by Mika Waltari
The stake money was however the least of the sums to change hands on such occasions, for large amounts were wagered among the onlookers, whether on individual bouts or on the final result; this last was by no means a foregone conclusion. Even the most eminent wrestler, having come triumphantly through ten or fifteen successive encounters with powerful adversaries, could never be confident of wresting the final victory from perhaps a weaker man who came fresh to the attack. Wrestlers and their patrons followed a set system for determining the order of competitors on different days, which evened out the chances and made the final result very uncertain. If therefore a novice wagered solely on the appearance of the men without knowing anything of the order in which they were to fight, he might make very bad mistakes.
Spectators and patrons began to pay greater attention to Andy, and soon it was his turn to gather up the pile of money. On that day Abu el-Kasim’s joy knew no bounds. He jumped up and down, then flew open armed at Andy and planted a smacking kiss on his mouth, so that Andy yelled, spat, and hurled him back among the onlookers who, in an ecstasy of mirth, caught him on their outstretched arms. Abu el-Kasim at once bestowed the prescribed proportion of his winnings in alms, displaying deep emotion at his own munificence. But the rest of the money he quickly knotted into a bundle and clasped to his breast, wondering aloud where he could lay hands on an iron chest in which to secure it.
The sum was negligible in comparison with his real fortune, but he liked to feign poverty and entertain the public with his dread of the taxgatherer. And indeed, it was not long before a fat, breathless man arrived at our dwelling. He leaned on his staff of office and looked about him greedily from under a big, bulging turban, and at the sight of him Abu el-Kasim cringed, wrung his hands and said, “O tax- gatherer Ali ben-Ismail, why do you persecute me? Not three moons have passed since your last visit, and I’m a poor man.”
He hastened forward to support Ali ben-Ismail; I took the visitor’s other arm and between us we helped him to a seat on the broadest cushion in the house. When he had settled himself and got his breath back, he smiled sadly and said, “Abu el-Kasim! The ruler of Algiers and of the sea, king of countless Berber tribes, Allah’s representative and commander in this city-in short, Sultan Selim ben-Hafs-has been pleased to turn his eyes upon you. You’ve become rich; you’ve brought water to your courtyard and refurnished your rooms. Costly rugs have been seen here and even silver cups, which are forbidden by the Koran. You have bought three new slaves: one brings you in enormous sums as a wrestler, another is an indescribably lovely woman with eyes of different colors, who sees strange things in sand, so that even the women of the harem have taken to visiting the public bathhouse to hear her foretell the future. The third earns substantial sums for you as a quacksalver-he’s no doubt this goatlike man beside you, who now stands and goggles at me. I’m also told that people come to you from remote villages to bring something which you call ‘cheap ambergris.’ By such false terminology do you swindle your customers.”
Abu el-Kasim warmly denied the charge, but the taxgatherer smote him on the head with his staff and said irascibly, “That’s what I’m told, and I should pay little attention if the matter had reached no other ears than mine. I’m a good-natured man and because of my bulk I dislike trudging the streets. But Sultan Selim ben-Hafs has also heard of it, which has put me in a questionable light. I’m vexed with you, Abu el-Kasim; hitherto I’ve been content with ten gold pieces a year and you’ve vilely cheated me, setting at nought my friendship and protection. Now we’re both in trouble, for the Sultan has laid an extra tax upon you of a thousand gold pieces.”
“A thousand!” yelped Abu el-Kasim. Throwing off turban and cloak he began to jump about half-naked, knocking over jars and baskets in his frenzy. “A thousand! The whole street isn’t worth that sum, and Allah has plainly deprived Selim ben-Hafs of the remainder of his wits. By the time I’d collected even the tenth part of it I should be toothless with age.”
“Did you say the tenth part?” exclaimed the taxgatherer in amazement. “A hundred gold pieces? Then Allah is indeed great and I’ve found for my lord a goose that lays golden eggs all unsuspected. You astonish me; for I was only joking, being inquisitive about your growing fortunes.”
Abu el-Kasim had abrupdy ceased his capering, and now said with a malicious glint in his eye, “So. You were making game of me. Then
I’ll give your wife such an ointment of paradise that after embracing her you’ll die in agony, foaming at the mouth.”
Taxgatherer Ali ben-Ismail sweated slightly, and his eyes were cold as he said in a harsh tone, “Don’t take the jest to heart, my dear Abu. It’s all part of my duty. I’ve been ordered to make closer scrutiny of your household because Selim ben-Hafs, blessed be his name, needs money to buy another couple of boys. So let us come to some friendly arrangement, as usual. You’d gain nothing if I were dismissed and replaced by a leaner, hungrier man whom you would have to make fat.”
Abu felt grave misgivings on hearing that his fortune was the talk of the town. But all he said was, “Cursed be Selim ben-Hafs. He has already thirty young boys in his harem and at least as many women. Am I, poor wretch, to pay for his lascivious amusements? Hear now a remarkable dream that I’ve had. A Deliverer came from the sea, and at his coming the taxgatherers were led in bonds through the city and flogged at every street corner.”
The fat official sweated more than ever, and raised a finger to silence Abu.
“Such dreams are dangerous,” he said, “and I cannot think how it is that so many others have been plagued with them. In the name of the Compassionate, dear Abu, refrain from trumpeting your dreams abroad! Remember that even we, the taxgatherers, are poor men.”
After prolonged haggling Ali ben-Ismail agreed to take fifty pieces of gold, and said, “I know that you’ll feel the loss of this great sum, and I advise you to make up its value in silver coins and cups, and in your slave woman’s bracelets. Carry all this to the treasury to be weighed, so that everyone may see how I’ve denuded you.”
No suggestion could have been more welcome to Abu. He gathered up vessels and coins to the value of fifty pieces of gold and having helped Ali to his feet they set off. The taxgatherer walked first, leaning on his staff and panting, while sweat poured down his fat cheeks. After him scuttled Abu el-Kasim wearing only a dirty turban and a loincloth, with the bundle on his back. As he went he shrieked, lamented, and uttered heart-rending appeals to Allah, so that even the neighbors were moved. For once his tears were genuine, for fifty gold pieces was a great deal of money, even for him.
However, before the hour of evening prayer, Abu el-Kasim returned well satisfied from the treasury. He washed, put on clean clothes, performed his devotions, and said, “The money fell in good soil, for even the clerks pitied me when they saw me compelled to surrender my slave woman’s bangles, and this evening the whole city’s in an uproar over Selim’s rapacity. Lamps will burn late tonight in all wealthy houses while the owners bury their treasure beneath the flagstones.”
Nevertheless the treasury had wrought a marvel in extorting fifty gold pieces from Abu el-Kasim, and not many days later my white- bearded teacher said to me,
“I have praised your aptitude for learning, and the Faqih himself wishes to behold your face.”
This was the greatest honor that could have been done me, for the Faqih was the most learned man in the school, and deeply versed in the branches of fiqh, or jurisprudence. As mufti he was competent, in all matters relating to the law in which there was uncertainty or ambiguity, to issue a decree called a fatwa. He stood in high favor with the ruler, for he had profited by his knowledge of the Koran, Sunna, and fiqh to make pronouncements favorable to the Sultan in troublesome affairs. Compared with him my teacher was but a poor man whose only merit was to know the Koran by heart and be competent to instruct the newly converted.
I was alarmed at the thought of meeting this great man, for only gradually had I come to appreciate the wealth of
the Arabic language and to learn how many ways there were of reading the Koran, how many words could be made to express one idea and how many interpretations could be put upon one word. My teacher counted fifty words for “camel” and as many as a hundred for “sword,” to denote all the varieties of that weapon.
The Faqih was sitting with his writing materials before him, in a room containing many books and reading desks. He had a jar of dates by him and from time to time he took one out, sucked it, and spat the stone onto the floor before me, then licked his fingers and took a sip of water from a goblet. Seeing that he was enjoying a period of rest and refreshment, I took courage and greeted him reverently.
“I have heard,” said he gently, “that you’re a skilled physician from the Frankish countries, and are zealously striving to become a good Moslem. Tell me, therefore, of your Lord, your Prophet, and your rule.”
These things were well known to me and I answered, “Allah the one God is my Lord and Mohammed is his Prophet, blessed be his name. The Koran is my rule, virtue the way of my spirit, Sunna my path.”
He nodded in approval, and stroking the beard which reached to his belt he asked, “What is the key to prayer?”
This question too was easy, and I answered readily, “The key to prayer is devout purification; the key to purification is the profession of the name of God; the key to profession is steadfast faith; the key to faith is trust; the key to trust is hope; the key to hope is obedience; and the key to obedience is: Allah most high is the one God and him do I profess.”
Again he nodded, and asked, “How do you perform the purification when preparing yourself for prayer?”
“I have been taught that there are six requirements for the partial ablution: announcement of intention, the washing of the face, hands, and arms to the elbows; the drying of the head and the washing of the feet to the ankle bones, all in the proper order. But the following ten actions are meritorious-to wash the hands before dipping them in the bowl; to rinse the mouth; to rinse the nose by sniffing up water; to wash the whole head and cleanse the ears inside and out; to comb the beard with the fingers; to spread out fingers and toes when washing them; to wash the right hand and right foot before the left hand and left foot and to repeat all this thrice in succession.”
The Faqih sucked dates, his eyes half closed.
“What do you repeat after the ablution?”
“After the ablution I say, ‘I bear witness that there is no God but Allah. He is one and indivisible and Mohammed is his servant and Prophet. O Lord, grant me to be among the penitent, grant me to be of the company of the pure. Praise be to Allah! To his glory I declare that there is no other God than he. Before his face I plead for mercy and repent of my evil deeds.’ According to the sacred tradition, the Prophet with his own mouth has proclaimed, ‘For him who pronounces these words after every ablution the eight gates of Paradise stand open, and he may enter through which one he pleases.’“
So I ended, feeling well satisfied with myself for having been able to recite these important prayers. But the Faqih suddenly opened his eyes, spat out a date stone and said angrily, “You speak the holy words like a parrot, and prate of Paradise when you’re not even circumcised.”
I choked. Many renegades submitted to circumcision after only an hour or two of instruction, to be done with it, but I had hesitated to undergo this unpleasing ordeal, and hoped I might succeed in evading it altogether.
Having thus thoroughly frightened me, the Faqih went on in triumph, “If you’d been speaking from the heart instead of from the hps you would long since have become united to Islam through the outward token of circumcision. Islam does not ask after a man’s nation, nor after the color of his skin, for all races and colors are united by that sign. But you’re only a slave, and perhaps your master is to blame for the omission. I hear that he’s a wealthy dealer in drugs, named Abu el-Kasim, and that he owns a Christian woman. Her eyes are said to be of different colors, and therefore she is able to see coming events in a bowl of sand. And I am told that the women of the harem run to the public bathhouse to meet her, and reward her richly for foretelling the future for them. Is this true?”
“Venerable and learned Faqih,” I exclaimed, “may Allah of his grace preserve me from spying in the bathhouse during women’s bathing hours!”
“Don’t prevaricate! I’ve heard that it is so. But whether the gift is from Allah or the devil, or whether she’s a charlatan, your master must have a fatwa for her, or else lock her up.”
I was shocked at his greed, and losing all veneration for him I looked up and said, “My master may have forgotten, but he’ll no doubt offer you a gift proportionate to his means, on receiving from you the necessary fatwa. But the taxgatherer has squeezed him dry, and not even by force could you extort from him more than a couple of gold pieces.”
Tears of indignation rose to my eyes as I reflected what vile cheats there were in the world. But the Faqih raised his head and said, “Before issuing this fatu/a I must see the slave woman, but she must not give scandal by coming here. After the evening prayer on Friday I will visit Abu el-Kasim’s house and he is not to receive me with the honor befitting my rank. I shall come secretly, with my face hidden. Take this message to Abu el-Kasim. Perhaps I will be content with fifty pieces of gold, for Allah is merciful and gracious.”
I wondered what was really in his mind, for I had grown accustomed to the habit common to the people of Islam of never speaking out. But Abu el-Kasim was delighted at the message, and said, “Things are going better than I could have hoped, and Sinan the Jew was indeed wise to provide me with such good bait for my hooks. For this day’s work I’ll give you a new turban and a white robe, and so acquire merit.”
I asked in surprise, “How can you rejoice that this greedy Faqih comes to rob you?”
Abu el-Kasim answered, “Of course he wants money. He’s no more than human. But his curiosity is as strong as his greed. He must surely have heard the nature of the visions that our Delilah sees in the sand, and now wishes to observe for himself which way the wind blows, so as to gather all safely in before the storm.”
When Friday came, Abu el-Kasim bade Giulia roast some ptarmigan, and not stint pepper, cloves, or nutmeg. I bought sugar cakes from the pastry cook and filled a bowl with fruit and sweetmeats, sprinkling over these a white powder that gave them a fiery taste and induced thirst. Abu chilled the drinking water and flavored it with stimulating spices. Then-most important preparation of all-he told Giulia what to say, warning her against giving herself into the power of evil spirits and seeing profitless visions.
After the evening prayer the Faqih arrived, his face hidden by a corner of his cloak, and knocked on the door with his staff. On entering he sniffed the good smells with pleasure, and drawing forth his beard which he had tucked under his belt he stroked it and said reproachfully, “Prayer is better than savory food, and I would be loath to cause you any trouble, Abu el-Kasim. A fig or two and a bowl of water are enough for me.”
Nevertheless, after much voluble protest he allowed us to set the dishes before him, and ate slowly and purposefully until they were empty. Abu el-Kasim served him and poured water over his hands. Then he proffered a beautifully embroidered silken bag, saying, “This purse contains twenty pieces of gold which I hope you’ll accept as a present. Believe me, they’re all I possess, but I won’t forget to make you further free-will offerings when I have more. Now I have a slave woman about whom I would ask your advice, to ensure against any infringement of the law. Her eyes are of different colors and she can see strange things in sand.”
The Faqih nodded, weighed the bag in his hand, and tucked it thoughtfully under his girdle. Abu el-Kasim led in Giulia by the hand, drew aside her veil and held up a lamp that the Faqih might see better.
“Allah is great!” said the Faqih in wonder. “Never have I seen anything of the kind. But with God all things are possible-and indeed it would amount to a Persian heresy to say that evil spirits were more power
ful than Allah, and could bring about such a miracle against the divine will.”
Careless of cost, Abu el-Kasim threw a pinch of genuine ambergris onto the brazier; then he poured fine sand into a large copper dish and ordered Giulia to stir it with her finger. And as she gazed down into the dish she fell into a trance and began to speak in an altered voice. But I was now used to this, and neither believed nor feared.
“I see turbulent waters-out of the sea rises the banner of the Prophet. Indeed, the banner of the Prophet rises from the waves, and the Deliverer comes from the sea.”
“Do you speak to me, heathen woman?” demanded the Faqih in astonishment. “I don’t understand you, for the banner of the Prophet is kept in the Seraglio of the Great Sultan.”
Ignoring this, Giulia went on quickly and earnestly, “Out of the sea come ten asses with silver bits and silver bells. Ten camels follow-the camels have golden saddles and are laden with gifts for you, O Faqih. I see the waters full of ships. They are laden with plunder and sail into the harbor, and from their plunder generous alms are brought to you in the mosque; the hunters of the sea offer liberally of their booty and build splendid mosques and fountains. The king of the sea founds schools and hospitals and endows them richly, and the teacher shall not suffer want under his rule. But Faqih, Faqih! Before all this comes to pass, there is blood.”
The Faqih had been eagerly listening, but now he fingered his beard uneasily and said, “Blood? Foolish woman, do you indeed see blood? If so I suspect that an evil spirit speaks through your lips.”
“I see blood,” she went on. “A little pool of black, evil blood that doesn’t even soil the hem of your cloak-it sticks to your shoes. And so you change your shoes-you throw the old ones away and put on new ones-new shoes of red, scented leather. They’re adorned with precious stones-after that day there is no richer Faqih than yourself. Your name flies over the seas and the banner of the Prophet shields you from the wrath of the unbelievers. All this I see in the sand, old man, but no more-unless it be a cedarwood coffin with a turban upon it, to which pilgrims, remembering the great Faqih, come and pray from far distant lands and so acquire merit.”
