed all his alms in a strong camel skin bag which hung from his waist. The morning passed; tlie noon and the afternoon filed monotonously by. The steady drone of the market had the effect of a drug upon one ' s senses. Always Grund sat at attention, never moving his body, always keeping up the steady, shrill wail, In the name of Allah give alms. He did not leave the bazaar until the shades of night had folded long black arms about everything. Then only did the Beggar Grund move. He walked slowly back to the huge man- sion from which he had come in the morning. The door creaked behind him and he was lost to sight. [39]

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THE TAMARACK lie won ' t suspect a woman and I may gret a chance to see it, she explained. After considerable argument, Bartholmew agreed to let her try it. After all, it could do no harm. With a fast beating heart, she went up the stei)S to the door of the house and knocked. When the door was opened she started in surprise, for there stood James Marley, her favorite author. Surely tlicre was some mis- take. Miirley, a thief? lmi)ossible, she thought. With a start she realized that he was politely inquiring what he could do for her. Somehow she managed to mumble something about a charity club and asked him if he would sub- .scribe .something to it. He said he would do so and asked her to come inside. Sitting at a small table, she told him that the people she represented wanted to buy a small farm in the country to give some orphans a real home. He asked Doris what society she represented and she named a ))rominent one. Taking a pen, he wrote out a check and handed it to her. With a gasp of surprise, she read the amount on the check. The society could afford to purchase several farms ! Reaching for her hat on the table, she clumsily upset a tumbler of water and — out onto her lap rolled the Sidney Dia- mond ! Doris had succeeded where Parker had failed. However, Parker was not much to be blamed, for a diamond in a tumbler of water isn ' t very conspicuous. Marley had reasoned wisely that tlie very simplicity of the hiding- place insured its success. Doris looked at the diamond In her laj) and turned pale. You are Black Mask, she accused. With a resigned smile, Marley murmured, Yes. His thoughts leajied backward over the career he had chosen. Like every other crimi- nal in the world, he had thought that he could outwit the forces of law and order. Too late he realized his mistake. The i)rlsons of the United States are filled with men who hold that thought. The prisoners would soon enjoy his company, mu.sed Marley. Meanwhile, a conflict was raging in Doris ' mind. Should she let the man slie admired go to jail for ten or twenty years, or should she lie to her father and Parker? Suddenly she had an inspiration. Marley! she cried. Marley startled from his meditations, begged her pardon. Where do you keep your loot? questioned Doris. In an apartment uptown, replied Marley. Have you disposed of any of it? .she asked. So, I stole solely for the excitement of it, an.swered Marley. If I don ' t reveal your identity as Black Mask, will you return all the loot and give up your double life? she asked eagerly. Marley agreed and a few minutes later Doris left the apartment, with the diamond, wrapi cd In tissue paper, secure in her glove. Several months later, Parker received an invitation to the wedding of Doris and Marley. For .some time he had been following the ro- mance with great Interest. Two of the finest young people I know, said Parker, as he tilted back In his chair to read the evening news. — w — w — TIME First Prizk Poem lly Elsie Degler Yesterday is but a memory, Written in a book of time. Today is but a repetition With just an added line. Tomorrow is not a promise. But just a goal to seek. But tomorrow life . shall .speak. Morning, noon and night each day Shall find me lingering on my way. Each morning I shall rise to find Opportunities I left behind. Kach day I shall learn to live, . nd part with the best I have to give. Kach night I shall close my eyes and say, What did I give the world today? Days and weeks and years go by. But Father Time works on, . nil weaves the golden hours and days Into an everlasting song. Still upon life ' s broad liighw.iy, I unconsciously move ahead. And find I do not live tomorrow. But I live today instead. [38]

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THE TAMARACK When (Jrund entered the house, it was as black and cold as the night outside. He felt his way with his staff into a far corner of the room. There he found garments and exchanged his rags for them. He placed his rags into a box, and called sliarply in Arabic for a ser- vant. The servant, a young negro, silently ap- peared with a dull blue light, which fl ashed and flickered as if the lips of some unseen crea- ture were gently fanning it. He set the lamp in the center of the room, disapjieared, and returned bearing a repast of steaming green tea and barley loaves. Grund silently ate the loaves and sipped the tea, then bade the ser- vant to depart with the dishes. Grund was now dressed in robes and turban of white satin. On his feet he wore yellow embroidered san- dals. His transformation from beggar to a wealthy merchant was astounding. He took the flickering candle and slowly tread his way through the mansion, stopping to peej) into the rooms. They were all elabor- ately furnished and gave forth a musty odor, as if they had been closed for years. From one room to another he passed, handling rare pieces of pottery and mosaic, resting for a moment in some richly ornamented chair or divan. Finally be descended a long flight of stone steps and reached a room with a small heavy iron door. He opened the door and went in. The room was small with a low ceil- ing. There were no windows, as the room was in the center of the house, far below the ground. The floor was padded with rich Oriental rugs. The walls were covered with tapestries of dark colored velvets embroidered with threads of gold and silver. The candle cast weird, uncertain rays of light about the small room. In one corner stood a huge, iron chest, studded with gold. Within it lay heaps of glittering coins, the returns of his hypnotis- ing eye. In front of the chest, an incense burn- er slowly poured forth clouds of fragrant smoke which hung listlessly on the air. Grund seated himself on a chair made of gold and u|)h )lstered with light blue velvet. He emp- tied his camel skin bag into his lap and ran his long, bony fingers through the small heap of gold. His eyes sparkled greedily as he counted the money and emptied it into the chest. Surely, he thought, if he had but a little more he would be happy and would live the remainder of his solitary life in comfort. I shall beg for just another week, then stop, mused the man. He did not admit it even to himself, but in his heart he knew that because of his lust for gold, he would never stop beg- ging; he also knew that because of an East- ern drug called morah, he would never be happy, not if his small room contained all the gold in the world. Grund placed some powdered morah in the incense burner. It smouldered and diffused a heavy black smoke throughout the room. In a few minutes Grund fell into a stupor. The events of his past life marched swiftly before him in a long, blurred, ghost- like procession. He saw him.self as a child, al- ways wishing an l scheming to get what he did not have. He saw himself as a young man, and saw his joy and surprise when he realized his gift of hypnotic eyes. As he gradually put to use this strange power over people, he saw himself fall from merchant to a mere mendi- cant, l)ut simultaneously become the richest man in all Tripoli. Finally he saw himself be- coming addicted to the drug which had brought on the stupor. All the .scenes blurred together and became one vast whirling circle. He grew very dizzy watching it and finally fell from his chair with a crash. There he lay for an hour or more. There he would lie every night. Every day he would beg for alms at the bazaar, until his body, his mind, and even his myster- ious gift finally succumbed to their dread master, morah. ARE YOU SURE? Third Prize Poem By Evelyn Newman Are you sure when you saw the first snowfall It wasn ' t rare powder from the Snow Queen ' s face. Who leaving her palace ' s icy hall Raced with the gale at a whirlwind pace? Are you sure the rain is a drop of water? Or is it a dew-drop from heavenly bower. Swayed gently free by breezes ' light laughter, From Paradi.se dropping, from an Angel ' s bower? Are you sure the sun is a planet of light? Or is it God ' s laugKter enfolding the world, In benevolence making all things bright. Each dark cloud turning with silver em- pearled ? [401