The deserted villages
untended shoots of scarlet runners and pumpkin out across our
path. We called and called without answer. A cat came at
last, and rubbed itself against the wooden uninhabited colon-
nade. Grape vines trailed everywhere, and unripe figs hung
over the path. A solitary donkey, round and sleek, with
evidently no arriere-pensee of toil, came browsing about, pick-
ing out a green morsel from the gardens here and there. And
round the village, fields of arzan, which seems to be a sort of
millet, stood waving almost ready for the harvest, with not a
soul to gather them.
We abandoned Baude and went on southward by a wide
track almost good enough for cars, with the river running
against us in a cliffbed far below. Its voice grew louder as the
darkness fell; everywhere else the same inhuman stillness lay.
Mosquitoes began to hum in the twilight, explaining die
valley's solitude, for these unhealthy lowlands are left in sum-
mer, while the population lives in mountain yailaohs a few
hours' climb above.
Down by the water, a half-dozen houses and a bridge, reached
by a steep path, is Barazan. We looked at it intently from
the top of the cliff, and seeing no movement there, concluded
that it, too, must be deserted, and walked on—the Milky Way
in a straight line above us in the narrow valley. The darkness
grew so thick that gradually even the mules* ears were lost to
sight. 'Aziz sang. He sang of the young tribesman who,
with gun slung on his shoulder, went to the fair of Tunakabun
and there saw Zerengis.
" Thou hast a tent in the summer, ai Zerengis.
Thy short coatee is made of velvet, ai Zerengis.
My breast is full of trouble, ai Zerengis.
Fearing that thou hast loved another, ai Zerengis.
Thy love turns towards me, ai Zerengis.**
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