“Amazing! I hadn’t thought of that before.”
“The sovereign must inevitably draw two weapons: one to frighten the inhabitants of the wasteland and one to frighten the denizens of the Spirit World.”
“Why should the Spirit World’s inhabitants be on guard against a miserable puppet inhabiting the wasteland?”
“The sovereign is the only creature at which everyone’s arrow is aimed: those of the desert’s residents and those of heaven’s inhabitants.”
“Amazing!”
“Whenever a man’s rank increases, the number of those who serve, protect, and rally round him increases. Whenever a man’s status grows great, the number of amulets fastened to his neck also multiplies.”
“But why should an influential person fear both visible and invisible beings?”
“Because creatures—both the invisible and the visible—always regard the sacred with worshipers’ supplication. They always cling to someone venerable, whether a man walking on two feet or an enigma beckoning toward the void. The ancient disposition, the mysterious disposition, is what has decreed that man will raise his hand to wreak vengeance on the person or object he desires. The hand destroys only what the person craves. Man slays only the one he has loved.”
“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard!”
“The trick is to be wary, not to listen in amazement.”
“What are you saying?”
“Hire bodyguards, tonight … not tomorrow.”
“I once knew an important man who took charge of the people’s affairs and lived among them without feeling a need to take steps to guard himself against others.”
“I knew this man too, but confusing a leader who migrates through the desert with his tribe with one who takes charge of a people within the redoubts of the oasis is a grievous error.”
“I won’t deny that some of my peers share your opinion, but. …”
“That’s not all. You must tax the people and set tariffs on caravans in transit.”
“Slow down.”
“I fear it will be rough going for a ruler who doesn’t begin with this small step.”
“Not so fast! Slow down.”
“Take your time choosing assistants. Be on guard against hypocrites’ cunning if you want to avoid mistakes.”
On the horizon, the firebrand was suffocated, leaving behind an evanescent twilight. In the wasteland, the night’s darkness advanced and evolved between the valley’s banks into true gloom.
The wayfarer concluded even more hoarsely than before, “Our master ought to retrace his steps before the gates in the wall are closed, because we have inherited from our ancestors the belief that it’s an ill omen for a bridegroom to spend his first night away from his bride.”
“Did you say ‘bridegroom’?”
“The ruler is also a bridegroom, and his kingdom his bride.”
He thought he heard the wayfarer release a hoarse laugh muffled like the hissing of a snake, before disappearing into the retem thicket, which was enveloped in gloom, without uttering a word of farewell.
3
The oasis.
Snare for the nomad, paradise for the thirsty, treasure for the stray, and homeland for the slave.
The oasis.
It reveals itself in the vast, almighty sea of sand as a disruption. It flirts like a coquette, opening its arms to new arrivals with the seduction of a beautiful woman desiring to be possessed. It tempts with its plentiful shadows, promises the abundant water of a heavenly spring, and presents the fruit of its land lavishly, until the eternal wanderer surrenders and savors the fruit. Then the farmland of the oasis bids him tarry, detains him, and fastens him to it with a thousand pegs. It whispers in his ear, “Relax. Eat and drink. Enjoy yourself, because nomadic life brings only thirst, the unknown, and assorted terrors.”
“Relax,” it whispers to him. “Rely on me, because beyond my borders there is nothing but devastation and loss.”
Clasped to its bosom dwell the faint of heart, those who ignore longing’s song, which they receive from the wasteland’s mouth as a precept they might use to discover another oasis lying beyond the wasteland.
They slumber in the dewy shadows, wallow in the muddy mires, and—instead of singing—cram their mouths full of suspect fruit that ignites in their bellies an inferno called gluttony. As slackness becomes habitual, they forget the song and lose the amulet concealed in it. Thus they cannot find their way to the maxim that prods them to search for the distant oasis lying beyond every other oasis and that warns nomads against the trap of falling into the false snares of oases that appear on the open road.
4
From the direction of the blacksmiths’ market he heard a din of voices, raised in fierce debate. Foreigners’ gibberish mixed with the cries of the rabble, transforming the tumult into a detestable chaos unknown in the tribe even during armed raids. Why did the ancestors curse in their maxims every form of commotion? Why did they muzzle the mouth of anyone unable to keep still? Why did they forbid children to speak in the morning and allow them only a limited number of phrases during the remainder of the day?
Some sages find these arrangements excessive, whereas others think them a necessary strategy to train children in self-control and to force them to bridle their avid tongues from the time they leave the cradle. Their first argument in favor of this inherited suspicion of speech affirms that the head cannot think while the organ in the mouth is moving. The more the tongue’s activity increases, the more sluggish the head becomes and the more its languor grows. The head’s languor afflicts the heart with a malady called death. It is a death, in these people’s opinion, much worse than departing from the physical world to the Spirit World’s realm, an event some other tribes call death. They decided that this detestable disease afflicting the heart is the true death. For this reason, they devised a mighty punishment for people dominated by the mouth’s organ and unable to refrain from chattering. They gagged these people’s mouths with scraps of linen or strips of leather in the first instance. If the wretches repeated the offense and people complained about their garrulousness, the authorities would stuff their mouths with wads of palm fiber. As they attempted to speak, their jaws crunched down on the fiber, injuring their tongues and mouths, which bled as they moved through the settlement. Despite the harshness of this punishment, many people were unable to prevent themselves from chattering. They would frequently raise their concern with the nobles or even the leader. They would say that speech is not a shortcoming that requires punishment, but rather a nomad’s right. The diviners—who sketched precepts for the tribes and decreed edicts saying that too much talk leads to a display of ignorance and that, where prattle abounds, prophecy disappears—did not merely restrain their own tongues, but took more life from their chests than they put in. The argument in favor of the tongue normally did not convince the wise, who reclaimed for themselves the charm, which priests had dictated, that speech repels prophecy.
When fear of losing prophecy became a concern that worried the ancients, they searched for another antidote to treat such people. Then they devised a bit (called an asedras) to silence chatterboxes, even before they used it to wean kids from their mothers’ milk. They would pierce both jaws with fiery skewers the way they bored through a camel’s muzzle. Then they would deliberately insert a wood or iron bit that pressed down on the tongue, preventing it from pursuing its wicked mission. Some obstinate people felt that to restrict speech was to restrict life, but if these wretches insisted on moving that organ in their mouths, ignoring the pain this action caused, their mouthings would be inaudible or unintelligible, a ludicrous or disgusting, muffled raving.
5
As he traversed the northern alleys leading to the blacksmiths’ market, the din grew ever louder.
The din.
There are various levels of din in the oasis.
There is the din of the markets, the din of boys, the din of women on the roofs of their homes, the din of the rabble
who never stop quarreling, and another eternal din that resembles the rumble of distant thunder when clouds charge in from the north. The last is a mysterious, murky din reminiscent of the Spirit World’s call, heard in the murmurs of jinn tribes in the caves of Tadrart or Tassili.3
This mysterious din, however, dissipates when a struggle flares up. Then melodies are stifled by the screams of devotees of dispute, quarrel, and outcry.
He set off alone to hunt for the voices of the Unknown, to pray for stillness’s assistance in calling to mind eternity’s whispers, while here in the oasis the din abrogated inspiration and cast prophecy into the abysses of chaos. Here the nugatory absorbed detestable voices to annul the sign that the stratagems had devised to lead him and to assist him in a matter he had not himself chosen. For how could someone who had not been granted a share of wisdom, had not received a prophecy, and had never detected in himself any genius or special gift lead people unless he were alone and sought inspiration from tranquility? Didn’t yesterday’s leader serve as an example in this respect? Wasn’t seclusion the helpmeet of all leaders and sages? How could a ruler succeed in anything while dwelling in the heart of a constant din, night and day? Wasn’t tumult the destiny of oases and the din in them a sign distinguishing them from the desert?
On his way back from the wasteland, after the stranger had disappeared, he had almost perceived a secret truth. He had almost bagged an illumination about governance. Yet he had to acknowledge now that this enlightenment had also faded away. The people’s voices caused it to bolt like a camel that spots the jinn’s ghostly specters. Here, driven by curiosity’s fire, he was endeavoring to discover what was beyond the hill. A void, a weakness, and an insinuating whisper filled his heart.
6
Out in space the light of a nascent full moon appeared. The houses’ roofs and walls were illuminated by a disorienting, dawn-colored firebrand. The walls’ shadows, however, extended through the alleys, assuming gigantic size and hiding the faces of the youngsters who crowded into a corner overlooking the market square to watch the group of adults huddled together in a circle a few steps away. The youngsters looked stealthily at one another, contradicted each other, and argued in loud voices, as if they were mimicking the adult gathering or had caught this infection from them, echoing their clamor. He stood above them, without anyone noticing. He faked a cough, but this was drowned in the din. Then he shouted in a loud voice, “Don’t children fear that the Spirit World’s specter may smother them if they wake it with their shouting?”
The huddle fell apart and some raised bare heads split by crests of hair, which in the shadows’ gloom appeared ill-omened insignia traced on their heads by a fiery bar. Their silence seemed twice as profound since the din nearby was so loud.
One of them asked sarcastically, “To which specter does the specter refer?”
Some of them guffawed; others restrained their laughter.
He threatened, “In this desert lives a mighty specter unseen by the desert’s eye. The specter set a condition for your ancestors to obey when they came to ask his permission to dwell in the desert. The specter said that he couldn’t bear tumult and wouldn’t allow his homeland to be shared by anyone who didn’t know how to keep quiet and that he would stifle anyone who violated the law of stillness. So watch out!”
One of them craned his long neck, attempting to ascertain the man’s features, which were not merely covered by his veil but were concealed behind veils of darkness as well. Finally, astonished, he yelled, “Who are you? Our master?”
Other voices repeated after him with respect and consternation, “Our master?”
They fled silently. They retreated on tiptoe, with bare feet, keeping their faces trained toward him until they had gone a safe distance. Then they all started to run away together while the shadows of the alleys swallowed them.
In the adjoining empty space, which was flooded by the light of the nascent full moon, the din of the other group grew louder. They clustered in a circle for a time and later separated as individuals and pairs. They crowded around a body he could not make out. They cried out loudly to one another, like herdsmen castrating a prize camel or helping him mate with a she-camel.
He stopped a few feet away and pretended to cough. Then he asked, “What’s going on here?”
His question was lost in the tumult of voices. So he took a step closer before repeating it.
Some more time passed before one of the young men noticed his presence. This was a tall fellow wearing a white garment and veiled in white as well. Although he was tall, his body was rather plump, unlike that of a son of the desert.
Examining the other man in the pale light, the young man asked, “Our master?”
“Have you no shame? You’ve awakened the dead in their graves. Your din deafened me when I was walking in the wasteland.”
“It’s the jinn, master. The jinn are to blame. We found that he was hiding the forbidden metal in his pocket and wanted to bind him so we could bring him to you, but he has a jinni’s power. Don’t let his size deceive you, master. His arms are stronger than any warrior’s.”
“Is he a member of the tribe, a caravaneer, or a nomad?”
“How can we determine his community, master, when we can’t even bind his wrists? How, then, can we wrest an answer from his lips and interrogate him?”
At that moment, strong men pushed forward to assault the lean body, and their garments screened him from sight. The wretch, however, shook free of them with a heroic bound. They retreated, causing each other to lose their balance and fall backward.
Standing before the crowd, he shouted, “Let him go!”
They did not, or did not obey at once. They were silent. Some of them gazed in astonishment at him. Others separated from their prey. One of them, however, continued to hold a palm-fiber rope, the end of which was tied to a wrist of the skinny body.
He repeated, “Let him go!”
They made way for him. He stood above the head of the kneeling victim who looked up at him with obstinate, gleaming eyes. The man was panting and trembling. His veil had come loose during the struggle, revealing his mouth and part of his head. He stretched out a shaky hand to rearrange the lower part, without taking his eyes off the figure standing over his head.
He said, as he gazed into the distance, as if addressing another specter, “Come with me to a private place!”
A mixture of determination, astonishment, and anxiety showed in the lean body’s eyes, but the captive said nothing, nor did he attempt to flee.
He turned to the youth who still clung to the fiber rope and ordered: “Free his hand from the fetter.”
The young man waved a leather purse in the air and asked testily, “But what will we do with the gold, master?”
7
They traversed a dark, stifling alley. High walls hid from him the nascent sphere’s light. In the next stretch, the walls on either side were farther apart, and the depressing alley was transformed into a spacious street manacled with draped shadows. At its end, the track led to an empty area that extended to the market space reserved for caravans arriving from the west. Then it descended to the south to join the region that began at the well’s mouth and ended with the thickets by the fields.
Light from the deluded sphere, which rose ever higher, flooded the empty area. The ancestors’ beloved appeared pale and tired after struggling for a long time with conspirators.4 It had finally been able to defeat these enemies from the Spirit World, even though it had lost a side of its body during the struggle.
The leader spoke as if resuming a conversation that had just been interrupted. “If you tell me the truth, I’ll free you.”
Hearing no response, he clarified his remarks in the same tone, “The tribe has never arrested one of its members for theft. I imagine you’re not ignorant of the severe punishment that awaits anyone who doesn’t merely steal another person’s wealth but adds to the theft a deed even fouler.”
“Another deed?”
“Have you forgotten that possession of gold is an even worse offense under the laws of the oasis?”
“I’m not responsible for bringing it into the oasis, master.”
“But the young men discovered it in your pocket. So you’re responsible for the metal that was in your physical possession only moments ago.”
“I thought, master, you would order a splendid robe of honor for me as a reward for taking this perfidious metal from the hand of perfidy in order to rid the oasis of its evil.”
“A daring argument such as this sounds like something a vassal’s son would say. Do you belong to one of the tribes of vassals?”
“We are all vassals, master.”
“Despite its cleverness, your argument doesn’t convince me. Do you mean to say that seizure of stolen property constitutes restoration of the rights of the original owner, not theft? Desert tribes all agree that no matter where gold has been found, it has been stolen from the tribes of the Spirit World. Did you intend to return this trust to its owners after seizing it, or did you wish to possess the gold for some other reason?”
His companion was silent for a long time. Looking vacantly at the empty land, he said enigmatically, “Forgive me, master, but this is my secret.”
“You see, the Law says that a man shouldn’t steal a commodity in order to return it to its rightful owners, even if they are the residents of the Spirit World. So what drove you to commit this offense?”
There was no response.
“Was it need?”
No response.
“Are you hungry?”
No response.
“The desert’s miracle is that it is barren, devoid of vegetation, and may lie dormant for many years but never starves its inhabitants. What land spawned you that you should claim that hunger drove you to a deed that customary law universally condemns?”
“I affirmed to my master, moments ago, that this is my secret.”
“Wretch, what secret could sanction commission of a major offense?”
“Forgive me, master.”
The Puppet (Modern Middle East Literature in Translation) Page 5
