by Rafik Schami
"All right, so the demon kissed the man between his eyes and sent him soaring into heaven as an eagle. The demon and his wife watched the king of birds disappear into the blue sky. The demoness was still lost in thought when her beloved took her in his arms and kissed her on the lips. Two corn-poppy blossoms sprang from the spot where her feet had touched the earth.
"For years the eagle combed earth, heaven, and hell for the wizard's castle. During this time his wife searched desperately for him. Just as she was about to give up all hope, there suddenly appeared in her courtyard an old man with a long beard as white as snow. The horses shied and the dogs whimpered as if they felt an earthquake coming.
" 'Would you like your husband back? In return I wish neither castles nor gold,' said the old man, who then ran his fingers thoughtfully through his beard and peered at Sahar with eyes as red as fire.
" 'Of course I want my husband back, but what is your price if you want neither gold nor castles?'
" 'Your voice,' the old man said quietly. 'Give me your voice and in seven nights you will be lying in his arms.'
" 'I will never sell my voice! Be gone!' Sahar shouted, although her heart burned with longing for her husband.
" 'I will be back,' the wizard replied and walked slowly out of the courtyard.
"Three months later the old man returned, but Sahar again sent him away, with a heavy heart.
" 'The third time I come back will be the last. Consider my offer carefully!' the old man said angrily and slammed the door behind him.
"Sahar waited and waited, but it was three years before the old man returned. 'Well, have you considered my offer, carefully?' he asked, and a smile played around his lips.
" 'Take it. I want him.' Sahar said quietly.
"The wizard threw his cape over her, and when she came to, she could no longer speak. The servants were frightened when they saw their mistress coming out of her chamber looking so pale, for only a little while before they had watched her slowly leave the castle with the old man and climb aboard his carriage.
"Meanwhile, the eagle searched and searched. He circled above all the valleys and mountains of earth, heaven, and hell. One day, as he was circling over the earth, he saw a castle rising from the depths of a valley. Shortly thereafter he recognized the wizard hurrying into the castle with a woman. He wanted most of all to pluck out the wizard's eyes, but he knew that the castle would vanish on the spot. So he circled again and saw a golden dome with four windows: one red, one green, one blue, and one black. God only knows what the other three windows were for," said Mehdi, who then took a few draws on the waterpipe and passed it to Junis.
"Blue for heaven, red for sin, black for . . ." Isam tried to explain.
"You heard him," replied Musa, "he said God only knows what they were for. Are you God now, or what? Please, go on, don't leave out a single word,' he; begged Mehdi.
"All right, so after searching for a long time the eagle found the blue window that looked to heaven, but at the same moment he heard his wife crying for help behind him. He wanted to turn around, but he remembered the kind demon's warning. Straight as an arrow he flew into the window with all his might. The glass shattered. The eagle took a sliver in his beak and jumped through. And then it happened exactly as the demon had promised: he was once again a human being. Now he tore off part of his shirt, wrapped up the sharp sliver and shoved it under his tongue.
"Two rows of rooms lined an endless hall. The farmer pricked up his ears and soon made out a song in a foreign language coming from the first room. He carefully opened the door, and inside he saw over forty young people, men and women, in foreign dress. They were chained to the wall, but they seemed refreshed and cheerful, as if they had just arrived. They paid him no notice, as if they couldn't see him. The farmer now hurried from door to door, opening each one and looking for himself among the many singers and storytellers. Then, outside the thirty-third room, he heard his own voice. He pushed open the door and saw his image chained to the wall. With the strength of all his love for his own voice he tore the chains off the wall and embraced his image. 'Sahar!' he cried out loud, and his heart fluttered wildly with joy, like a bird just escaped from a cage.
"It wasn't long before he heard the wizard on the roof, bellowing furiously, for he was trying in vain to piece together the broken window. 'I smell a human,' the voice of the wizard echoed through the halls of the castle. For a moment the farmer was crippled with fear, but he ran as fast as he could and leaped back through the window into the open sky. A great eagle with mighty wings climbed the heavens. 'I'll get you!' cursed the wizard from the roof of his castle. He, too, changed into an eagle, but the farmer was faster. Then the wizard changed into a gusty wind and tried to knock the eagle down, but the eagle was stronger than the wind. He flew unerringly for two days and two nights. Hunger tore at his stomach. The wizard turned into a dove that fluttered helplessly in front of the eagle, but the eagle flew on. On the third day, the eagle was so thirsty he would have given everything in the world for a drop of water, but when he spotted a blue lake beyond the mountains he remembered the splinter underneath his tongue and was afraid. He flew on, and the lake dried up at once, for it had been none other than the wizard. Late in the afternoon of the third day, the eagle reached his palace. He flew through the open door of his bedroom, and there he saw Sahar lying on the bed. The moment he saw her dead eyes, the farmer knew that she had given up her voice for him. Sahar realized the eagle was her husband, because she recognized his eyes, the eyes that she had missed all those many years—but she couldn't speak a word to him.
" 'Come with me to rescue your voice!' the eagle said in the warm voice that Sahar had always loved. She climbed onto his back, and the eagle flew off.
"Now, the wizard knew the farmer would return. He went back to his castle and waited in front of Sahar's image. Day and night he waited, and late in the afternoon of the sixth day the farmer and his wife flew through the blue window that looked to heaven. Sahar wished for all the words in the world to tell her husband—who was now standing before her—how much she loved him, but she couldn't bring a single sound across her lips. Her husband whispered to her very softly: 'We have to find your image, and once you see it, do not look back, no matter how much I scream. Tear it from its chains and run out. Did you hear me? Save yourself!' He took Sahar in his arms. One final embrace, and then they tiptoed down the hall.
"When they heard Sahar's voice, they burst into the room. There stood the wizard. He was still tall and strong, but his face was pale, and his hair was streaked with gray. 'Give me the sliver and take your wife's image!' he said in a rattled voice.
" 'Never in my life!' the farmer answered and hurled himself upon the wizard, who at that very moment turned into a gigantic snake that wrapped itself around the image of Sahar. The farmer smote the reptile's head, and Sahar was able to free her voice from its chains. 'Go!' he cried as he struggled with the snake. He had almost strangled it when it turned into a scorpion that gave the farmer two venomous stings. The man cried out in pain and stomped on the scorpion, which instantly turned into a tiger, which fell upon the man. Sahar hadn't run more than two steps when she heard the thudding blows; she went back, took the chain that was lying on the floor and beat the tiger until it released her bleeding husband. The farmer looked at Sahar in astonishment and urgently waved her on, but she stood in front of her husband and kept striking away at the bleeding beast. Suddenly the tiger disappeared. The farmer felt death slowly creeping into his limbs. He drew Sahar to him and kissed her on the lips. Carefully he passed into her mouth the glass sliver, still wrapped in its cloth.
"Sahar now knew that her beloved husband was fated to die. She cried out loud and clutched his head tightly to her breast. The wizard, who had changed himself into a gust of wind, noticed that the splinter was now in Sahar's mouth. But at the same time he also felt his end was nearing and turned himself into a poisonous spider. Suddenly Sahar felt a bite on her neck. She slapped herself wit
h all her might. The spider dropped to the floor, dead.
"The two lovers died embracing each other. That same night a thousand and one voices slipped away from the ruins of the castle. Some of them found their images, and some are still looking to this very day. But at midnight on the dot two stars shot from the castle ruins up into the sky. One of them sparkled like a diamond, the other was fire-red.
"Ever since that day the red star has been following the sparkling Sahar star, and when they meet each other, a thousand and one pearls will fall into the open mouths of the oysters. And in that night the birds will sing marvelous songs late into the wee hours.
"That's what my father's helper told me," Mehdi said, "and when he had finished speaking, I asked with the curiosity of a child: 'And what's the name of the fire-red star?'
" 'Shafak,' he replied."
"May God bless your mouth for this story!" Faris was the first to speak. The others nodded their heads.
"But what happened to the apprentice?" asked the barber.
Mehdi paused for a long time. "You won't believe it. One night I heard a shout of joy. I woke up, pulled back the curtain and saw Shafak dancing in the courtyard. He was dancing with his hand outstretched, and a pearl was gleaming in his palm. He spun around one more time and flung the pearl into the sky. The next morning I told this to my mother. She just laughed at me and claimed I must have dreamt it—but Shafak disappeared that very day."
"Are you serious?" the minister made sure, and Mehdi nodded in silence. Only Salim gave an odd smile.
"If a fairy changed me into a star right now they'd call me the yawning star," Musa said, then yawned loudly and stood up. It was already after midnight.
"Before we go," Isam interjected without getting up, "we should draw cards to find out who's next."
"Oh, right, that's right," mumbled the locksmith like a child who has been caught in the act. Isam placed six cards on the table.
"I'd prefer to take the last card, you go ahead," Ali
snapped at Tuma the emigrant, who was prodding
him to draw. But it was the
cafe owner, Junis, who
drew the
ace.
6
How
Salim without
saying a word talked a
merchant into lowering his price
Salim hadn't spent such a peaceful night in a long time. Sleep drove the fatigue of the last months out of his bones. When he woke up, he saw Afifa standing right outside his window, despite the icy cold. She gave an embarrassed smile. "May today bring good fortune to you, Uncle! Will you join us for some coffee?" she called to him. The old coachman shook his head with a smile and jumped merrily out of his bed.
Shortly after eight the baker's boy brought him his bread. Ever since he had received his pension, Salim had been giving the lad a piaster every morning.
That morning the olives tasted especially delicious with the warm pita bread and hot tea. Salim started thinking about the teacher's story, and about Sahar and Shafak. What ever became of the carpenter's apprentice? Was he really the fire-red star, or just a storytelling carpenter? With these questions in his head he cleared his little table, locked the door to his room, stored the key inside his leather bag, and hurried out of the house.
At that hour his street was still quiet: the children had long since gone to school. In the summer, the cries of one vegetable peddler overlap with those of the next, but on this wintry day only a single man could be seen slowly pushing his cart past the houses. And all he was hawking in the courtyards was a couple of onions and a pitiful pile of potatoes. "Seven pounds for one lira!" His whiny voice was practically begging. The dog that belonged to the pastry chef Nassif was barking incessantly as it did every day. A small mongrel with a big mouth, it began yapping when the sun rose and continued throughout the day until its master, a wealthy widower, came home. Many housewives were on the verge of despair. And the barking was also a constant annoyance to the men of the neighborhood. One day Afifa's oldest son, goaded on by his mother, climbed the wall, stuffed the dog into a sack, and let it loose in a field on the outskirts of the city. But the cur found its way back to its owner. Until then, the neighborhood believed that only cats come back. A dog, they imagined, would wag its tail and follow anyone who tossed it a bone. But they had seen for themselves: this mongrel, half starved and wholly shaggy, leaping into the open arms of the teary-eyed pastry chef.
The saw that belonged to Ismat the carpenter broke the brief silence that had arisen between two barked chords—just as Salim was wondering about Afifa's watch at his window. What had she been looking for? Was she spying on him to see whether he would talk in his sleep? He shook his head to free himself from his suspicion.
Every street has its own face, its own smell, and its own voice. Abara Street, where Salim lived, has an old, earth-colored face covered with furrows, children's scribblings, and stories. The windows wake up each morning bursting with curiosity as they wait for every bit of news, for every swift and swallow, for every scent. The street smells of anise even in winter: about halfway down the block there is an enormous anise warehouse belonging to two brothers. People tell the craziest stories about their miserliness. Apparently the two brothers fell in love at the same time, with two sisters—and were overjoyed they would only have to pay one priest at the wedding. It seems that everything was working out very well, until three months into their engagement, when one of the ladies suggested: "Every day you come and sit here until midnight. Why don't we hire a carriage, just for once, take a nice drive around Damascus, and then have some ice cream at Bekdash's in the Hamadiya bazaar." The brothers gazed at one another in horror, rose from their seats, and slowly staggered out on wobbly legs. They spent the rest of their lives celebrating their last-minute escape from the two spendthrifts, and neither brother ever married. People told many stories about their stinginess, but neither their own millions nor their neighbors' disdain made a whit of difference where that was concerned. On the contrary, the older and richer they grew, the more miserly they became.
On this particular morning the younger brother appeared on the balcony and shouted down to the potato peddler: "Are those potatoes firm?" The vendor only turned around quickly and called back up with a bitter smile: "I'm not selling. I'm just out for a walk."
"Outrageous. These people whine about not having any business and then it turns out they're just out for a walk!" The millionaire waxed indignant.
"Once burned, twice shy," thought Salim, and he, too, smiled bitterly. Indeed, the peddler knew the brothers all too well. Only a newcomer would have been taken in by that polite question. The minute he pushed his cart up to their door, both brothers would throw themselves on his wares, and an hour later the peddler would be exhausted and all his vegetables nibbled and gnawed. The brothers' surefire methods guaranteed that both would come away from the transaction with full stomachs. First they would munch on something, then say in a horrified tone: "Now see here, do you think we're that dumb? You can't charge a whole lira for this half-eaten head of lettuce!" Nor were they above devouring unwashed cauliflower, lettuce leaves, or carrots.
The miserly brothers lived like recluses, as if they didn't belong to the neighborhood. An old man with crooked legs sifted the anise for them through huge wire sieves from morning to night and packed it into large burlap sacks. Salim had known the man for over fifty years. He never spoke, but he showed up every morning and disappeared into the anise dust. Over time Salim noted that the man was shrinking. His legs became more crooked with every passing year, and his face took on the gray-green color of aniseed.
The Street Called Straight, which leads into Abara Street, has a different smell entirely. The musty odor of the pub hits you the moment you reach the crossing. The street itself reeks of horses and sweat, and were it not for Karim the fruit vendor the stench would be unbearable.
Karim sold what may have been the best fruit in the world. It always cost a little more than elsewhe
re, but it looked magnificent and gave off a wonderful bouquet. Fruit, you see, is first eaten with the eyes, then with the nose, and only lastly with the mouth. Karim did tend to exaggerate in praising his produce: "Whatever you can't smell from five yards away is yours for free!" But there was no question that the aromas wafted further than just around the corner. Karim lined the entrance to his shop with two rows of fruit crates; they looked like two rows of colorful teeth belonging to some gigantic mouth.
In fact, the whole street looked like a giant mouth lined with festive teeth made of packaged candies and nuts that glistened plump and tempting. No wonder people were so eager to stick their heads inside the great gorge of the Street Called Straight. Just as rich old Damascenes decorate their mouths with gold teeth, so the venerable Damascus streets have adorned themselves since Roman times with carpets, nuts, copper kettles, and elaborately inlaid woodwork.
Salim shut his eyes and proceeded, very slowly, testing the street with his ears and his nose. Beyond the crossing he could make out the sweet voice of the drink vendor. "Come in, come in"—he encouraged every passerby to step inside. Salim wondered whether he could have ever guessed, judging by the high voice alone, that the man was as fat as he was. One step farther things came to a complete hush, and Salim took in an unusual smell. Yes, that was the apothecary. Salim smiled, and just then he heard Hassan the shoeshine man: "Shoeshine? Happy Dew, here I am! Shoe-shiiiine!"
