New Waw, Saharan Oasis (Modern Middle East Literature in Translation)

by Ibrahim Al-Koni

  The cortege reached the tomb’s perimeter, and the council of wise elders sent a messenger to represent them and negotiate with the women. These discussions began in veiled language as the women chanted many demands on behalf of the virgin. Then the envoy would rush back to the council with these before returning to the cortege, saying each time that the groom’s spokesmen had pledged to fulfill these demands and that they would even build for the virgin, should she want it, a house located between the earth and the sky.

  The women gained courage from this and took a step closer to the tomb and then more steps. Finally the women knelt and wept grievously before they handed over their treasure, placing the bride’s hand in the diviner’s.

  5

  The wedding ceremonies ended.

  The prophetic rituals commenced.

  The crowd dispersed, and the noble elders went their separate ways. Inside the tent that had been erected over the tomb, the diviner sat mumbling secret talismans while clutching the beauty’s wrist. He began his instructions in a mysterious voice. “Every woman will find herself wailing in a corner one day while a man holds her wrist. The beauty is luckier than all the other girls because she has been chosen to enter the leader’s eternal home.”

  The young woman’s wail grew louder. She muttered softly, “But I’m afraid.”

  “A young woman has a right to be afraid on entering the house of a man who holds her wrist, because man is the spouse of pain. But what right does the beauty have to be afraid when she sleeps beside a man who has dozed off eternally?”

  The girl’s wail died away, and her virginal breathing became more regular. In a voice like the wind whispering in the retem groves, she murmured, “I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of being alone. I’m afraid … of the tomb!”

  “Solitude is a necessary precondition for prophecy, my daughter. Don’t forget that you will bring a prophecy back to the tribe tomorrow.”

  She sighed deeply, as if relieved of a burden, but her wrist continued to tremble in the diviner’s hand.

  The diviner returned to his instructions. “You will lie down soon and rest your head on the stone of the sanctuary. Have no fear, because I’ll be near you. Know that there is no reason for you to fear loneliness or solitude or the Spirit World in a place the diviner frequents. I will be near you, because I am a diviner, and the diviner is destined not to sleep. You will feel drowsy. When you sleep, you will hear a commotion. Don’t be afraid then. After the commotion, the bee will come. You will hear the bee buzzing, but don’t be afraid. Once this buzzing ceases, our master will arrive immediately. He will come to speak. Listen very carefully to what he says. Listen and remember every word. His remarks may seem strange or cryptic to you or even laughable, but beware: Don’t forget or disdain what he says. Don’t forget what is said. Don’t underrate an expression that may seem devoid of meaning, because words you think lack meaning may be more important than those you find meaningful. So beware!”

  The virgin whispered with a virgin’s curiosity, “But does my master think that my master will show himself?”

  “He may if he feels like it, but what’s important is what he says. Remember that the bee’s buzzing will precede it. In any event, pay attention!”

  6

  The diviner arrived at first light and was surprised to find people hovering around the tent. He assumed they were curiosity seekers from the hoi polloi. When he made out the features of the hero, however, he shouted, “I thought only diviners were entitled to stay up nights; reading the news in the hordes of stars is their calling.”

  The hero jokingly replied, “But my master forgets that the tribes don’t wake the diviner when danger threatens the campsite. Instead they rush to the hero’s tent.”

  The diviner inquired anxiously, “Danger?”

  “The bride of our master, the leader, has had a mishap.”

  “A mishap?”

  “Her body is feverish, there is a crazed look in her eyes, and her breathing is so labored she seems to be taking a bitter last gasp.”

  The diviner rushed at the group blocking the tent’s entrance. They parted ranks for him. Inside, women were gathered around the girl, and a few old men sat off in a corner. The tent’s air was stifling. Foul-smelling, acrid salves mixed with the stench of suspect herbs the old women had squirreled away in their belongings for a long time—the way amulets are tucked away—till they had acquired the musty smell of old bones burning. The only scent he could identify in this upsetting potpourri was wormwood. He felt suffocated by the smoke, and the burning incense made him dizzy. He confronted the women and scolded them loudly, “Stop this! Get this out of here!”

  They made a path for him through the group, and he scrutinized the girl. Her face’s pallor resembled a corpse’s, but her whole body was burning with fever. She was shaking, stretching, and trembling violently. Thick foam oozed from her lips, and trails of saliva ran from her mouth. Her charming plaits hung loosely down, and her braids had divided into matted little hairs covered with dust.

  The women surrounded her. One morose old lady was pressing the girl’s body with thin, twiglike hands crisscrossed by many braids of veins. By the girl’s head stood another equally stern woman from whose hands dangled a ceramic censer. Long use had marked it and the burning incense had charred it, turning it as black as a piece of coal. Lethal, legendary fragrances emanated from this pottery vessel. The sullen woman went back and forth between the hearth at the entrance and the group of women each time the incense burned out.

  He shot a threatening glance at this woman and said in a harsh voice, “Go away!”

  The old woman took a step back and replied just as threateningly, ‘‘Would the diviner interfere when he knows better than anyone that when morning comes and the bride leaves her husband’s tent she becomes the women’s responsibility?”

  “But the husband whose home the virgin has left isn’t just any husband. When the virgin leaves the dwelling of a slumbering leader she becomes the diviner’s responsibility, because you know that the fruit of the union in this case is a prophecy, not a child.”

  “See what the diviner’s prophecy has done to the tribe’s virgin! She went to seek a prophecy and returned from the Spirit World crazed.”

  “People like you can become crazed even when loitering in the open countryside—why should you criticize the possession of someone begging for a prophecy from a man who resides in the Spirit World?”

  “But she, Master, will die. The girl will soon join the leader and live in the tomb if you don’t bring a sorcerer to free her from captivity by the jinn.”

  “Has she said anything? Anyone who got here before me must repeat every word she said, even if it seems nonsense or idle chatter.”

  “She has been raving; the poor dear hasn’t stopped raving since her first scream woke us.”

  The diviner leaned over the old woman’s head till the end of his turban touched the covers. In a self-controlled voice like a whisper he asked, “What did she say while she was raving? If you collect your wits and remember one statement from what you call raving, I will reward you handsomely.”

  The old woman’s eyes glowed in the firelight. They gleamed mysteriously, and her upper lip, which was a network of wrinkles, rose. She remarked, “It’s really hard to recall a dying person’s delirious words, the words of a person who has left the land of games and dolls and reached the far side of the valley.”

  The diviner drew closer to the old woman’s ear and insisted in a voice like a hiss, “In delirium the secret is concealed. In the nonsensical raving of a possessed person is hidden the prophecy.”

  He whistled and added with all the certainty of a diviner, “In the prattle of a possessed person is hidden the supreme prophecy. So watch out!”

  The old woman was silent. She lowered her eyelids, which were also covered with wrinkles. But her hands never stopped massaging the girl’s body. Finally she spoke; she spoke without opening her eyes. She spoke like a real div
iner: “Tekrahame eddaragh.”

  She stopped. Her face’s wrinkles trembled and its folds expanded. The veins of her slender neck bulged and became a web of veins. She said with the girl’s voice, with the voice of prophecy: “Tekrahame eddaragh. Ekaoankrahagh ammutagh. You possessed me when I was alive. Now that I’m dead, I’ll possess you.”

  The diviner repeated numbly, “Tekrahame eddaragh. Ekaoankrahagh ammutagh.”

  He repeated this prophecy once, twice, several times. Then he straightened himself and lifted his head to look up. As if addressing the heavens he said, “The prophecy! This is the prophecy. We slaughter sacrificial offerings and race off to search for it across the generations, forgetting that it lies between the lips of a possessed person or is hidden in the mouth of a creature we call crazed, for what would become of the desert’s tribes if the desert lacked prophecy? What would happen to settlements if the desert lost its leaders and if leaders from the realm of the Spirit World didn’t send prophecies via the tongues of possessed people to provide illumination for their tribes’ path during the leaders’ occultation? Have you finally heard your leader’s voice? Isn’t this his language? Didn’t he always like to speak in riddles?”

  He moved to the other corner, where the elders were huddled, and said as though addressing all of them or no one at all—because at that moment he was preoccupied by addressing the tribes of the Unknown, “Isn’t what you just heard the wise answer befitting a leader? Hasn’t he told you something he wasn’t able to tell you while among you? Didn’t we possess him while he was alive? Didn’t we prevent him from marrying his beloved poet? Didn’t we require him to accept the position of leader, which was a shackle for him? Didn’t we visit him with groups of people to force him to take trips through the wasteland against his will? Weren’t we too stingy to let him enjoy the bird’s song? Do you doubt now that the voice we heard is your former leader’s? Will you doubt again the power of the dead to carry out a threat? Do you intend to disdain a promise? Or will you heed the advice of wisdom and accept the leadership of a man whom you possessed while he was alive and who has sworn to possess all of you now from behind the curtain? Do you still doubt that your leader will remain your leader forever?”

  He turned to the crowd gathered at the tent’s entrance and screamed a command: “Slaughter a sacrificial beast! How can a prophecy be taken seriously unless the blood of sacrificial offerings is shed? How do you expect the goddess of this prophecy to recover from the grip of the Spirit World before she’s been washed by blood? Bring a black goat if you want the girl to recover. Bring your blackest goats, if you want a real cure that has nothing in common with grannies’ nasty incense.”

  The vassals and slaves rushed off and brought back from the open country the blackest goats. They handed the diviner a bronze dagger. The diviner rushed at the cluster of women and ordered that the sacrificial offering be flung beside the body of the possessed woman. He recited ancient talismans of which no one ever understood a single word. Passing generations had labeled these “arcane” because of their age. They were said to be puzzling because they had been written in the first language, which had become obsolete, vanished, and been forgotten, bequeathing to the tribes only some mystifying words spoken as talismans that not even the diviner himself understood.

  He drew the dagger from the scabbard, which was also adorned with talismans. The dagger’s blade shone in the firelight and its path traced a design in the void. The soothsayer brought the thirsty blade down on the victim’s throat, and blood gushed out copiously. The animal emitted a death rattle and choked with the pains of its dying gasp. More blood flowed from its throat. The blood splattered and stained the maiden’s throat, nape, and face. Her body underwent a transformation. The overstressed frame began to relax, the tension left her facial muscles, the possessed look left her eyes, the foam ceased oozing from her mouth, and her breathing became more regular and regained its lost harmony.

  A profound stillness settled over the miserable body, and her lips muttered in a sleepy daze, “Tekrahame eddaragh. Ekaoankrahagh ammutagh.”

  Outside the tent, in the arc of the Eastern horizon, a newborn firebrand appeared, signaling the birth of a new dawn. The diviner muttered, “You’re right. Like any other people, we understand nothing about our situation; but we do know that truly no one is better suited to succeed the leader than the leader himself.”

  ______________

  8. Anhi and Lost Book are other ways of referring to al-Namus, the Law.

  VI

  THE LOVER

  What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.

  The First Letter of Paul to the Corinthians, 15:36

  The stone expresses that side of the self that rises, isolated, stretched toward nature.

  C. G. Jung, “The Spirit Mercurius”

  1

  They convened a new assembly, and the diviner began, “Who but the leader can succeed the leader?”

  When his question was met with general silence, he posed this challenge: “Let anyone who can bring the tribe a leader fit to succeed the leader speak up.”

  No one spoke.

  The diviner announced: “We repudiated his leadership qualities when he was leader. Now after moving to the Spirit World he has nominated himself as our leader. Should we spurn the Spirit World and ignore the prophecy?”

  He pointed his finger at the stones of the tomb and declared sternly, “From today forward, this pile of stones is our treasure. Do you know how he answered me when I asked him about migrations?”

  Their curiosity got the better of their sense of decorum, their wisdom failed to buttress their feigned indifference, and their pride lost its ancient, contentious scorn for worldly matters. So at the same time their tongues all blurted out: “What did he say? Tell us—how did he reply to the question about migration?”

  The diviner smiled with the malice of cunning strategists and deliberately took his time in replying. He deliberately delayed his response in order to kindle in their breasts the fire of curiosity and to inflame the hearts of the elders, who had always scorned his yearning to search for a prophecy. He was silent for a long time. Then he spoke. He did not speak the way he normally did. He also forsook the dignified demeanor of soothsayers and … sang. He pulled his veil down over his eyes, lifted his head up, and swayed like an ecstatic person in a trance. He chanted the prophecy in a melodious voice: “T’falam amadal, tekkam amadal, me tekkam? You depart from dirt and journey toward dirt; so what is the point of the trip?”

  Stillness settled over the assembly. The group followed the message a long way and contemplated the metaphor for a long time. Then they cried with the air of someone who had forgotten something: “Did our master really say this?” The diviner did not reply.

  Then the only man who bore antiquity on his shoulders intervened and seized the right to utter the decisive statement: “This is language that befits our master. This is really his idiom, and this is his wisdom. Don’t you think it behooves us to obey?”

  The proponents of migration argued their case by grumbling, moving their turbans closer to one another, touching their heads together, and pretending they were consulting each other, but Emmamma, who was older than any of them, allowed them no time. He took his polished stick and left the tent.

  2

  Tongues voiced objections, and mouths mentioned the Law’s dictates that cautioned against any surrender to the temptation of the earth. Then the leader took charge of them all and, using the virgin’s tongue, sent them a new message. This prophecy said, “Yassokal awadem yeway imannet meykka? What kind of trip is it when a man carries his soul along with him?”

  The diviner chanted this with a noble, heartrending melody. Then tears leapt from his eyes. He chanted this for a long time before he sent for the herald. When the herald arrived, the diviner entrusted the mission to him. The herald went through the settlements spreading the good news of the prophecy. Then the virgin followed him to the diviner’s dwelling, bea
ring a new prophecy. Via the virgin’s tongue, the leader said, “Etekkam ettaqqlimd degh yohazan. Wherever all of you go, you will return by a nearby place.” The diviner wept once more and sang the lyric mournfully while gazing at the distant horizon and swaying back and forth like people who are in a trance and robbed of their intellects by a song. He spent a long time on his private journey. When he finally returned, he dismissed the virgin and again sent for the herald.

  3

  He wandered in the wasteland for some days and returned from seclusion with an inspiration.

  He summoned a man who was famous for his craftsmanship in constructing tombs and who was known in the tribe as the “Lover of the Realm of Stones.” He sat with him outside the tent in the dusk of the evening. Sitting down, he asked, “Have you all finally realized that it is pointless to continue migrating?”

  The Lover pulled his turban lower and began to examine the dirt with his fingers, searching for pebbles. He picked up a pebble in his right hand and deposited it in the palm of his left hand. He answered this question after a pause. “Whether we believe it or not, generations from now the Spirit World will make clear whether we were right or have committed a sin.”