Earth Weeps, Saturn Laughs

by Abdulaziz Al Farsi

  “Nobody could persuade Imam Rashid to give up the idea of basing prayer times on when his rooster crowed. Even Zahir couldn’t get through to him. Ubayd the muezzin suffered on account of that rooster because if he ever sounded the call to prayer before he’d heard the rooster, Imam Rashid would get into an argument with him that would end with a threat: ‘I’m the mosque imam, and I’m the one who decides when prayer will be! You’re just a muezzin, so don’t overstep your bounds.’ Even after watches and alarm clocks were introduced into the village, Imam Rashid accused them of lying. He would say, ‘My rooster is a Muslim who’s inspired by God. As for these clocks of yours, they’re infidels, and manufactured by infidels!’ Once Zahir said, ‘Damn you all! Isn’t there anybody else who can serve as our imam? Just because he inherited the imamate from his father, does that mean we have to go along with his craziness?’ But in spite of everything, Imam Rashid stood his ground. Then at dawn on one unforgettable Thursday, Imam Rashid woke up and waited for his rooster’s call to prayer, but he didn’t hear anything. Half an hour passed, and he didn’t hear a sound. He went out looking for it around the house, but didn’t find it. Finally, he decided to go to the mosque. He went in and grumpily asked Ubayd to sound the call to prayer. After the prayer was over, the people in the congregation found three tightly sealed bags at the mosque door. They opened the first bag, and what should they find but the rooster’s body, its head cut off and its white feathers plucked out. In the second bag they found the rooster’s head with its eyes gouged out. And in the third bag they found its feathers. When Imam Rashid saw it he cried, ‘My God, who’s done this to my rooster?’ He insisted on gathering up the contents of all three bags. Then he went off by himself and buried the rooster. Imam Rashid was in mourning for a whole month. However, nothing bad happened to anybody in the village, and no chastisement descended on any of them. One day at the dawn prayer during the following month, Zahir Bakhit said jokingly to Imam Rashid, ‘Don’t take it so hard, Imam Rashid. Would you believe it? I had a dream about your Muslim rooster, and it was sounding the call to prayer in Heaven. It’s sure to intercede for you on Resurrection Day, so don’t be sad. Besides, God hasn’t left the village without a muezzin with a good knowledge of the prayer times. Ubayd is here, thank God. He may not have white feathers like your rooster. But don’t worry. From now on Ubayd will be your rooster, and the mosque’s rooster, too. Isn’t that right, Ubayd?’ Ubayd nodded. ‘That’s right, Zahir. I’ll be a rooster.’ Everybody in the mosque laughed, and from that moment on Ubayd was dubbed ‘the mosque’s rooster.’ Over time our muezzin’s name evolved into Ubayd al-Dik: “Ubayd the Rooster.” Eventually this was the only name he went by. And that’s the story of Imam Rashid and the rooster. To this day we don’t know who did that awful thing to it. In any case, don’t even think of going with him to his farm, Alam al-Din!”

  Alam al-Din and Khadim laughed. The wind was still rapping on the doors. It apparently didn’t want to quiet down. I said to Khadim, “I’d rather have you prepare the coffee in the house. The firewood won’t catch fire outside. I’m going to rest now. I’ll see the two of you this evening.”

  “All right, sir,” Khadim replied.

  After leaving Khadim’s room, I paced around the yard several times. I opened my window to ruminate. Dust filled the village. How zealous you are, wind! How zealous you are!

  In Absence There Is Also Experimentation

  After Rashid had led us in the final evening prayer, I headed for my meetinghouse. The wind had died down since sundown and turned cool and pleasant. Khadim took care of removing the dust that had accumulated all over the meetinghouse. He prepared the coffee in my house, then brought it out. After a while people began coming. Walad Sulaymi, Zahir, Ubayd al-Dik, and Imam Rashid arrived, followed by Alam al-Din, Khalid, and the men who lived on the outskirts of the village. Khadim began passing out cups of coffee. It was obvious to me that the evening’s gathering was incomplete. I didn’t see Suhayl al-Jamra al-Khabitha, Jam‘an, Walad Shamshum, Sa‘id Dhab‘a, or Hamdan Tajrib. Abu Ayda hadn’t come, and ten other men had also stayed away from the gathering. I was thinking that the wind was the most likely reason for their absence when Zahir asked, “Where are the rest, Mihyan?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Walad Sulaymi, who had arrived with his nose and mouth covered, bared his face and said to Imam Rashid, “We hear they pumped your stomach, Imam. Is that right?”

  “Yes, they did,” he replied.

  “You must have had quite a hard time.”

  “Yes. It was a tiring operation.”

  “I suppose the doctors had an even harder time than you did. Never mind, Imam. What matters is that you’re all right now.”

  “Praise God.”

  The situation wasn’t normal. Despite Walad Sulaymi’s attempts to make conversation, his features couldn’t conceal the anxiety he felt. The way he took the coffee made it clear that he was distraught. I know what he’s like when there’s something on his mind. He takes the cup of coffee without looking at Khadim, then drinks it unthinkingly. Under normal circumstances, Walad Sulaymi doesn’t drink from his cup before smiling at Khadim. Then he speaks to the person to his right and the person to his left, offering to let them have their coffee before him. Zahir Bakhit was red in the face, and no doubt his mind was somewhere else. In an attempt to bring us out of this unspoken disquiet, I said, “How are Alam al-Din’s lessons going, Imam Rashid?”

  “They’re going well. He knows everything relating to prayer, praise God. He appears to have learned a lot from Shaykh Faraj when he was with him. But he doesn’t have the gumption to lead us in prayer!”

  “I guess you’re right. When you were gone, he hesitated to get up and take your place at the dawn prayer.”

  “It isn’t quite like that, Mr. Mihyan,” Alam al-Din interjected.

  “What is it, then?”

  “I haven’t even been here a whole month yet. I also know there are people in the village who have just as much knowledge as I do and who would able to lead us in prayer. So who am I to lead them instead?”

  “But this is why we brought you here, isn’t it, Alam al-Din?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No problem,” said Walad Sulaymi. “In the coming days you can be our imam for the prayers that are recited silently. After that, you can start leading the prayers that are recited aloud. What do you say, Imam Rashid?”

  Imam Rashid nodded.

  It was the first time I’d ever felt that the council gathering was burdensome for everyone. It was as though they were just waiting for it to be over. Even Khalid Bakhit was silent, and seemed preoccupied. No one had any desire to speak. Everyone wanted to talk to himself without being interrupted by the others. So, when the wind began howling fiercely outside, I felt it would be best for me to put it to good use to bring about what they all wanted but were too shy to suggest.

  I said, “I suspect that the wind is just going to go on getting stronger, and that it may be difficult for you all to make it home later. What do you say we call it a night, then meet again tomorrow, God willing?”

  My suggestion met with their approval, and the gathering dispersed with unprecedented speed. Zahir rushed out, followed by Walad Sulaymi. Khalid left with his head bowed. Imam Rashid asked Alam al-Din to accompany him home. Meanwhile, Khadim began washing the cups and taking the coffee-serving paraphernalia back to my house.

  I found myself longing to rush back to my room, where I would have the privacy I needed to think things through far from any interruptions. At the same time, I didn’t completely understand what it was that I needed to think through. Was it my sudden sense of inferiority from having seen the low turnout at my meetinghouse? Was it the sadness I felt on account of the way the wind kept getting more and more violent as though it wanted to take me away from the mud? Was it because I had seen Walad Sulaymi, Zahir, and Khalid so preoccupied, which had made me wonder if they were hiding something from me? The only thin
g I knew for certain was that I was uncomfortable, and that I felt gloomy. The room seemed to be closing in on me, and I felt for the first time in a long time that I was choking on my breath. I could hear the sound of utensils and cups clinking against each other as Khadim took them into the kitchen. I wished I could go out and talk to him to make myself feel better, but I soon thought better of it. I didn’t know exactly what was wrong with me. So what exactly would I talk about? I tried to close my eyes, but it was no use.

  I’d only been in this condition for a short time when Khadim knocked on the door to my room, asking permission to come in: “Sir, Uncle Walad Sulaymi and Uncle Zahir are insisting that I wake you up. They say they want to see you about something urgent.”

  I got up right away. As I did so, I felt my mind racing ahead, as though it had been waiting for them to come and rescue me from all this restlessness.

  “Come in,” I said.

  “No, you come outside with us,” said Zahir.

  The wind stirred our robes as we stood at the door of the house. However, its sound, loud though it was, didn’t drown out Walad Sulaymi’s voice: “We’ve found out why the others didn’t attend your council meeting.”

  “What’s the reason?” I asked.

  He replied, “This evening Hamdan Tajrib came out with a new craze. He told people he wanted to try starting his own council. Some people said, ‘But we already have Mihyan’s council.’ ‘I know,’ he said, ‘but I want to know what it feels like when somebody has his own council and invites people to attend it. So I’m inviting you all to my own council meeting this evening at my house.’ Abu Ayda, Suhayl, Walad Shamshum, and Sa‘id Dhab‘a went along with it and invited some families in the village to attend. Some people responded to their invitation out of curiosity.”

  “Curiosity?” I said. “Don’t they know Hamdan Tajrib is crazy? Have they lost their minds?”

  Walad Sulaymi said, “They haven’t lost their minds. But somebody’s up to no good. That’s why we’ve come to see you. These five are planning to pull the rug out from under you. Today they want to start a new council. Tomorrow they’ll demand a new leader as well.”

  “And what do you two want me to do?” I said.

  Speaking to Walad Sulaymi, Zahir broke in, “He’s right. All he can do now is wait.”

  “What kind of waiting are you talking about, Zahir?” Walad Sulaymi asked. “You know very well what they’re planning, yet as far as I can tell, you don’t intend to do anything about it.”

  “They haven’t declared openly to people that they want to take over the village leadership. But when they do, they’ll get their just deserts.”

  “They aren’t going to say so openly at this point, and by the time they do, it will be too late, Zahir.”

  Turning to me, Walad Sulaymi said, “You’ve got to act decisively. You mustn’t fall for this trick of Tajrib’s. Announce explicitly that no one is allowed to establish another council in the village, since to do so would drive people apart and destroy the villagers’ unity.”

  Zahir objected, “If he approached it that way, it would be obvious to everyone that he’s afraid of them. It would be better for him to keep an eye on them from a distance, and then, when the time is right, get rid of them in one fell swoop.”

  Walad Sulaymi disagreed. “Why should we wait until the weed’s grown so big we can hardly pull it up?” he asked.

  “All right,” I told them. “I’ve heard what you have to say. I’ve got the message. Now, don’t worry. Leave the matter to me. Will you come in the house with me?”

  They left, the wind wreaking havoc with their robes the way my thoughts were wreaking havoc with me.

  I went back to my room. What Walad Sulaymi had said was quite commonsensical. Why should I wait until the weed was full grown? I wondered. As for Zahir’s point of view, it reflected his confidence that their attempt would come to nothing in the end. He must have been recalling the attempt that had been made long ago to rob my grandfather of the village leadership. My grandfather kept the men of his day on a long leash, and let them go on plotting for a good long time. In the end, though, he foiled their plans in a single day and punished them harshly. But times have changed. My grandfather was backed by men who trusted him, loved him, and believed the things he said. By contrast, ten of my men had been prompted by mere curiosity to attend Hamdan Tajrib’s council, forgetting how important it was for them to be present at my council meeting. Why did I seem so attached to the leadership now? Was it really that important to me? I had thought that since losing Badr, nothing held any value for me any more. I had thought that my passionate love for mud would be enough to enable me to live far away from everybody. How I’d wished they would let me play in the mud, and take everything else away. So, now that I’d found an excuse to play in the mud, why should I jump with fright at the mere thought that they might take the leadership away from me? Was this love of mine for my leadership position due to the fact that I didn’t want to give up the honor and prestige I’d inherited from my forefathers?

  “I’m tired of thinking!” I said to the wind. “Are you telling me something through all this shouting of yours? Are you telling me to wake up?

  “If only I could understand what you’re shouting about.”

  Between the Two Calms, a Storm . . . Between the Two Storms, a Calm!

  The wind had finally abated!

  For five days straight, violent sandstorms had blown over the village. With zero visibility all day long, no one had been able to work. The market had closed down, and meetings among the men were restricted to the communal prayers, which were attended only by the most dedicated among them. For the duration of those dust-filled nights, the men didn’t attend my council gatherings. Nor was I able to go to bed early on those nights. Instead I would pace around the house, staring at the window. I would peer outside, waiting for the wind to stop its shouting. It wasn’t until the middle of last night that it suddenly fell silent. It was as if it had gotten tired of blowing over the village and, seeing that there was nothing to be gained from its shouting, quietly withdrew. I sat there from the moment it got quiet till morning broke. Then I had some coffee, waiting for the moment when the work began so that I could play in the mud again.

  I was the first to go out to the construction site, followed by Khadim and Alam al-Din. Then some neighbors came around. We began gathering rocks and I took up the position I had left a few days earlier. I’d been dying to play in the water and the golden mud, combining them into a smooth mixture in which I could dip the little rocks so as to arrange them side by side atop the wall. As the wall began rising before me, I felt like a father waiting for a beloved child to be born. I don’t deny that on several occasions I had the urge to get up and hug this part of the wall. I was delighted with the mud, and delighted to see it wakening from its long hibernation. Get up, mud! I’ve waited for you for so long. If it weren’t for the shouting of the wind, I would have embraced you days ago.