The Scented Garden

110 Ecstasy master of circumstance. XXIX THE MIRAGE Thou art perfect, Habib, in love ; for yesterday when as a test of thy virtue I had thee beaten by the eunuchs, there was no cry of pain. Entirely lost in our love, thy knowledge was only of my member, and not of the blows ; nor could any application of the staves, however vigorous, take away from thee that delight thou hast in me. Thou wast indeed unconscious of thy beating, crying only : “ Press harder and deeper, O mas- ter ! ”, though my member was entirely remote from thy podex, being engulphed in the ambitious and muscular twat of a certain concubine with splendid breasts like erect members1 so firm were they. Such mirage, if it be mirage, is truer than truth, if it be truth. Nothing can shake thee in love, any more than any affliction touches the Sufi. It is therefore of no service that I restore to thy sweet podex its accus- tomed guest. Whether it be there or not, it is there for thee2 ; so that thou wilt never again bemoan thy- self, saying : “ Give me my Nubian ! for without stiffness is the contemptible member of El Qahar the sage.” 1. I have seen such women in Tehuantepee, Moharbhanj, and other places. But even an Eng- lish woman acquires the human figure if deprived