by Tariq Ali
‘Where is Uthman?’
‘I’ll take you to him,’ replied Khalid.
The sight of his first-born had always had a disquieting effect on him. He must be thirty-five this year. The woman who looked after Uthman saw them approach. At least she’s still alive, Idrisi thought to himself. Her strong bony frame must have helped her survive the worst of a hard life. Then he saw Uthman hiding behind a tree and observing him.
‘Peace be upon you, son. Will you not come and greet your old father?’
Idrisi was shocked as he watched Uthman emerge from hiding. He had aged beyond his years. His hair was white and he walked with the step of a frail old man. Yet, he spoke in a strong, self-assured voice. ‘Peace upon you, Abu. It is good to see you after so many years. You know, of course, that my mother and sister were killed by Roman soldiers.’
‘Uthman, it’s nice to see you after all these years. Is there anything you need? Anything?’
‘I need a wife, Abu. A wife.’
‘Do you have anyone in mind?’
Uthman took his father by the arm and walked him to the sheep pen. He pointed to a sheep.
‘Yes I can see Uthman. Sheep.’
‘That one,’ he said pointing again, ‘I want to marry her. Don’t tell me it isn’t permitted Abu. Who doesn’t permit? Who?’
Idrisi realised that a reference to al-Quran would not carry much weight with his poor son. He decided to try something else.
‘The Roman Emperor has forbidden marriage between humans and animals.’
Uthman yelled, ‘I know that, of course. It’s to defy him that I will go through with this marriage. Let his soldiers come. We will trap and kill them. Have you got your shield and spear ready, young Khalid?’
‘I have, uncle.’
‘Go and bring them.’
As Khalid disappeared Uthman sat down on the chair beneath the tree and spoke again.
‘It was the great Greek thinker Pythagoras who taught us that humans were reincarnated as animals, father. Did you know that? Please arrange my wedding.’
‘I did know that, son, but where did you hear about it?’
‘In your library. I often go and read. There are many books of interest. I enjoy that a great deal.’
Tears filled his father’s eyes. What had gone wrong with his child? The ancients wrote of people losing their minds, but had no cure. There must be a cure. Why should a mental ailment be ignored or be dependent on remedies based on pure superstition?
‘Will you not come into the house and break bread with us?’
‘I can’t, Abu, because you will sit down and eat my mother-in-law. I saw her being killed, unclothed, marinated, after which little spears of garlic pierced her body and then they covered her in wild thyme because even they were ashamed of her nakedness. You can see her now being roasted gently on the fire.’
‘Tomorrow, I promise we will not consume any meat. Will you eat with us then?’
‘With great pleasure, Abu. I am glad to see you again. And I was glad to hear from my nephew that your book was completed. Thank you for coming to see me.’
As Idrisi walked back to the house he reflected on the fact that the only member of his family who had shown any interest in his book was his mentally disturbed son. Later, Sakina told him that on most days, apart from his conversations with the animals, Uthman was completely normal. It was only when he imagined the soldiers were going to find and kill him that he left the house and hid outside for days. And he was frightened of visitors—he thought they were spies who would return and inform on him to the commander of the Roman Legion in Siracusa.
‘Why has he aged so much?’
‘It has happened slowly, but we do not know why. Ummi thought it must be related to the disease.’
‘I’m not sure about that at all.’
Khalid, who had been listening to them, had another theory.
‘I think it’s sadness that has turned his hair white. Day after day, he sits in his chair and watches the animals being slaughtered. It really upsets him. You know something, Jiddu, I sit with him when he talks to the animals. He tries to teach them our history and about our Prophet and then the battles, but usually he talks to them about ancient Greece and its great philosophers. I have learnt a great deal from him. Why can’t we let him marry who he wants?’
‘Khalid!’ warned his aunt.
‘The boy could well be right on why he has aged prematurely. Is there no way of moving him away from the animals? What if we removed all the animals from the estate?’
The suggestion panicked Khalid. ‘Don’t ever do that, Jiddu. He would only think they had all been killed and would kill himself.’
‘You seem to know him better than anyone else, my child. Surely, one thing that could be easily organised is to make sure the animals are slaughtered at night when he is asleep. If it causes him so much distress, why do it in front of him? What do you think?’
Khalid thought for a while. ‘It is a good idea, but he knows them all and would still miss them, but it would still be a better way.’
That same evening Sakina instructed the butcher, and the lambs and goats were removed at night. Over the next week Uthman appeared much happier and one afternoon whispered to Khalid, ‘My friends are learning how to escape. They know they’re about to be slaughtered and run away each night. I told them to go and hide in the caves near the sea. I hope my fiancée doesn’t run away.’
‘But my dearest uncle, wouldn’t you rather she ran away? What if they killed her?’
‘You are a very clever boy. I’m proud of you. I suppose I’ll have to marry someone else.’
That night the sheep that had caught Uthman’s eye was taken from the pen and made ready for the kitchen the next morning. They ate her at the midday meal and Idrisi noticed Khalid picking nervously at the meat rather than eating it properly.
Perhaps there is no medicine for his disease, thought Idrisi, but if there is a cure, it must involve entering his head and Khalid has done so more than any adult in the household.
The Trusted One was of the same opinion. He had engaged in a number of conversations with Uthman in the library and was amazed that he knew where every single book was located and, of the books he himself had read, he could cite page numbers and references without any problems.
‘Perhaps only a part of his mind has ceased to function. The rest is fine. This is the part of the human body of which we physicians know the least.’
One night after the evening meal, they gathered around a fire that had been lit outside, ate dried fruits and sipped wild mint tea underneath the stars. It reminded Idrisi of his youth. He took Elinore aside and pointed at the lights of a distant village.
‘I used to ride there once a day just to catch a glimpse of your mother.’
‘And my aunt?’
‘No, you wretch. She was far too young to be taken seriously.’
Abu Khalid suggestively cleared his throat and Idrisi and Elinore returned to the family circle. Idrisi spoke of the deaths in the family and praised his late wife for the efficient way in which she had run the estate. An unexpected reflection interrupted him.
‘I wish Walid were present to hear you say that, Abu. It would have made him happy.’
Idrisi smiled. ‘I, too, wish he was here, Uthman. May Allah protect all my children.’
He described how it had been a hilly wasteland when his grandfather first arrived one summer. It had taken them six months alone to dig the stones from the soil for the first few terraces. Many of the stones had been used to build the house. When the winter rains came, the earth was transformed, the hills turning green and the streams overflowing. Only then were they certain they had made a good choice.
‘And now we have hard decisions to take. Even if I remain on this island I will never live here again. Sakina lives with her family. Abu Khalid and Khalid are happy on their own estate. Uthman, of course, will live here with his friends, but he cannot manage the estate. The peasants wh
o work these estates, like their forebears before them, will suffer greatly if we were to sell the estate. I was wondering how we should solve this problem when Khalid told me that he and his father had invited the Trusted One to join us. So I turn to him. Holy man, if that is what you are, explain to us how we will teach the peasants to bear false witness with brazen faces in order to defend themselves against the future. We have all heard of the village where miracles took place after your visit.’
The demeanour of the Trusted One had altered since he had met Bulbula’s sister. He had cut his hair short and trimmed his beard. He bathed more regularly and wore clean clothes, all this partly in response to a heartrending plea from Bulbula’s sister. But he was also aware that descriptions of him were circulating all over the island and that the swinish Lombards would soon seek their revenge.
The scholar had posed questions that required a response. ‘Learned Master Idrisi, I thank you and your family for the hospitality you have given me. As I see it, there are few problems with this estate. The peasants have not been mistreated and they are all Believers. The size of the estate is not excessive. I have been making some estimates. There are a hundred peasant families in addition to six retainers in the household.’
‘In fact, Trusted One,’ said Uthman, ‘there are one hundred and three families and eight retainers. You forgot to count the butcher and the wood cutter who eat daily in our kitchen.’
‘I thank you for correcting me, Uthman ibn Muhammad. There is enough land here to be divided among these families. That will still leave sufficient land to maintain the estate, not as before but certainly without creating a problem. Then there is the question of bearing false witness. This is unnecessary for Ibn Muhammad will himself sign the papers of transfer and these can be registered in Noto. The problem is the future. If we are defeated, the only way for the peasants to keep the land is to pretend they are Nazarenes. You have a small mosque here, but no church. I think we need one. Greek not Latin. It’s simpler. If the peasants agree, I have seen a site where it could be constructed quite easily. Once that is done, we will need a monk and a register where he will testify he converted this village the day Rujari died to honour his memory.’
‘Trusted One,’ Uthman asked in a nervous voice, ‘will my friends be forced to become Nazarenes?’
‘What are they at the moment?’
‘They are neither Believers nor Nazarenes. They still worship the old Greek god, Poseidon.’
‘It will not be necessary for them to convert.’
‘I won’t either.’
‘That will not be a problem.’
‘Perhaps all this can be done,’ said Idrisi, ‘but our peasants are very religious and I am doubtful whether they will agree to change their religion to keep their land.’
‘This is a strange island,’ said the Trusted One. ‘Its climate and its way of life have a way of affecting everyone. The choice is either to let the tyrant reap the seed they have sown and be driven off the land or to pretend they have been baptised. They can pray to Allah five times a day in the field or at home. But the choice is for them, not for you or me. That much I learnt from the other village. We had won, but the peasants were scared of reprisals. And to promise them that there would be no revenge killing because we were going to be victorious and re-take the island was unconvincing. I’m not sure whether that is possible, given our present state, so how could I convince anyone else? It was then that I thought of conversions planned by us as a counter to those forced on our people by a sword. Where’s the harm? Allah be praised, if we win. If we lose, let us ensure the peasants and their families are secure even though we may not be. It is the least that can be done for them.’
‘It is sensible advice, I grant you,’ said Idrisi. ‘But on this estate they have not had to struggle against adversity and that has given them a remarkable self-confidence. I will back your advice.’
Elinore and her husband discussed their future through the night. She wanted to leave Siqilliya, but he wanted to stay so that their children would be born here. He reminded her that his family had lived in Siracusa since the town was built. She argued that she could not bear her children being brought up in the midst of bloodshed and uncertainty. If Rujari, whom she had loved, could kill Philip whom she had admired, the bloodletting on this island would never stop. He leaned and whispered something in her ear which made her laugh. It was a deep, throaty laugh, uncalculating and straight from the heart.
‘Does that mean we have reached a compromise, my lady?’
‘Blow out the candle, Simeon, and let me sleep. You will know in the morning.’
The next morning, the sound of the flute woke her. By the early morning light at the window she saw him, his face leaned sideways, his eyes gazing sadly at the distant sea. She had never realised that music could have such an effect on her. Now she wished she had bowed to her mother’s pressure and learnt how to play the lute when they still lived in the palace. She had made up her mind, but would tell Simeon later.
The Trusted One had woken early so he could speak with the peasant families. He had organised a mehfil for the late afternoon, an hour before they usually finished working in the fields. All they had been told was that Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi had returned to the estate and wished to consult with them. Sakina was already in the kitchen supervising the food that had to be prepared to feed the assembly.
Idrisi had taken Uthman on a walk to breathe the air and inspect the fruit trees. Uthman proved himself knowledgeable here as well, looking closely at each tree and estimating the fruit it would bear later in the year. His constant urge to assert himself delighted his father, who wondered whether they had left him on his for too long and whether talking to him each day and treating him as a normal person might not have partially cured him.
Suddenly, from a distance, they heard the sound of people running towards them and hailing them. Uthman froze, his face filled with fear. Idrisi put his arms around his son’s shoulders and told him not to worry, they were friends, not Roman soldiers.
‘Are you sure, Abu? Neither of us are wearing swords.’
A shiny-eyed Elinore and Simeon, his golden locks ruffled by the breeze, both slightly out of breath, stopped running as they saw her father. Uthman smiled and relaxed once again. He liked Elinore and loved hearing Simeon play the flute. Idrisi looked at her and knew instantly that she had something to say but had not expected to find Uthman with him.
‘What is on your mind, child? There are no secrets from your brother.’
‘I will go and sit under the tree, if you like,’ said Uthman.
‘No!’
‘Then speak.’
‘Simeon ibn Thawdor and I have been thinking a great deal. We have come to a decision, but only if it meets with your approval, Abi. We would like to come and live here with Uthman and ... if the Trusted One is right about the need to build a church, then Simeon could, when the need arose, don a monk’s robe and hide his flute.’
Uthman clapped his hands in excitement and Idrisi laughed. He was surprised and delighted. What had been worrying him was the thought of Uthman, abandoned by his family and dependent exclusively on retainers. He felt guilty that he had abandoned this boy at a young age. Now his daughter had decided to do what he should have done years ago.
‘A wonderful decision! As long as you are happy here, everyone else will be. But till you need to become a monk, Simeon, you should choose a piece of land and work it.’
‘I will,’ he replied, ‘but first we must build a small church. A single dome, a cross and unadorned, rough wooden benches inside. The map is in my head. It could be used as a school. Elinore is determined to teach the children how to read and write Arabic and Greek.’
‘When will you have the children?’
‘Uthman!’ she shrieked as she stood, legs apart and hands on hips. ‘We’ve only just got married. Give us time. Simeon was talking about the village children.’
‘I am very happy you and Simeon will live
here with me. Very happy. We have much to discuss, but now if you will excuse me, I must go and inform my friends.’
When the villagers arrived for the mehfil they were dressed in their best clothes. Idrisi, who knew most of the families, sat with them while they ate and they talked of what the island had been before they had arrived. All that had been grown was wheat. Now they had cotton and silkworms and the sumac tree for tanning and dyeing and our weavers—here they were talking of Noto alone—were the best on the island, if not in the world. A voice added: ‘Noto was the last to surrender and will be the first to rise against them.’
After they had eaten, Idrisi and the Trusted One spoke in turn and explained how they saw the future of the estate. The villagers were overjoyed when Idrisi told them the land would belong to them, but less pleased when the Trusted One gently explained that the path to long-term survival might necessitate a detour via the church.
‘Trusted One,’ a young peasant asked, ‘it is normal to dream of victories and triumphs, but you speak only of defeat. Are you so sure we will be defeated? Our village has pledged fifty young men to fight in the jihad.’
‘My friend,’ replied the Trusted One, ‘it is best to be prepared for everything. I do not know if we shall win or lose. What you do must be your own choice. If we are defeated I am telling you that, as night follows day, so the Lombards will arrive to kill all of you and steal your land. They have been known to kill Greeks as well so the church might not be sufficient protection, but at least it offers you a chance.’
Idrisi introduced Elinore and Simeon to them. He explained without embarrassment how both of them had been baptised and would live in the house with his son, Uthman. He spoke of Elinore’s wish to teach their children to read and write. He advised them to follow the Trusted One’s advice and then, perhaps because he was thinking of Balkis, he quoted a couplet from Ibn Hamdis.
