I told him the whole story.
“Come with me,” he said then, and he led me into his house and closed the door. Then he gave instructions for food to be served and called for his wife to come. The servant returned to tell him the woman wouldn’t appear with a stranger present.
“Tell her,” the judge said, “my guest is a man of honor, and she must come and eat with us.”
The woman, though, refused to budge, and the judge began to swear oaths, threatening her with divorce if she refused to obey. So at last his wife came out, weeping, and sat down with us.
“Now tell your daughter to come out and join us,” the judge said.
“Are you out of your mind?” the woman said. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve already disgraced me, but at least I’m a mature woman. How dare you give offense to our young daughter?”
The man began once more to swear oaths and threaten to divorce her if she didn’t bring the girl in. So the girl was brought in.
Before me was one of the most beautiful young women I’d seen in my life. My eyes were captivated by her charms. She looked, though, very pale and sick, and I knew this was because of what had happened to her hand.
“Eat with us now,” the judge said.
She began eating with her right hand, hiding the other inside her clothing.
“Take out your left hand,” he told her.
“It has a great abscess on it,” the girl said. “It’s bandaged up tight.”
He insisted, swearing the girl must show her hand. The woman began pleading with her husband.
“Look to yourself, man,” she said, “and preserve the honor of your daughter! I swear by God I never saw anything shameful from this girl before yesterday. She came and woke me after midnight, saying: ‘Mother, save me, or I’ll die!’
“‘What’s the matter then?’ I asked.
“‘I’ve had my hand cut off,’ she answered. ‘I’m losing blood fast. I’ll soon be dead. Do something to help me, quickly!’
“With that she showed me her severed hand. I began wailing and beating her face.
“‘Mother!’ she said. ‘Don’t cause me a scandal with your weeping in front of my father and the neighbors. Do something to help me.’
“‘I don’t know how to treat you,’ I said.
“‘Boil some oil,’ she begged, ‘and dip my hand in it.’
“I did this and bandaged her hand. Then I said:
“‘Now, tell me, what happened?’
“She refused, but I swore by God, warning her I’d take matters up with her father. At last she gave in.
“‘Two years ago,’ she said, ‘I became utterly seized by the idea of digging up graves. I told our maidservant to buy me an unshaved goatskin and two iron gloves. When everyone went to bed, I’d tell her to sleep in the hallway and leave the door unlocked. I’d put on the skin and the gloves and leave the house, walking on all fours, so people who saw me from the roofs of their houses would think I was a dog. I’d go to the graveyard, having found out what dignitaries had died that day and where they were buried. Then I’d move to a particular grave, dig it up, and take the shroud, stuffing it inside my skin. After that I’d walk out and come back home, where I’d open the unfastened door, come in, and lock it. I’d take off my goatskin and the iron gloves and give them to the maid, along with the grave clothes I’d snatched. The maid must have over three hundred shrouds stored for me now, in a special room in the house. I don’t know what to do with them. But going out to fetch those shrouds, then keeping them as my own, gave me such delight, till this dreadful thing happened to me. Last night a man saw what I was going to do. From his actions, he seemed to be the watchman or guard at the cemetery. When I started digging, he attacked me. And when I tried to cuff his face with my iron hand and drive him off so I could run away and save myself, he struck my left arm with his sword and chopped off my hand.’
“‘Listen,’ I said to the girl, ‘I’ll tell you what to do. First, you have to pretend you’ve fallen sick with a big abscess on your hand and stay in bed for some time. Your pale face will give support to the story. After a few days, we’ll [supposedly] tell your father your hand must be cut off, otherwise your whole body will be poisoned and waste away, and you’ll die. He’ll give his permission for us to do that, and we’ll let it be known we’ve amputated your hand to save your life. In fact, it’s your reputation we’ll be saving.’
“And that’s exactly what we did—after the young woman had expressed repentance and begged forgiveness, vowing in the name of God never to do such things again.
“I’d intended,” the mother told her husband, “to sell the maidservant, have my daughter by my side, and keep a closer eye on her. But now you’ve shamed me and brought humiliation on yourself!”
“By God,” the girl said, “my mother’s right. You know I’m sorry now and I’ll never do it again.”
The judge pointed toward me.
“This,” he said, “is your friend who chopped off your hand.”
The girl nearly fainted with fear. But the judge turned to me and asked:
“Where are you from, young man?”
“I’m from Iraq,” I said.
“And why have you come here?”
“To seek an honest living.”
“You’ve found it,” came the answer. “It’s here for you to enjoy. By God, I had no notion of this malady of my daughter’s. Almighty God has blessed us with wealth, and you and I are entrusted with a secret that must not be disclosed. Will you become one of us, and live here in our house? Will you marry my daughter, and let me provide for you from my riches and free you from dependence on other people?”
“I will,” I said.
The judge ordered the food to be taken away, then took me out to the mosque, where people were waiting for him. He had, he told them, agreed to my proposal of marriage, and he married me to his daughter. Then he took me back to the house.
I was infatuated with the girl and made love to her. She lived with me for some months, but she clearly disliked me. I did all I could to appease her and make her happy. I wept at the loss of her hand, making the most profuse apology, and she apparently agreed to forgive me. I supposed she was simply grief-stricken at the loss of her hand.
One night, when I was sound asleep, I turned onto my back for a moment and felt, suddenly, a heavy weight on my chest. There she was over me, her legs holding down my arms, boldly raising a knife in her hand, ready to cut my throat. I tried to save myself by thrusting her off, but in vain. Afraid she might plunge down on me if I moved, I stayed still.
“Just tell me,” I said, “then act however you want. Why are you doing this?”
“Why am I doing this?” she said. “You cut off my hand, and violated me, and married me, and you really think you’re going to get away with it? I swear, by God, you won’t!”
“You’ve missed your chance to kill me now,” I said. “You can wound me, of course, but I’ll escape death, and then I’ll come back and cut your throat. Or maybe I’ll just run off and make a scandal for you—hand you over to the sultan, who’ll uncover your first crime and your second one. You’ll be disowned by your family, then executed.”
“Do whatever you want,” she said. “You’re going to be killed anyway. After all, we’re mortal enemies now.”
Looking at her, I realized I was in serious danger, that I might get a fatal wound. I’d have, I thought, to resort to trickery.
“I have a solution,” I said.
“And what’s that?” she asked.
“I’ll divorce you on the spot,” I said, “and then you can set me free. I’ll leave the town, and you won’t see me again. Your secret will never be known and you’ll never be disgraced. You can marry anyone you like. The townspeople think your hand was amputated because of a poisoned abscess. You’ll keep your good name.”
“Do you swear,” she said, “never to show your face in this town and bring me to disgrace?”
I gave her my most solemn oath. W
ith that she got off my chest, and I lay there as though paralyzed. She ran off abruptly, for fear I might take hold of her. Then she flung away her knife and came back to me. She approached boldly but playfully. She’d only been teasing me, she said.
“Keep away from me!” I yelled. “I’ve pledged myself not to touch you. Tomorrow morning I’ll leave this town and won’t come back ever again.”
“I see now,” she said, “how honest and truthful you are. I swear, if you’d acted any other way, you wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.”
She went away briefly, then came back with a bag.
“Here are a hundred dinars,” she said. “Take them for your expenses. Write out my divorce paper. And don’t ruin my reputation. Now go away!”
I started out from the town after midnight, having written a note to her father, telling him I’d divorced his daughter and left because I was ashamed to face him. I haven’t seen them since.
From Abu ʿAli ʾl-Muhassin al-Tanukhi, Nishwar al-Muhadara wa Akhbar al-Mudhakara (Snippets of Conversation and Memorable Tales), vol. 3.
69
The Old Tailor and His Untimely Call to Prayer
I was told this anecdote by the judge Abu ʾl-Hasan Muhammad ibn Qadi ʿAbd al-Wahid al-Hashimi:
A large sum was owed to a leading tradesman by one of the generals, who constantly put off payment.
“I’d resolved,” the tradesman said, “to appeal to al-Muʿtadid,1 because, whenever I went to try to see the general, he ordered his door to be shut against me and had his slaves insult me. If, on the other hand, I tried gentle means and asked others to mediate, there was no result.
“Then one of my friends said to me: ‘I’ll recover your money for you, and then you needn’t appeal to the caliph. Come with me, now.’
“So I got up, and he took me to a tailor in Tuesday Street, an old man who was seated there sewing and reading the Quran. He told the man what was happening to me and asked him to call on the general and see me righted. The general’s residence was near the tailor’s, and the tailor started off with us. As we walked along, I lagged behind and said to my friend:
“‘You’re exposing this aged man, and yourself, and me, to serious annoyance. When he goes to my debtor’s door, he’ll be cuffed, and so will you and me with him. The general paid no attention to the urging of so-and-so and such and such, took no notice of the vizier even. Is it likely he’ll pay any attention to our friend here?’
“My friend laughed.
“‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Let’s just walk on and see what happens.’
“We reached the general’s door, and, when his slaves saw the tailor, they treated him with reverence, rushing to kiss his hand, which he wouldn’t permit. Then they said:
“‘What brings you here, sir? The master’s out riding, but if there’s anything we can do, we’ll do it at once. If not, then come in and take a seat till he’s back.’
“This reassured me, and we went inside and sat down. Presently the man came, and, when he saw the tailor, became most respectful.
“‘You must give me your instructions,’ he said, ‘before I even go to change my clothes.’
“The tailor then spoke to him of my matter. He assured the tailor he had no more than five thousand dirhams in the house, but begged him to take those and to take his silver and gold harness as pledges for the rest, which he would pay within a month. I readily agreed to this, and he produced the dirhams, along with harness to the value of the remainder; and this latter I took possession of, having the tailor and my friend attest an agreement whereby it should remain with me for a month—after which I would be free to sell it and recoup what I was owed from the proceeds. Having had their attestations, I left with them, and, when we reached the tailor’s place, I flung the money down in front of him.
“‘Sir,’ I said, ‘through you God has restored my property. I should be happy if you’d accept a quarter, a third, a half of it. I make the offer gladly.’
“‘Friend,’ he replied, ‘you’re in haste indeed to return evil for good. Take yourself off with your property, with God’s blessing.’
“I had, I told him, one further request. He said I should make it, and I asked him to tell me the reason why the general had yielded to him, when he had treated the greatest men in the empire with contempt.
“‘Sir,’ he replied, ‘you have what you came for. Leave me, please, to carry on the trade by which I earn my living.’
“I insisted even so, and he related as follows:
“‘For forty years I’ve been leading the prayers and teaching the Quran in this mosque here, and earning my living by tailoring, which is the only trade I know. Long ago, when I’d said the sunset prayer and was going home, I passed by a Turk who lived in this house. Suddenly a woman with the loveliest of faces passed, and the Turk, who was drunk, seized hold of her and tried to drag her into the house. She resisted and cried out for help, but she found none, for, despite her cries, nobody came forward to save her from the Turk. She was saying, among other things, that her husband had sworn to divorce her if ever she spent a night away from his house. If the Turk forced her to disobey in this, she said, he’d bring her home to ruin, over and above the crime he’d be committing and the disgrace he’d bring on her.
“‘I went up to the Turk and tried to stop him, telling him to let the woman go, but he struck me on the head with a club he was carrying, giving me a painful wound, then forced the woman into the house. I went home, washed off the blood, bound up the wound, then, when the pain had eased, went out to say the evening prayer. When this was over, I said to the congregation:
“‘ “Come with me to this godless Turk, to take the matter up with him. Let’s not leave till we’ve forced him to let the woman go.”
“‘They rose up at that, and we went and made a great clamor at his door. Soon he came out at the head of a number of his slaves, raining blows on us, and he himself singled me out, striking me a blow that came close to killing me. My neighbors carried me, close to death it seemed, to where I lived. My family treated my wounds, and I slept, but very little on account of the pain, and at midnight I woke, no longer able to sleep for thinking about the matter.
“‘Then I said to myself: The fellow must have been drinking all night, and he won’t know what time it is. If I sound the call to prayer, he’ll suppose dawn’s arrived, and he’ll let the woman go so she can reach her house before dawn. That way she’ll escape one of the two disasters; her home won’t be brought to ruin on top of what’s happened to her already. So, I went out to the mosque, walking as best I could, mounted the minaret, and sounded the call. Then I sat and looked out on the street, waiting to see the woman come out. If she didn’t come, I thought, then I’d start prayer, so as to leave no doubt in the Turk’s mind that it was morning and make him release her.
“‘After a short time had gone by, and the woman was still with him, the street was suddenly filled with horse and foot, and with torches, and men crying: “Who’s the one who’s been calling to prayer? Where is he?” At first I was too terrified to speak. But then I thought I’d speak to them and maybe find help for the woman. So I called out from the minaret:
“‘ “I was the one.”
“‘ “Come down,” they told me, “and answer to the Prince of the Faithful.”
“‘Thinking to myself that deliverance was near, I went down and, going with them, found them to be a company of guards with Badr [at their head], who brought me before al-Muʿtadid. I trembled and quaked when I saw him, but he reassured me, then asked what had caused me to alarm Muslims by sounding the call to prayer at the wrong time, so that those who had business would go about it too early, and those who had intended to fast would hold back at a time when they were permitted to eat and drink.
“‘ “If,” I said, “the Commander of the Faithful will guarantee my safety, I will reveal the truth of the matter.”
“‘He told me my life was safe, upon which I told him the story of the Turk,
and showed him the marks on me. He immediately commanded Badr to bring the soldier and the woman.
“‘I was led to one side, and, after a short time, the soldier and the woman were brought before them. Al-Muʿtadid proceeded to question the woman about the matter, and her account confirmed mine. He thereupon commanded Badr to send her at once to her husband, with a trustworthy escort who’d take her into her house and explain matters to the husband. They were also to deliver a request to him, from the caliph, not to send the woman away but to treat her kindly. Then he summoned me and, in my hearing, began to question the [Turkish] soldier.
“‘ “How much, fellow,” he asked, “is your allowance?”
“‘The man told him the amount.
“‘ “Your pay?”
“‘So much, he was told.
“‘ “Your perquisites?”
“‘So much, he was told.
“‘Then al-Muʿtadid began to list the gratuities the man received, and these the Turk acknowledged, to an enormous sum. Then he asked the man how many slave girls he possessed. He was given the number.
“‘ “Were not these,” the caliph asked him, “and the ample fortune you enjoyed, sufficient for you, but you must needs violate the commandments of God and injure the majesty of the sultan; and not only commit this offense but, in addition, assault the person who tried to make you do right?”
“‘The soldier, stricken by guilt, could make no reply. The caliph thereupon ordered his men to fetch a sack, some cement makers’ pestles, bonds, and fetters. The man was bound, fettered, and placed in the sack, and the attendants were then commanded to pound him with the pestles.
“‘All this was done in my sight. The man screamed for a while, then the voice stopped and he was dead. The caliph ordered the body to be flung into the Tigris, and he told Badr to seize the contents of his house. Then he said to me:
“‘ “Sir, whenever you see any kind of wrong committed, great or small— anything of the sort, I say, great or small—then make your protest and order it to be righted, even if this” (he indicated Badr) “should be the one involved. And, if anything should befall you, and you are not listened to, then the signal between us is that you will sound the call to prayer around this time. And I, hearing your voice, will summon you and will do as I have done here to anyone who refuses to listen to you, or who injures you.”
Classical Arabic Stories Page 24
