by Rafik Schami
"That's right, man," groaned Tuma.
"All right, but before I begin, I wish to confess to you, my dear friends, the reason why I like telling stories. I like to tell them because one story I heard as a child completely enthralled me. First let me tell you how I came upon this strange tale.
"I was a small child when my father, blessed may he rest in God's bosom, brought home a new apprentice. My father was a carpenter, and his new helper came from a faraway village. He was poor and had nowhere to stay in Damascus, so we cleaned out a little room by the stairs, and Shafak, as he was called, started living in this tiny room. The space seemed fairly large to me when I was a child, but in reality it's so small it can't even hold three oil heaters. In any case, I can still see his face exactly—it was completely covered with scars—although I can't remember how old he was. When he came home in the evening he would wash himself, eat, drink his tea and sit on a small chair in front of his room, smoke, and gaze up at the sky. He would sit there for hours without moving a muscle, just staring at the stars. Whenever the sky stayed overcast for more than a day, which rarely happened in winter, I would notice how uneasy he became. He would withdraw into his room, but stay awake long into the night. Since my room was opposite his, on the other side of the courtyard, I could see his room from my bed. I watched him every night. His room didn't have any electricity, so he always left the oil lamp on for a long time. Sometimes he would pace up and down. Whenever I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet, he was always still awake, even though he had to get up early every day. My father, on the other hand, never once in his life managed to keep his eyes open after ten o'clock.
"All right, so my father liked him very much—mostly because he secured a huge commission the day Shafak started. 'I owe that to Shafak,' he said, 'his face is truly blessed.' He repeated that very phrase for years, whenever Shafak's name came up in conversation.
"Shafak was very shy and always spoke in a quiet tone of voice. Whenever my mother or my sister talked to him he would look down at the floor in embarrassment. The children from the courtyard made fun of his shyness, and had they not been afraid of my father, they would have pelted him with stones. My father, however, loved Shafak as if he were his own son.
"All right, to make a long story short, I was completely convinced that Shafak was a magician. And although I was curious even as a child, I never entered his room. I was a little afraid of him. In fact, my aunt made my mother secretly promise to keep him away from us children. 'Have you seen his eyes? They don't have any color. And his teeth? Have you seen his teeth, the way they're set in two rows? Two on top and two underneath,' my aunt muttered, full of fear.
" 'Yes, yes,' my mother laughed, 'and I've seen his toes, too. They're webbed just like a duck's.'
"My aunt became annoyed, and I became really afraid of Shafak.
"One summer day he was sitting on his small chair as usual, watching the heavens. I went over to him and asked him what he was looking for.
" 'Two stars who love each other. One of them sparkles like a diamond and the other is fire-red. They're chasing each other. Sometimes the diamond is in the lead, sometimes the other one. If they ever come together, then a thousand and one pearls will drop from the sky. And all the oysters in the seas will open their mouths to receive their pearls. And if a human being witnesses this moment and holds out his palm, then he'll receive a pearl as well. But he's not allowed to keep it, he has to dance in a circle three times, with his hand held open, and fling the pearl into the sky—and then he'll be happy for the rest of his life.'
" 'But why are the stars chasing each other in the first place?' I asked.
" That's a long story,' replied the carpenter's helper. 'But how can I tell it to you? I'll miss the moment when it happens! Still, if you promise to watch the sky while I tell you about this amazing love, and promise to yell as soon as you see the two stars come together, so that I can hold out my palm, then I will tell you the story of the stars.'
"I promised Shafak I would watch the stars, and this is the story he told me:
"It all happened in days that have long since disappeared. There was a farmer who had a magical voice. Whenever he sang, people would cry and laugh, and whenever he told stories, people would listen intently and forget all their worries and cares. But not only was he famous for his voice; his hands, too, could paint winds, caravans, and roses so clearly that people could see, smell, and taste his words.
"The farmer was as poor as a beggar; nevertheless, with his voice he succeeded in charming the most beautiful woman in the village. Sahar, as she was called, fell in love with him at first sight and cast to the wind all the entreaties of the rich farmers who were courting her. One wealthy but aged merchant offered her parents their daughters weight in gold, but she refused him, too. 'I'd rather eat dry bread and olives and listen to my poor farmer's voice than stuff myself full of the merchant's roasted gazelle and have him ruin my day with his roaring and my night with his snoring.' Her kind parents gave Sahar their blessing and soon celebrated the wedding of their daughter with her beloved. Not every daughter is granted such good fortune.
"The farmer took tremendous pains to improve his poor state, but he was born jinxed. Whatever he undertook failed. If his fingers touched gold, the noble metal turned to hay. May God protect you from such bad fortune! But people still envied him his voice.
" 'For your voice,' the village elder once told him, 'I would gladly trade you all my fields.'
"Another farmer exclaimed, 'If God would give me just one tiny bit of your magical windpipe instead of my rasping voice, I swear, I would give you my whole flock.'
"All right, so the years passed, and every year this farmer became poorer and poorer, until one summer, when his wheat fell victim to a blight, he cursed heaven. Poverty had eaten him out of house and home. His debts were so great that he had to sell off his wardrobe and his bed. The wardrobe was always empty anyway he consoled his wife, 'and we can sleep on the floor just as well!'
"But he couldn't live two weeks off the money brought by the sale. The entire district spoke of his bad luck, and even though he could sing and tell stories so beautifully, no one wanted to invite him to weddings, as they had in the past. They were afraid that with his wretched luck he might bring the newlyweds misfortune.
"His wife, Sahar, was teased whenever she went to the village well to fetch water. 'Does his voice keep you warm in winter? When you get hungry, do you boil his voice or do you roast it?' the women called after her. Sahar wept bitterly, but once home she would laugh and try to cheer her husband. Nonetheless he sensed her sadness, and it cut deeply into his heart.
"One day, although it was icy-cold outside, the farmer tried to sell his old jacket, in order to purchase some millet for himself and his wife. But no one wanted to buy it. The farmer was ashamed to return home empty-handed. He ran into the nearby forest and from the depths of his soul screamed out his pain. 'I've been as patient as a camel!' he cried. 'I've prayed to all the good angels for help, but their hearts have been cold and all they've done is stop their ears. Tell me, you demons of evil, what else do you desire of me?'
" 'Your voice!' The words echoed in the woods. An icy chill ran through his body and the farmer shivered and shook. He turned around and saw a man in a glistening dark mantle who said, 'I will pay you an inexhaustible supply of money to buy your voice!'
"'I'll give it to you if you'll just keep my wife and me fed for a week. My voice, my voice, no one has wanted to listen to me for over a year, anyway,' the farmer moaned.
" 'You misunderstand me. I want to buy all your speech, not just your beautiful voice. Neither your hands nor your eyes will be able to speak. But in return you will receive this gold lira, which you will never be able to use up. Whenever it leaves your hand, it will give birth to another. As long as you live, you will never be able to spend it,' said the man, and his eyes burned like two glowing stones.
" 'That sounds fair enough!' the farmer cri
ed out. The man walked toward him, and in a flash he threw his cape around the poor farmer, and swept him away into a whirlpool of darkness. The cape weighed on the farmer's shoulders more and more heavily, until his knees buckled under its weight. He groped about, searching for something to cling to, but his hands slid off the wizard—for that's what he was—as if he were a cold column of marble. There was a great stench of decay. The farmer had to cough, his throat hurt as if he had swallowed a knife. Then he fell to the ground, unconscious.
"When he came to he was lying on the cold forest ground. A gold lira was glimmering in his hand. He hurried home. His wife was filled with worry when she saw his pale face. 'What's wrong, my love?'
"Exhausted, the farmer sat down on the mattress and held out his hand to give her the gold lira. Beaming with joy, his wife took the coin and hurried away. But before she had left the room, the farmer again felt the coldness of metal in his clenched fist. He opened it, and there he saw a second gold lira.
"Meanwhile, his elated wife hurried to the butcher, the vegetable peddler, and the baker, yet the prices for all the things she bought amounted to only a few pieces of silver. Holding her head high, she placed an order with the carpenter for his most expensive bed—made of prized oak. She also purchased a new, warm jacket for her husband and a colorful dress she had long desired. The village boys carried her full baskets home, and they were grateful to her for the few piasters she gave them. The farmer's wife bought all of that for just one gold lira. At that time you could buy a house for five gold liras.
"News of the gold lira spread through the village like wildfire. Some people figured the farmer had used his voice to charm a fairy, who had presented him with a hidden treasure. Others guessed he had robbed a traveler. But no one had any idea, not even the farmer himself, how dearly he had paid for his treasure.
"All right, so when Sahar came back, she noticed that her husband was not only unable to speak, he was also incapable of making the slightest gesture. He couldn't even express a tiny bit of joy at all the delicacies she had brought home. He chewed his food in silence and stared off into space with dead eyes.
"The next morning, the farmer again stretched out his hand with the gold lira. That was all he could do. His wife sat across from him, staring wide-eyed at his hand. As soon as she took the coin from his palm and placed it on the table, a second one took its place. The farmer took hundreds of gold liras from his hand. But he couldn't even smile, for smiling is also a language, and what a heavenly language it is! And his flute, from which he had once coaxed the most magical melodies, would not produce a single note.
"The man took a piece of paper to draw his wife a picture explaining what had happened, but his hand was no longer subject to his will. All he could produce were meaningless zigzags, but clever Sahar saw in those lines the face of the devil.
" 'Don't worry, my heart,' his good wife consoled him, 'I will be your tongue. I will heal you, even if I have to run every last healer on the planet through a sieve to find the very best.'
"Sahar used the money to build a dream palace. A host of servants, jesters, and musicians were retained to see to her husband's happiness. Her stables housed only the noblest horses of the Arabian desert. And if angels had flown above her garden instead of swallows, people would have thought it the Garden of Eden."
"I actually prefer swallows," Isam interrupted and then laughed at his own thought. "Just imagine, angels whizzing around six feet above your head. You couldn't even enjoy your waterpipe, they'd be flying so low." He puffed out a small cloud of smoke. "Have you heard the joke about the devout man who felt some birdshit hit his head and thanked the Lord for not equipping cows with wings?"
"Quiet!" the barber hissed and turned back to Mehdi. "Please, go on."
"All right, so the woman built a paradise for her husband with her love and the inexhaustible supply of gold, but all he could do was walk around joylessly, his face pale, as if he were in another world.
"The woman's emissaries searched the world over for medicine men and wise women who could heal her husband. Sahar promised their weight in gold if they could restore her husband's voice. True healers and charlatans came in droves, ate their fill, and traveled on. But the farmer remained mute. His rooms were filled to the ceiling with gold, but in his heart he felt poorer than a mangy dog. He couldn't speak a word, nothing, not with his eyes, not with his hands.
"One day Sahar woke up and looked for her husband—in vain. He had disappeared. A servant reported seeing his master ride away on his stallion.
"Sahar had the entire district searched high and low for him, but the servants came back at sunset every day for seven days and shook their heads. Still, Sahar didn't give up, and whenever an explorer brought news of a rider on a stallion along the banks of the Euphrates or the Nile, she would send messengers bearing her request to the local rulers, and these in turn would send search parties throughout the region. No stone was left unturned, for Sahar promised a marble palace to the warden, mayor, steward, or prince, whichever happy soul would find her husband. In vain.
"The farmer, meanwhile, scoured the earth for the wizard who had bought his voice. He chased after every clue faster than the wind, but the wizard was nowhere to be found. Wherever people had suddenly lost their voices, the wizard had come and gone, leaving behind nothing but another breathing corpse, incapable of expressing sadness or joy, pain or happiness.
"One day—his search was now in its third year, and he was ready to give up—the exhausted farmer was resting at a village fair, listening to a man singing in a wonderful voice. Just as the singer was about to finish, a young merchant wearing a broad cape asked him to repeat the last love song, and threw him a gold coin. The singer took a bow and sang the song even more movingly. The farmer was sitting close to the stage. Now, just before the song was over, the merchant walked over to the singer, whispered something in his ear, and moved back into the shadows of the stage. As he passed by the farmer, a cloud of rose perfume filled the air, but the farmer smelled the stench of decay beneath the sweet cloak of roses. His blood froze in his veins. It was the same smell that had filled his lungs before he had lost consciousness, a smell he would never forget as long as he lived. He tiptoed backstage and watched the merchant.
"All right, so in less than a quarter-hour the singer left the stage. The merchant spoke to the singer for a while, then threw his cape over the poor man. The farmer stared as the singer's body shook and quickly sank to the ground, lifeless. But what happened next was unbelievable. The wizard flung back his cape and behold, beside him stood the spitting image of the singer, and both walked away together, talking as if they were friends.
"The farmer was now certain he had found the wizard and ran after him in pursuit. He chased him for two days and two nights. The wizard and his companion seemed never to tire; and when the third day dawned, they kept going as spryly as they had on the first. In order not to fall asleep, the farmer cut his hand and rubbed salt in the wound. The pain made it possible for him to stay awake through the third day. At dawn on the fourth day, he saw a castle rising slowly from the mist in the valley. The farmer was spellbound. As he marveled at the wondrous sight, he forgot about the salt and soon fell asleep. How long he slept he didn't know: perhaps just for a moment, perhaps for several days. A thunderclap startled him awake, and he leapt to his feet. Standing before him he saw the wizard, tall and mighty as a palm tree. 'Why are you following me?' he roared. The man was unable to answer. He couldn't even nod. 'You have been richly rewarded. There is no going back!' the wizard cried. The farmer hurled himself upon him, but the wizard tossed him aside in a high arc and hurried off. When the man stood up, he saw the distant castle disappearing slowly in the fog.
"For years the farmer followed the wizard, but time and again he simply dropped from sight. Nonetheless the farmer refused to give up.
"One spring day he was taking a brief rest by a pond and thinking how he could outsmart the wizard when he spotted a young woman d
rawing water with a sieve. She managed to run a few steps before the water drained completely, then turned around in despair and went back to the pond, where she started all over again. The woman looked tired, but she didn't give up. 'I must complete the task. I absolutely have to, even if it costs me my life. I have to finish.' The woman spoke out loud to lift her spirits, crying bitterly all the while.
"The farmer grabbed the woman by the arm.
" 'Let go of me, I have to fill this sieve with water and take it to the king of the demons so he will release my husband the woman said and tore herself from the farmer's grasp. Again she scooped some water, but in a trice it vanished through the sieve.
"The farmer grabbed her once more and gently took the sieve from her hand. The woman shouted and beat the farmer until she was so exhausted all she could do was curse him feebly. He, however, walked slowly to a nearby grotto that the farmers filled with snow in the winter so that the rock cistern inside would have water for the summer. The grotto was packed to the brim with snow. He scooped a large amount into the sieve and hurried back to the woman, who was standing by the pond, sobbing in despair. The moment she saw the sieve filled with snow she beamed. She jumped up, took it in her hands, and flew hurriedly away, for she was a demoness herself—may God protect you from her wrath!
"All right, so after a short while the woman came back with her beloved. They thanked the farmer, and when they saw that neither his eyes nor his hands could speak, they knew that he had sold his voice to the wizard.
" 'You are the only one who can free your voice,' the demon said softly. 'He locks the voices up in his castle and uses them to create his elixir. No demon on earth can gain entrance to his castle, but with my help you will be able to. I shall change you into an eagle and you can search earth, heaven, and hell for the casde. When you find it, do not look back. Whatever you hear, do not look back. For if you do, the castle will be gone forever. Find the blue window that looks to heaven and dive right into it. The moment you break through that window you will turn back into a man. If you leave through the same window, you'll turn once more into an eagle. Take a sliver of the broken glass and hide it under your tongue, for as long as you keep this sliver, the castle cannot escape you. Look for your voice inside the castle—it will be your own image. Hug it close to you; that way you will set it free. But do not forget the glass sliver even for a second. The wizard will attempt to repair the broken windowpane in order to hide his castle in the fog of eternity, but as long as the smallest piece is missing, he will be unable to protect the castle against the might of Time. After seven nights it will collapse. Then the voices will lose their chains, but they will wander the earth until the end of time if they cannot be united with their images. Do not forget the splinter! The wizard will do everything he can to save his castle.'
