by Folktales
Notes on Presentation and Translation
Following the scheme articulated in the Introduction, the tales are divided into groups, each of which is followed by an afterword. This commentary follows rather than precedes the selections in order not to interfere with the reader's individual response to the tales. Likewise, we hope that the enjoyment of a first reading will not be interrupted by the footnotes. Notes have been provided to explain or explore many of the terms and concepts found in the tales. Extensive cross-referencing should allow readers to pursue particular topics, and the Footnote Index provides even more comprehensive surveys.
A translation must sound natural in the target language while still remaining faithful to the original. In translating these tales, several basic issues had to be considered. The first is the language of the original, which is the Palestinian dialect. In rendering colloquial Arabic into English, the translator must decide on the linguistic level, or tone, that best conveys the spirit of the original. A too-formal translation distorts that spirit, and a heavily colloquial one is equally deleterious.
In addition to purely linguistic considerations, there are also stylistic ones. Many stylistic features of oral performance cannot be duplicated in print without destroying the fluency of the narrative. Among these, for example, are comments reflecting the teller's own viewpoint (included in parentheses) in the midst of speech uttered by one of the characters. Literary oral narrative, when translated for print into another language, obviously undergoes in reality a process of double translation: the first is from one language to another, and the second is from one medium into another.
Fortunately, linguistic practice in English is helpful to the translator in both cases. The division in English between formal and informal language is not quite as important as it is in Arabic, where standard speech is used mostly on formal occasions and in writing. Thus, the solution to both problems (linguistic level and stylistic propriety) lies in steering a middle course between standard and informal speech, avoiding intrusive colloquialisms on the one hand and expressly "literary" diction on the other. The translation, in short, must sound good to native ears when read out loud.
In every case the translation follows the original very closely, attempting where possible to duplicate its narrative rhythm and its grammatical structure. The philosophy of translation articulated here assumes that the tellers must tell their own tales, with as few interpretive intrusions as possible. No liberties are taken with the text by adding invented material or by censoring scatological references through euphemistic substitution or excision. Necessary departures from the literal intent of the text are either included in square brackets in the body of the tale or footnoted - or both.
Although the translations remain faithful to the literal meaning of the originals, they are not word-for-word translations. All dialogue in the tales, for example, is introduced in the originals by the word qal, "to say." Qal is translated in a variety of ways (as "said," "spoke," "answered," "replied," "called"), depending on the context. We feel that following the text too literally here will yield a turgid translation that is not faithful to the original either in letter or in spirit. In rhythms, gestures, and intonations oral narration holds the attention of the listener; the verbal text, seen on the printed page, does not by itself (so to speak) tell the whole story.
GROUP I
INDIVIDUALS
CHILDREN AND PARENTS
1.
Tunjur, Tunjur
TELLER: Testify that God is One!
AUDIENCE: There is no god but God.
There was once a woman who could not get pregnant and have children. Once upon a day she had an urge; she wanted babies. "O Lord!" she cried out, "Why of all women am I like this? Would that I could get pregnant and have a baby, and may Allah grant me a girl even if she is only a cooking pot!" One day she became pregnant• A day came and a day went, and behold! she was ready to deliver. She went into labor and delivered, giving birth to a cooking pot. What was the poor woman to do? She washed it, cleaning it well, put the lid on it, and placed it on the shelf.
One day the pot started to talk. "Mother," she said, "take me down from this shelf!"
"Alas, daughter!" replied the mother, "Where am I going to put you?"
"What do you care?" said the daughter. "Just bring me down, and I will make you rich for generations to come."
The mother brought her down. "Now put my lid on," said the pot, "and leave me outside the door." Putting the lid on, the mother took her outside the door.
The pot started to roll, singing as she went, "Tunjut, tunjur, clink, clink, O my mama!" She rolled until she came to a place where people usually gather. In a while people were passing by. A man came and found the pot all settled in its place. "Eh!" he exclaimed, "who has put this pot in the middle of the path? I'll be damned! What a beautiful pot! It's probably made of silver." He looked it over well. "Hey, people!" he called, "Whose pot is this? Who put it here?" No one claimed it. "By Allah," he said, "I'm going to take it home with me."
On his way home he went by the honey vendor. He had the pot filled with honey and brought it home to his wife. "Look, wife," he said, "how beautiful is this pot!" The whole family was greatly pleased with it.
In two or three days they had guests, and they wanted to offer them some honey. The woman of the house brought the pot down from the shelf. Push and pull on the lid, but the pot would not open! She called her husband over. Pull and push, but open it he could not. His guests pitched in. Lifting the pot and dropping it, the man tried to break it open with hammer and chisel. He tried everything, but it was no use. They sent for the blacksmith, and he tried and tried, to no avail. What was the man to do? "Damn your owners!" he cursed the pot, "Did you think you were going to make us wealthy?" And, taking it up, he threw it out the window.
When they turned their back and could no longer see it, she started to roll, saying as she went:
"Tunjur, tunjur, O my mama,
In my mouth I brought the honey.
Clink, clink, O my mama,
In my mouth I brought the honey."
"Bring me up the stairs!" she said to her mother when she reached home.
"Yee!" exclaimed the mother, "I thought you had disappeared, that someone had taken you."
"Pick me up!" said the daughter.
Picking her up, my little darlings, the mother took the lid off and found the pot full of honey. Oh! How pleased she was!
"Empty me!" said the pot.
The mother emptied the honey into a jar, and put the pot back on the shelf.
"Mother," said the daughter the next day, "take me down!"
The mother brought her down from the shelf.
"Mother, put me outside the door!"
The mother placed her outside the door, and she started rolling - tunjur, tunjur, clink, clink - until she reached a place where people were gathered, and then she stopped. A man passing by found her.
"Eh!" he thought, "What kind of a pot is this?" He looked it over. How beautiful he found it! "To whom does this belong?" he asked. "Hey, people! Who are the owners of this pot?" He waited, but no one said, "It's mine." Then he said, "By Allah, I'm going to take it."
He took it, and on his way home stopped by the butcher and had it filled with meat. Bringing it home to his wife, he said, "Look, wife, how beatiful is this pot I've found! By Allah, I found it so pleasing I bought meat and filled it and brought it home."
"Yee!" they all cheered, "How lucky we are! What a beautiful pot!" They put it away.
Toward evening they wanted to cook the meat. Push and pull on the pot, it would not open! What was the woman to do? She called her husband over and her children. Lift, drop, strike - no use. They took it to the blacksmith, but with no result. The husband became angry. "God damn your owners!" he cursed it. "What in the world are you?" And he threw it as far as his arm would reach.
As soon as he turned his back, she started rolling, and singing
:
"Tunjur, tunjur, O my mama,
In my mouth I brought the meat.
Tunjur, tunjur, O my mama,
In my mouth I brought the meat."
She kept repeating that till she reached home.
"Lift me up!" she said to her mother. The mother lifted her up, took the meat, washed the pot, and put it away on the shelf.
"Bring me out of the house!" said the daughter the next day. The mother brought her out, and she said, "Tunjur, tunjur, clink, clink" as she was rolling until she reached a spot dose by the king's house, where she came to a stop. In the morning, it is said, the son of the king was on his way out, and behold! there was. the pot settled in its place.
"Eh! What's this? Whose pot is it?" No one answered. "By Allah," he said, "I'm going to take it." He took it inside and called his wife over. "Wife," he said, "take this pot! I brought it home for you. It's the most beautiful pot!"
The wife took the pot. "Yee! How beautiful it is! By Allah, I'm going to put my jewelry in it." Taking the pot with her, she gathered all her jewelry, even that which she was wearing, and put it in the pot. She also brought all their gold and money and stuffed them in the pot till it was full to the brim, then she covered it and put it away in the wardrobe.
Two or three days went by, and it was time for the wedding of her brother. She put on her velvet dress and brought the pot out so that she could wear her jewelry. Push and pull, but the pot would not open. She called to her husband, and he could not open it either. All the people who were there tried to open it, lifting and dropping. They took it to the blacksmith, and he tried but could not open it. The husband felt defeated. "God damn your owners!" he cursed it, "What use are you to us?" Taking it up, he threw it out the window. Of course he was not all that anxious to let it go, so he went to catch it from the side of the house. No sooner did he turn around than she started to run:
"Tunjur, tunjur, O my mama,
In my mouth I brought the treasure.
Tunjur, tunjur, O my mama,
In my mouth I brought the treasure."
"Lift me up!" she said to her mother when she reached home. Lifting her up, the mother removed the lid.
"Yee! May your reputation be blackened!" she cried out. "Wherever did you get this? What in the world is it?" The mother was now rich. She became very, very happy.
"It's enough now," she said to her daughter, taking away the treasure. "You shouldn't go out any more. People will recognize you."
"No, no!" begged the daughter, "Let me go out just one last time."
The next day, my darlings, she went out, saying "Tunjur, tunjur, O my mama." The man who found her the first time saw her again.
"Eh! What in the world is this thing?" he exclaimed. "It must have some magic in it, since it's always tricking people. God damn its owners! By Allah the Great, I'm going to sit and shit in it." He went ahead, my darlings, and shat right in it. Closing the lid on him, she rolled along:
"Tunjur, tunjur, O my mama
In my mouth I brought the caca.
Tunjur, tunjur, O my mama,
In my mouth I brought the caca."
"Lift me up!" she said to her mother when she reached home. The mother lifted her up.
"You naughty thing, you!" said the mother. "I told you not to go out again, that people would recognize you. Don't you think it's enough now?"
The mother then washed the pot with soap, put perfume on it, and placed it on the shelf.
This is my story, I've told it, and in your hands I leave it.
2.
The Woman Who Married Her Son
Once upon a time there was a woman. She went out to gather wood, and gave birth to a daughter. She wrapped the baby in a rag, tossed her under a tree, and went on her way. The birds came, built a nest around the baby, and fed her.
The girl grew up. One day she was sitting in a tree next to a pool. How beautiful she was! (Praise the creator of beauty, and the Creator is more beautiful than all!) Her face was like the moon. The son of the sultan came to the pool to water his mare, but the mare drew back, startled. He dismounted to find out what the matter was, and he saw the girl in the tree, lighting up the whole place with her beauty. He took her with him, drew up a marriage contract, and married her.
When the time for pilgrimage came, the son of the sultan decided to go on the hajj. "Take care of my wife until I return from the hajj," he-said to his mother.
Now the mother was very jealous of her daughter-in-law, and as soon as her son departed she threw his wife out of the house. Going over to the neighbors' house, the wife lived with them, working as a servant. The mother dug a grave in the palace garden and buried a sheep in it. She then dyed her hair black and put on makeup to make herself look young and pretty. She lived in the palace, acting as if she were her son's wife.
When he came back from the hajj, the son was taken in by his mother's disguise and thought her his wife. He asked her about his mother, and she said, "Your mother died, and she is buried in the palace garden."
After she slept with her son, the mother became pregnant and started to crave things. "My good man," she said to her son, "bring me a bunch of sour grapes from our neighbor's vine!" The son sent one of the women servants to ask for the grapes. When the servant knocked on the neighbor's door, the wife of the sultan's son opened it.
"O mistress of our mistress," said the servant, "you whose palace is next to ours, give me a bunch of sour grapes to satisfy the craving on our side!"
"My mother gave birth to me in the wilderness," answered the wife, "and over me birds have built their nests. The sultan's son has taken his mother to wife, and now wants to satisfy her craving at my expense! Come down, O scissors, and cut out her tongue, lest she betray my secret!" The scissors came down and cut out the servant's tongue. She went home mumbling so badly no one could understand what she was saying.
The son of the sultan then sent one of his men servants to fetch the bunch of sour grapes. The servant went, knocked on the door, and said, "O mistress of our mistress, you whose palace is next to ours, give me a bunch of sour grapes to satisfy the craving on our side!"
"My mother gave birth to me in the wilderness," answered the wife of the sultan's son, "and over me birds have built their nests. The sultans son has taken his mother to wife, and now wants to satisfy her craving at my expense! Come down, O scissors, and cut out his tongue, lest he betray my secret!" The scissors came down and cut out his tongue.
Finally the son of the sultan himself went and knocked on the door. "O mistress of our mistress," he said, "you whose palace is next to ours, give me a bunch of sour grapes to satisfy the craving on our side!"
"My mother gave birth to me in the wilderness, and over me birds have built their nests. The king's son has taken his mother to wife, and now wants to satisfy her craving at my expense! Come down, O scissors, and cut out his tongue. But I can't find it in myself to let it happen!" The scissors came down and hovered around him, but did not cut out his tongue.
The sultans son understood. He went and dug up the grave in the garden, and behold! there was a sheep in it. When he was certain that his wife was actually his mother, he sent for the crier. "Let him who loves the Prophet," the call went out, "bring a bundle of wood and a burning coal!"
The son of the sultan then lit the fire.
Hail, hail! Finished is our tale.
3.
Precious One and Worn-out One
Once there was a man who was married to two women, one of whom he called "Precious One" and the other "Worn-out One." Precious One had two sons, and Worn-out One had only one.
They had an animal pen from which one sheep was stolen every night. "Sons," said the father, "every night one of you must stay up to watch the sheep and find out who's been stealing them."
"I'm the son of Precious One," said the eldest. "I'll keep watch tonight." In the evening he went to keep watch by the sheep pen. He stayed awake till ten o'clock,
then he fell asleep. A ghoul came and stole a ewe, and the boy did not know about it. When he woke up in the morning, he counted the sheep and found one ewe missing.
"I see that one of the sheep is missing," said the father.
"I want to keep watch by the sheep," the second son of Precious One said. His watch was like that of his brother, the ghoul stealing another ewe. The next morning he said to his father, "I too didn't see anything come into the sheep pen."
"Now we'll make the son of Worn-out One keep watch," said the father.
