“‘I invoked a blessing on him and left. Word of the matter spread among the Dailami and the Turks, and, if ever I’ve asked any man to see right, or to desist from wrongdoing, he’s satisfied my demands for fear of al-Muʿtadid. And so I’ve never, to this day, needed to sound the call.’ ”
From Abu ʿAli ʾl-Muhassin al-Tanukhi, Nishwar al-Muhadara wa Akhbar al-Mudhakara (Snippets of Conversation and Memorable Tales), vol. 1.
1. An Abbasid caliph who reigned from 279 / 892 to 289 / 902.
70
Crime and Punishment
I was told this story by ʿUbaid Allah ibn Muhammad al-Khaffaf, who heard it from his father, who said it had been reported to him by a friend in the army:
One day, when I happened to find myself in the Karkh quarter of Baghdad, I noticed one of the loveliest women I’ve seen in my life, and I stopped for a moment to gaze at her. She, though, turned her back and abruptly went off. Then an old woman, who’d been with her, came back and invited me to be the beautiful woman’s guest.
“I’m not in the habit of being anyone’s guest,” I said. “Let the woman come and be my guest.”
“Out of the question,” the old woman said.
Unable to resist the temptation, or quell my overwhelming desire, I followed her to a place on the outskirts of Baghdad. She went up to a house and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” a voice asked.
“It’s Saʿida,” the old woman said.
Suddenly my heart gave a leap, and I turned back, but she called out to me.
“Where are you going, young man?” she asked. “Don’t you trust us?”
I changed my mind and went into the house. It was a spacious place, barely furnished. A black maid came with a pot of hot water and a basin, and I washed my face and feet and rested for a while. They served some grubby food, which, being very hungry, I had no option but to eat.
The beautiful young woman appeared once more. They brought wine, and, with her by my side, I drank. I took off my outer garment and turned to her, and she let me embrace her. When, though, I tried to go further, she said:
“I can’t do what’s forbidden. Wait till someone comes to celebrate our marriage.”
Sunset was approaching; it was the time between the two evening prayers. Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
“Oh, heavens,” she cried. “My God!”
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“It must be my brother and his attendant,” she said. “If he sees you here, I can’t answer for your safety. I’ll take you somewhere where you can hide till they’re asleep. Then I’ll join you.”
She took me into a small chamber and locked the door behind me. I realized now that I’d been trapped. I was going to be killed for my money, or for something else I had on me. I asked God’s pardon and forgiveness for any wrongdoing and vowed to Him never to do anything of the sort again, if He’d only spare me in my plight.
I went up to the door and looked through the peephole, to see and hear what was going on in the room beyond. I saw a monstrous, ugly black lad kissing the woman, who was amorously returning his lust. They lay down, endlessly eating, drinking, and coupling. Between times, he asked her what had happened that day, and she picked up my garment and handed it to him.
“All we’ve had,” she said, “is a worthless ruffian coming here with an empty pocket.”
The ugly brute fell into a fury and started cursing and beating the woman.
“What do you call this?” he said. “We need someone with a big bag.”
“That’s the way it went today,” she said. She started begging him, then kissing his feet, weeping and showing how sorry she was, till at last he was satisfied and appeased.
I was sure now that this was the end of me, and I went on praying, still keeping my eye on them. They started their drinking again, with the lovemaking in between. They must have made love ten times before the man finally collapsed, totally exhausted and drunk.
“Wine seems to have got the better of you, sir,” she said. “Why don’t you go now and get rid of that ruffian?” I started saying my final prayers.
The door opened and the black man came in, holding a naked sword. Then he slapped me sideways, all over my body, till I stopped shouting and fell, flat and cold. Sure I must be dead, the black man dragged me off and dropped my body into a [shallow] well just by. I could feel the heads of three other people there by my side. The brute then went out of the room, leaving the door wide open.
“What have you done?” I heard the woman ask.
“I’ve finished him off,” came the answer.
He fell asleep by her side, and the old woman came in and covered them. There seemed to be no one else in the house.
Around midnight, I felt life and vigor coming back into my body and decided to save myself. I stood up and, finding the well came only halfway up my height, clambered out and moved, cautiously and on tiptoe, through the room. I could hear nothing but their snoring. I reached the door, opened it, and left unnoticed, arriving home just before dawn.
When my family asked what had happened, I told them how I’d spent the night with a friend of mine, and how, on my way back, a thief had chased after me, grabbed my clothes from behind, and grappled with me, but how I’d slipped away, leaving my outer garment with him.
It took several months of treatment before I was recovered. Then I set myself to finding this woman, in the streets and markets. I changed my looks, dressed differently, and let my beard grow.
One day, passing through the Karkh quarter, I saw her. I didn’t speak to her. I went home, changed my clothes, then went back to the spot, walking the way the Khorasanis do, with my hand held behind my back. I saw her again, still in the same place, but she didn’t recognize me, and nor did the old woman, who came up to me again with her proposition. Assured she hadn’t seen who I was, I spoke to her in Persian.
I followed her to the same house and, as I’d done the first time, stayed with the woman till she said her brother and his attendant had arrived. She took me off to the room and locked the door, where I watched them through the keyhole, with a sharp, slender sword hidden in my clothes.
Having made love to the woman fifteen times, the black man asked:
“What do you have for us today?”
“A plump duck,” she said. “A rich man from Khorasan with a heavy bag of money.”
“Where is this bag?” he asked.
“Under his belt,” she answered.
“Wonderful!” he said.
I pulled out my sword and waited for him behind the door. He ate, drank, and became drunk. When he stepped into the room, I was ready for him. He got past me, to the middle of the chamber, but I went after him and struck him on the leg, and down he went. I followed the first strike with another, at his other leg, and he crumbled like a helpless paralyzed giant. I kept stabbing him till he’d breathed his last, cut his head from his body to be quite sure he’d never testify against me, then stood there without moving.
The woman, growing anxious and impatient at the man’s delay, prompted her old attendant, Saʿida, to go and see what had happened. The old woman came close to the door.
“Where are you, sir?” she called. “Why haven’t you come out?”
I stayed silent till she stepped in. Then I struck at her leg, crippling her, pulled her other leg inside, then said, with a Persian accent:
“Hello there, Saʿida! You’ve been a hunter long enough. Now you’re the prey.”
I killed the old witch, left the chamber, and went into the main room. This time I talked to the young woman in flawless Arabic. She was terrified, well aware she was close to death.
“I’m the man you planned to rob and murder,” I said.
“Where’s my black lover?” she asked.
“I’ve killed him,” I replied. “And here’s his head.”
She started wailing bitterly.
“By God,” she said, “I beg you, kill me next. I can’t live
without him!”
“You don’t have to ask,” I said. “I mean to do just that. But first, where’s the money? If you don’t show me where the money is, I won’t kill you, I’ll torture you, then take you off to the sultan. He can decide on the punishment you deserve.”
She grew more terrified still.
“No!” she said. “Please, open this closet, and that cabinet—and this locked cupboard, and that storeroom.”
As I opened them one after the other, vast wealth poured out into my hands. I turned to her and started pricking and piercing her skin with my sword.
“Show me the goods you’ve stolen and buried,” I said.
The more she resisted or hesitated, the more torment she suffered, till at last she’d uncovered all her hidden treasures. Then, finally, I stabbed her to death.
I picked out the most precious and valuable things I could carry; my bounty came to thousands upon thousands of dinars. After that I never went near the place again. Nor did I ever learn what happened to the house, or the remains of the former victims, or the bodies of the man and the two women.
From Abu ʿAli ʾl-Muhassin al-Tanukhi, Nishwar al-Muhadara wa Akhbar al-Mudhakara (Snippets of Conversation and Memorable Tales), vol. 5.
71
An Unlucky Encounter
A certain person related as follows:
I once knew a merchant in Basra who was solidly prosperous. He was a friend of mine, but he went to live in Baghdad, and for several years all news of him ceased. Then I met him once more and found him in a very bad way, with almost no money, but I shied away from asking about his evident hardship. Then I noticed that, if ever he saw a woman, his face would change color, and he’d sigh and look away; then, his eyes still averted, he’d grow dejected and go on cursing her till she was out of sight.
I asked him the reason for this.
“I was,” he said, “on the point of telling you about the penury I’m in now, and about my long absence, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Now, though, that you’ve asked, I’ll tell you all about it.
“As you know, I went off to Baghdad. I’d heard of the charm and grace of the women there, and I decided, when I reached the city, that I might well devote half the profit I made on the trip to amusing myself there. So I rented a house and bought some furniture for it, sold my goods, then, with the money I’d gained, went out to look for some female company. As fate would have it, I stumbled at once on a woman of flawless body, plump and delightfully pretty. I beckoned to her, and she came toward me. Then I walked in front of her and entered my house; and she came in after me. No sooner had she come right in than she eased down her drawers, took hold of a peg on the wall, and began writhing around.
“‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ I asked her.
“‘I’m pregnant,’ she answered. ‘I went to the public bath to make my delivery easier, then, on the way home, the labor pains overtook me, and God, in His mercy, threw you in my way. Now I can give birth in your house.’
“Everything went black before my eyes.
“‘Get out of my house, woman!’ I told her. ‘Go and give birth in your own house!’
“‘There’s no time for me to get home,’ she replied. ‘And I have my position to keep up. God’s blessed me plentifully, and I have a family and a husband, all well off. You won’t lose by it, I assure you. I promise that, if you’ll help me here now, I’ll never leave you all the time you’re in Baghdad. I won’t take any money except what comes to you as gifts from me and my family.’
“I believed everything she told me. What inclined me to believe her was that her appearance, and the kind of woman she seemed to be, fitted with what she’d said.
“‘Very well,’ I told her, ‘with God’s grace.’
“‘There’s just one more thing,’ she went on.
“‘And what’s that?’ I asked.
“‘I need you to call a midwife,’ she replied, ‘to help me. Women always need one at a time like this.’
“‘But I’m a stranger in Baghdad,’ I told her. ‘I don’t know anyone here.’
“‘I’ll tell you where to find her,’ she said.
“She described a well-known place and gave me a woman’s name. By now, I could see her condition had grown more critical.
“‘Help me, please,’ she said, ‘before I die right here in your house! I’ll do everything I told you, I promise.’
“I went out, feeling like a drunken man, till I reached the place she’d described. There I found the midwife and summoned her, and she came back with me, together with two slave girls she brought along to carry her tools for delivery.
“As we entered the house, we heard the crying of a newborn baby. I rushed forward, in front of the midwife, and found a baby flung down on the floor but no trace of the woman. I was stunned. I felt utterly helpless, not knowing what to say or do, unable to find any explanation.
“‘Perhaps,’ I said to the midwife, ‘some neighbor took her in because we were so long coming. Maybe they’re looking after her and they’ve left the baby here.’
“The midwife put kohl on the baby’s eyes, wrapped him up, then asked for her fee. I paid her what I could, impatient for her to be gone. When she’d left, I started to wonder what I was to do with the infant. I was at a total loss. I thought of killing him, then stopped myself. ‘What has he done wrong,’ I said to myself, ‘for me to take it out on him like that?’
“In the end I decided to put him out in the street, where he could take his chance like any other bastard. His mother, I realized now, was an adulteress of some status. She’d hidden her pregnancy, then, when she felt the labor pains coming, she’d gone out in search of a place to give birth—and, as ill luck would have it, I was the person she’d found.
“When night fell and he’d fallen asleep, I took him out in a wicker basket to a place a long way from the house and set him down close to a wall. Just as I was doing this, he started crying. A woman looked out of her window. Then, when she saw me going off and leaving the crying baby there, she started yelling at me. At that, other women looked out through their windows, and they started yelling, too.
“All this attracted the street guards, and they came and seized me. The first woman told them how she’d seen me putting the wicker basket by the wall, and they hauled me off to the judge, with the basket hung around my neck. The judge asked me what it was all about, and I told him everything.
“He refused to believe a word.
“‘Hardly plausible, is it?’ he said. ‘The truth of the matter is, you killed this child’s mother. Now, tell us who she was.’
“When I stuck to my story, I was stripped and beaten to make me confess, but I simply went on repeating what I’d told them. The governor was in no doubt the baby’s mother had been killed, or else that the baby was my bastard child by her. I was put in prison, and, while I was there, all my money was seized or stolen. The governor took some, and the judges took some, and the rest was used to buy a slave girl to nurse the infant and to pay her wages. This went on for some time. Then, when the infant was weaned, the slave girl was sold and I had the money from this for a while. The baby died in its third year, but I was kept in prison for four years, because the judge who knew about my case had been dismissed, and there was no one to speak for me. For the rest of the time I lived on the charity of other prisoners, and so things went on till the old caliph died and al-Muqtadir assumed the caliphate. He gave instructions for all prisoners to be freed, and I left prison with nothing to my name. I vowed there and then I’d never look at a woman again till the day I died, and that, if I should catch sight of one, I’d turn my eyes away till she was out of sight.”
From Shihab al-Din Ahmad al-Tifashi, Nuzhat al-Albab Fima la Yujadu fi Kitab (Diverting Tales Not Found in Books), ed. Jamal Jumʿa (London: Riyad al-Rayyis, 1995).
72
The Man and the Lark
A man hunted a lark. When he had her in his hand, the lark asked him: “What are you goi
ng to do with me?”
“I’m going to kill you and eat you,” the man replied.
“But,” she answered, “I’ll never satisfy your desire for meat. I’ll never fill you up. I could, though, give you three pieces of advice. Wouldn’t that bring you a lot more than eating me? The first I’ll let you have while I’m still here in your clutch. The second I’ll give you when I’m up in the tree, the third when I’m up on the mountain.”
“Very well,” he said. “Let me have them.”
“Never lament for what’s past,” she said. “And never believe what can’t be.”
He let her go. When she’d reached the tree, she said:
“You wretched man! If you’d killed me, you would have found two jewels in my craw, weighing 20 mithqals each.”1
The man bit his lips and heaved a sigh of regret.
“Give me your second piece of advice,” he said.
“You’ve forgotten the first,” she said, “so why should I give you three. Didn’t I tell you never to lament for what’s past, and never to believe what can’t be? I don’t weigh twenty grains, flesh, blood, feathers and all. So how could there be, in my craw, two jewels weighing twenty mithqals each?” And with that she flew off.
From Ibn Abi ʾl-Hadid, Sharh Nahj al-Balagha (Explicating The Way to Literary Eloquence); in Qisas al-ʿArab (Stories of the Arabs), vol. 4.
1. A mithqal is around five grams.
73
Two Surrealist Stories from the Desert
A bu ʾl-ʿAmaythal1 recounted the following:
Two Bedouins started to tell each other tall stories. The first said: “Once I set out on a horse of mine and suddenly I noticed a patch of darkness—pitch-black it was. I made for it, and when I got up to it, I saw it was a piece of night that had not noticed that dawn had come. So I kept charging at it on my horse until it dispelled.”
Classical Arabic Stories Page 25
