Opening of the book
The Man Who Limped
By
OTIS ADELBERT KLINE
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Oriental Stories,
October-November 1930.]
The strange and disagreeable adventure of Hamed the Attar, and how he overcame his perverse hatred of women.
You wonder why I limp, effendi? You are too considerate to ask, of course, but I, whom Allah, in his infinite goodness and mercy, has already permitted two years beyond man’s allotted three score and ten, have learned to read the thoughts of people by their expressions.
Serving as a dragoman sharpens the wits.
You will hear the story? So be it. Here is the coffee-shop of Silat where we can rest in comfort, and the tale will serve to while away the time. This cushioned diwan is better than the sidewalk stools, and more quiet.
Ho, Silat! Pipes and coffee for two.
You know me, effendi, as Hamed bin Ayyub, the Dragoman, for thus it is that I have been known for many a year—subsisting on the baksheesh of worthy travelers like yourself, and showing them the sights of the Holy City.
None remain who remember me as Hamed the Attar, for full fifty years have passed since I was a druggist and perfumer with a prosperous shop of my own.
Looking on this gray beard, this wrinkled countenance, and this withered frame, you will scarce be able to picture Hamed the Attar, for in those days I was a handsome youth with a skin as smooth as peach-bloom, a beard as black as night, and a tall, straight body that was the envy of many of my less favored acquaintances.
Most of my customers, effendi, were women, and I was patronized
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