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

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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

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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 On a Mistif Hight TiiiBD Prizk Stohy By Joy Clark The fog had clung about the city all even- ing, and now great rain drops fell through the mist and spattered on the pavements. A dark stooped figure, wrapped in a ragged rain coat, turned the corner and started down the avenue. His coat collar wa.s turned up to protect his neck, his hat was pulled down over his eyes, and he walked in an aimless manner, glancing neither toward the tall silent build- ings, nor the street, where reflections from the arc lights gleamed hazily on the wet as- phalt. He seemed uncon.scious of the rain, which beat about him, and of the few strag- glers, who passed him in the gloom. He stum- bled along as if he were moving in a dream, and had no idea of where he was going — and cared not at all. If one had searched, he would have found no money in his pockets, only a queer piece of iron, and a little crumpled picture of a woman with a child in her lap. A street clock chimed on some corner and the sounds came struggling through the mist. The two muffled notes must have penetrated the mind of the man; for be stopped, and stood still there in the center of the side- walk. The rain pattered on his old coat for per- haps five minutes before he moved. Then, straightening his back and pulling his hat down further over his face, he wheeled and started back in the direction from which he had come. He walked rapidly as if he wished to accomplish something before he again lost his courage. Sjtlasliing through the water that was beginning to form in pools in tlie uneven places of the pavement, he pas.sed deserted, gloomy stores, that during the day were busy places of business. No one pa.ssed him; every one seemed to have gone in out of the rain. Once in awhile a car flashed by, but it made tlie stret ' t seem even more lonely when it was gone. The solitary figure at last paused before an alley opening. Peei)ing from under his hat, first up the street and then down, he entered the opening. The splash — splash of his feet, as lie ran, sounded loudly between the walls of the buildings, He slowed down to a walk and gazed ahead into the darkness. Stopping before an almost hidden door, he tried cautiously to open it. Failing, he fumbled in various ] ockets and produced that queer piece of iron with which he worked at the lock of the door. Grating noises followed squeaking ones, and soon the do ir opened. The man paused a moment, undecided, then stepped inside. All was dark and still, except for tlic pattering of the dismal raindrops through the half open door. A match scratched and a tiny light flared. It tried to pierce the gloom; but it only went so far as to show ghostly the thin, gaunt fea- tures of the man. He moved forward, trying to feel his way, holding the match before him. He stumbled against .something; the match flickered and went out. All was in darkness again until an- other match .scratched and anotlier flame sprang up. Still moving forward the man seemed to have readied more familiar ground. He had surely been there before, for he tread with more assurance. Other matches replaced the burned ones until the dark figure reached a tall glass case, which contained some objects that could not be distinguished by the light of the match. This case was evidently his destin- ation. He ojiened the long doors and extracted several of the objects. As he ))assed them and in reclosing the ease the name on the wax wrapper of a well-known bread was illuminated. But bread did not end his search. With the aid of more little yellow flames, he reached shelves m which were cans of soups, meats, vegetables and fruits. [41]