Earth Weeps, Saturn Laughs

by Abdulaziz Al Farsi

  At first, I was so happy to be playing in the mud again that I failed to notice how few men had come to help with the construction. When I looked around, I discovered that we were short by at least half the men who had been helping us before the wind blew up. Walad Sulaymi himself hadn’t come. Khalid was helping us, so I went up to him and asked, “Where’s your grandfather?”

  “At home,” he said. “He didn’t go out again after the prayer.”

  I could have built that house by myself without help from anybody. The mud itself would have helped me, and wouldn’t have let me down. But, I wondered, what in God’s name is going on in this village? Things had started to get awkward, and the men weren’t working together the way they had been before. It was as though I wasn’t their leader any more, and didn’t have any say in what they did. I went over to Khadim and said, “I want you to go now to see Walad Sulaymi. I want to see him at the earliest opportunity.”

  Khadim rushed away in the direction of Walad Sulaymi’s house. I took a look around the place, watching the men’s hands as they gathered the stones and raised the walls. I resumed trying to work.

  However, I kept thinking about the strange times we were going through, the likes of which I’d never witnessed before in this peculiar village.

  I was wrenched out of my reverie by Khadim, who came rushing toward me. Panting, he said, “Sir, there’s something you’ve got to see.”

  “What is it, Khadim?”

  “They’re building a meetinghouse over there.”

  “Who are ‘they’?”

  “I saw a lot of men helping Hamdan Tajrib build a hut near his house. He says he wants to try building a new meetinghouse in the village!”

  This was a catastrophe. They really had begun their war against me. Walad Sulaymi’s intuition had been right: They wanted to pull the rug out from under me.

  “But where is Walad Sulaymi?” I asked.

  “I didn’t go see him, sir. I saw the people gathered around, and when I found out what was going on, I rushed right back to tell you about it.”

  “That’s fine. Keep on doing your work with the rest of the men, and I’ll be back.”

  I took off straightaway for Zahir Bakhit’s house and told him about it. He was incensed. I asked him to go with me to the location of the new meetinghouse so that we could ask the men what was happening, and he did. On our way there we stopped in to see Walad Sulaymi.

  “I knew they’d do this,” he told us, “but I didn’t think it would happen this fast. They took advantage of their council’s sessions at Hamdan Tajrib’s house. Did you know they’ve been meeting in their meetinghouse every day lately? In fact, other men have joined them, too. They took full advantage of the wind and the fact that your council hasn’t been meeting to carry out their plan.”

  When the three of us got to the place where the new construction was going on, everyone there was busy arranging dry palm leaves and tying ropes to make the hut, which was nearly finished.

  It was clear from the way it had been planned out that this was more than just an experiment. Otherwise, why would these men be building a meetinghouse on the same scale as mine? When we had come up closer and were standing in the midst of the workers, all the men stopped working. We were received by Hamdan Tajrib with the words, “Welcome. Make yourselves at home. We’re honored by your visit!”

  Addressing all the workers, I said in a voice that was nearly a shout, “I’d like to know what’s going on here!”

  “We’re building a meetinghouse,” Hamdan said.

  I confronted him. “Why? Why are you building a new meetinghouse? Is my meetinghouse too small for you?”

  “No, it isn’t. We’re not doing what you think we’re doing.”

  “Then what do you mean to accomplish by bringing men together to build a meetinghouse this large now that you’ve all stopped attending my meetings?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that I like to experiment. You know that. You know I like to try things out. You can ask these men if I ever told any of them that I wanted to build a meetinghouse that competes with yours or draws people away from it.”

  Walad Shamshum came forward and said, “I testify he never said he wanted to compete with your meetinghouse.”

  Abu Ayda added, “And I testify.”

  Another group of men said, “We testify, too.”

  “What are you testifying to?” asked Walad Sulaymi. “What you’re doing doesn’t make any sense to me. In the past Hamdan Tajrib always did his experiments by himself, and your reaction to them was bewildered laughter. But now, when he thinks about building a new meetinghouse, you all come running to help him as though you had been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. And you say you’re doing it with good intentions!”

  Suhayl al-Jamra al-Khabitha asked, “And what’s wrong with building this meetinghouse, Walad Sulaymi? It’s just an ordinary meetinghouse.”

  I said, “If, as you claim, it’s just an ordinary meetinghouse, then why do you give it priority over building a house for Alam al-Din? Is your so-called experiment more important than helping to build a home for a poor man?”

  Sa‘id Dhab‘a remarked, “Hamdan Tajrib hasn’t asked anybody to leave you and come over to his side. People have the right to choose what they want, and they’ve come here of their own accord. So why all this anger?”

  Zahir, who up to this point had been listening in silence, blew up in Sa‘id Dhab‘a’s face. “And who says the village’s affairs are this lax? If everybody who had an idea before he went to sleep carried it out the next morning, and if nobody had the right to hold him accountable for what he was doing, leadership would become meaningless! For years and years we shared the same meetinghouse and the same concerns, and we worked together to solve all our problems. So have we started to need another meetinghouse overnight? You’re trying to believe your own lie. This ‘Council of Harm’ isn’t just for the sake of experimentation. Its purpose is to sow discord among us.”

  Speaking to all of them, I said, “Listen, men. What you’re doing now means only one thing to me—that you want to undermine the safety of the village. We used to have a single heart, and work as though we were a single hand. I haven’t done or said anything to offend any of you, and never once has Mihyan’s council oppressed any of you. If anyone tries to establish another council, he isn’t thinking about the consequences of what he’s doing. The more things people have in excess of what they need, the less attached they are to them. The day is coming when there will be a third council, then a fourth, and based on the same pretext. There will more and more councils, with just one or two men in each. After that, people will prefer to stay home when things get confusing for them and when resentment and ill will spring up. As long as I’m your leader, this is what I have to say, and this is what I think. If experimentation is of any use—and I doubt that it is—then it has its limits. Today you’ve helped him try out the idea of building the meetinghouse. Will you help him tomorrow when he wants to try being a prophet, or when he claims to be divine? You can still come to your senses. Whoever doesn’t, let him bear the consequences!”

  “For heaven’s sake!” said Hamdan Tajrib. “I didn’t say I wanted to be a prophet. And I don’t see anything wrong with building a meetinghouse near my house. There’s certainly room enough for it, and I have people to help me. Why do you always interpret things however you want to? Forgive me, Mihyan, but I’m going to go on building even if I end up doing it alone.”

  “You’re free to do as you like,” I replied. “But I’ve said everything I have to say.”

  Then I left with Zahir and Walad Sulaymi. I was getting angry, and I had lots of questions. I wondered: Why are the people of the village willing to accept all these crazy ideas so easily? Why are they so completely willing to turn against anything, even if it’s in their best interests for it to stay the way it is? Are they really that obsessed with the desire for change? Do they know what awaits them at the end of the road?


  The three of us were enveloped in silence, and the sun intensified the feeling that my chest was filled with fire. Everything was stifling and difficult. But I knew I would never surrender, and I wasn’t going to lose this battle.

  SUHAYL AL-JAMRA AL-KHABITHA

  Modernity May Invade the Leadership

  So, Mihyan, you’ll be stepping down soon.

  You’ve got no right to prevent people from choosing what they want for themselves. You inherited the leadership from your father. However, you didn’t inherit the leadership ability required to manage the affairs of a village that’s changing as much as this one is. Even the people have gotten tired of you. Didn’t you notice how quick they were to support us, and how they helped us when we told them about the idea of a new council? You’ve gotten old, Mihyan. And so have your ideas. People are always looking for something new. They look for new things to wear, new food to eat, new places to live, new jobs to do. So what’s to prevent them from looking for a new leader? As for you, you’re a leader who’s set in his ways, who doesn’t want to change. For more than thirty years you haven’t changed a single thing in your council. Same place, same coffee, same stories, same problems, same way of thinking. It’s dreadfully boring. And then you demand that people stay? Why?

  Come take a look at this council. Everybody here is happy. They all talk. They speak freely. There are no restrictions on anyone. Nobody feels he has to keep quiet so that you and your cronies can talk and repeat the same conversations over and over again. You demand that people come and be quiet in order to listen to the trivial things you all have to say.

  Come take a look.

  The young men are here. They bring up the topics that concern them, and they discuss things among themselves without embarrassment. The older men also have their place and their own conversations. The meetinghouse is spacious. If someone wants to join our large circle, we do nothing to prevent him, and if someone wants to form his own small circle of friends, we do nothing to prevent him. The important thing is that we spend the time in the same place. We share the same fruit, and we drink coffee. By what right did you and your cronies want to forbid us? We went decades without saying a word about all the arrogant things you did on the pretext of preserving the inherited system. Do you want people to accept something that’s deprived them of their freedom for years on end? They’re bound to do the same thing: they’ll withdraw the first chance they get. For more than three hours, everybody has been getting along famously in this council. One conversation opens the door to a second conversation, which opens the door to a third, and people move freely from one circle to another without feeling awkward or embarrassed. All the doors are open, Mihyan. Just come and look.

  Khamis ibn Rashid said to Hamdan Tajrib, “We need to be going now, everybody. It’s late.”

  Everyone stood up, likewise announcing a desire to go home. They began leaving. Abu Ayda was about to leave when I winked at him as a signal to wait so that we could sit down alone as Sa‘id Dhab‘a, Walad Shamshum, Hamdan Tajrib, and I had agreed to do. By the time ten more minutes had passed, our wish had been fulfilled, and the five of us were alone in the meetinghouse.

  “What do you think now?” I said. “Didn’t the idea work?”

  “It sure did!” exclaimed Hamdan Tajrib. “I didn’t expect it to. They always used to criticize me for my experiments, and now they’ve even started joining me.”

  Walad Shamshum said, “Well, it’s no thanks to your brains, idiot. It’s only because they’re sick of that unbearable council and want a change. Especially the young men.”

  “All right,” Abu Ayda said with a yawn. “Are you sitting here to congratulate yourselves? What do you want from us now? We’ll meet at tomorrow’s council meeting and discuss what we want.”

  “Hold on,” I said to him. “You won’t lose your night’s sleep. Why are you in such a hurry? Was our only aim to establish a new council? Hadn’t we agreed that we would remove Mihyan from the council?”

  Surprised, he replied, “Already? It’s barely been two weeks since we began these nice sessions. People have begun coming to our meetinghouse more and more, and as time goes by, what you want will happen of its own accord.”

  “But how will it happen?” Sa‘id Dhab‘a wanted to know. “They only come to enjoy themselves. They haven’t gotten it into their heads that we want to change the village leadership.”

  “You’re both right,” I said. “In time people will forget all about Mihyan, and that alone will be enough to bring him down. But what Sa‘id said is also right. Mihyan’s downfall won’t achieve exactly what we want. Zahir might come along and impose his power on everybody. Or he might come up with some scheme to shift the leadership to himself. And if that happens, what we’ve done will be pointless. So I’ve got a good plan.”

  “What’s your idea?” asked Walad Shamshum.

  I said, “Come in closer. Come, Abu Ayda. Come closer, Hamdan. I think you should all divide yourselves up among the various circles, not be together in the same one. Each of you should try to bring up topics that touch on Mihyan and his position. Try to sound people out so as to determine whether they’re prepared to oust him. After that, start making jokes about Jam‘an and what would happen if he became imam. Then ask them directly why he shouldn’t be our imam. Why should we rely on an imported imam? What’s wrong with the men of our own village? Why shouldn’t the imam’s assistant be one of our own? In this way they’ll start thinking about Zahir Bakhit and his intentions. Then you’ll be able to stress the fact that Mihyan is helping Zahir to do what he’s doing, and that none of the things that have happened in this village would have been possible if it weren’t for Mihyan’s silence. Believe me, the ideas will spread quickly, and as time goes on people will start asking questions. When we finally raise the bigger issue of why Mihyan is ruling us, they’ll respond positively and help us make the change.”

  “That’s great, Suhayl!” Sa‘id Dhab‘a exclaimed. “You really are a jamra khabitha!”

  “You be quiet, damn you!” I shouted.

  “But that couldn’t be done in the course of the next council meeting alone,” remarked Abu Ayda.

  “I didn’t say we would do it in a single council meeting,” I said. “In fact, you shouldn’t all start up your conversations about these things on the same day. We’ve got two months to do it. The village leadership has been the way it is for decades, and changing it is no simple matter. It will take time. What’s important is for us to keep going, and to be ready for confrontations with Mihyan, Zahir, and Walad Sulaymi.”

  “All right,” said Abu Ayda. “We’ll do it. Bye, now.”

  We began leaving the meetinghouse. When we were out the door and had begun making our way through the darkness, I heard the sound of footsteps scurrying away from us to the left. Looking around, I thought I saw the figure of a man running at top speed.

  I asked Walad Shamshum, “Do you see that man?”

  He turned and peered for a long time into the darkness, then said, “I don’t see anything.”

  Sa‘id Dhab‘a also tried to make out what I was pointing to, but wasn’t able to see anything. The man had truly vanished.

  I got to thinking about whoever it had been, running through the darkness that way. He must have been spying on us, and overheard everything we’d said. Zahir wouldn’t have been able to run that fast, and never in my life had I seen Walad Sulaymi run at all. Mihyan! Could it have been Mihyan? This was really worrisome. But I thought the figure I’d seen was that of a young man. Nor did I think Mihyan was that light on his feet. I wondered if Zahir might have sent someone to spy on us. Hold on. Hold on.

  “I know who it was,” I said to Walad Shamshum and Sa‘id Dhab‘a. “It has to have been Khalid Bakhit. No matter. He couldn’t prevent anything that’s happening even if he wanted to. People want change. And anybody who says ‘no’ to the people will be the loser.”

  KHALID BAKHIT

  Footsteps in the Dark

&nbs
p; The kiss with which Ayda embraced my lips a minute ago set me on fire. It was like the moment of birth, and my heart turned into a newborn letting forth its first cry in life’s face. At the sound of that cry, tribes were raised to life inside my chest; tribes whose dry bones had been waiting impatiently for that moment. I found myself closing my eyes and opening my arms. Ayda flung herself down like a cloud laden with cool water that quenched my heart’s thirst. I imagined myself listening to the neighing of steeds galloping through my chest. I vanished in a moment of delight the likes of which I’d never experienced before. Then, as a delicious rush flowed through my body, an image of Abir leapt out in front of my eyes. Looking on angrily, she said, “Here you are giving in to Ayda, just like that! Do you remember when you beat me because my cells were longing for your touch? I was dreaming of a moment of epiphany like this one. Why did you deny that to me, then bestow it on Ayda instead?”

  I started, moving my chest away. Giving me a bewildered look, Ayda whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  As Abir’s image penetrated me, stripping me naked, I said, “I’ll be going now. It’s nearly dawn.”

  She looked down. “All right. The time went fast. When will I see you again?”

  “Leave it to circumstances,” I said.

  A few minutes later, I left through the back door. I was veiled by the darkness, hidden from Abir’s voice, which wept more and more loudly as I made my way through the alleys, concealed from view by the walls on my way home. It wasn’t the voice alone that was pursuing me. There were footsteps, pounding on the ground behind me, and they were growing louder and louder. I sped up, fleeing from the madness of my fantasies, and the footsteps sped up as well. Don’t do that to me, Abir. Don’t drive me to distraction with your madness. Leave me some space so that I can live. Don’t take me by surprise with your presence and cancel everyone else out. Our paths are different, Abir. Why do you besiege me so cruelly? Your voice cries out: “Khalid, Khalid! You belong to me alone! Go wherever you like, be intimate with whomever you like. But they’ll never quench your thirst. They’ll all fall, one after another, inside of you, and no one will be left standing but me, me. You’ll never forget me no matter what you do, Khalid.”