by Неизвестный
Even the adjoining olive grove became a resting place for camels and horses, its fence smashed and its hedge destroyed. Sheikhs of distant villages and leaders of the desert Bedouin came on their mounts to discuss arrangements for a united pilgrimage with the flag-master. They could have said their say and returned to their villages and tribes that same day, but it was not easy to evade the sharp eyes of Abu Il-Shawarab. With him one could not just drink a cup of coffee and then leave. “God forbid you should disgrace me in the eyes of my people,” he would scold. “By the Lord of the Ka’abah and the heads of the prophets, the pots are all full and the beds are prepared. If you have important business in town that may not be postponed, be it as you say: go in peace and leave your beasts here to assure me of your return. I have ordered my servants to give them water and fodder. Sleep here tonight, and tomorrow—Allah is great! My house is your house, and all you see here is yours!”
Usually he did not manage to finish his speech. His two little sons, all dressed up in their shining new silk caftans and red shoes, would run out of the women’s room facing the garden, close the door behind them, and dash across the field as the beaded fringes of their tarboushes1 waved in the air. Finding their father, they tugged at his abbayeh and cried:
“Yaba! 2 Grandmother says you should come in right away. Many women have come to visit us and they are asking for you.”
Abu Il-Shawarab turned warmly to his sons, curled the ends of his long moustache that reached to his ears, and replied, suppressing a smile:
“Tell me, you little bastards, what gifts have the women brought? Curtains? Candles? Neither the one nor the other? All right then…let them wait a little, I’ll come soon!”
“No, Father!” the boys shouted together, clinging to his arms
“Grandmother says we should bring you back with us.”
Abu Il-Shawarab submitted, and walked with them, with slow, dignified steps. He ran his hand over his shaven chin, approached the door, paused for a moment, coughing aloud so that the women inside might hear him and have time to cover their faces. Then he lowered his eyes and went in.
The groups of chattering women sitting in the room suddenly fell silent. Abu Il-Shawarab distinguished at a glance between the women who had come to visit his women as friends and well-wishers, and the needy, who had come because fate had forced them to turn to a man for assistance. The sight of their embarrassed silence softened his fierce expression. His large black eyes gazed at them with pity. To encourage them to speak, he addressed his old wrinkled mother who had risen to her feet on his entry, waiting anxiously for what he might say. The tarbush she wore, with gold coins sewn all over it, gave her the appearance of a man.
“Mother of Nimmer!” he said. “Send a girl to bring narguillehs and coffee for our visitors, that they may rest.”
His mother hastened to obey his command, but the women held her back and tried to prevent her from going. The eldest among them began speaking all at once, trying at the same time to hide behind her back.
“There is no need! May the lord prolong your days, Abu Il-Shawarab! May your pilgrimage be blessed! By the joy of your sons, Insh-’allah !3 It is not for coffee that we have come…That can come later…First promise to do what we ask…We have come to beg you to do something for us…”
Now the women poured out their sorrows at great length. With tears in their eyes they told him of their grief and sufferings, of the spells and enchantments that had been laid on them by their enemies to make their husbands hate them and their wombs barren, of the evil eye cast on them by their neighbors. For the breaking of spells no prophet is more powerful than Nebi Moussa, peace be with him! Many are the women who by his grace have been saved from the evil designs of malicious rivals, may their eyes rot! The spell had to be cast onto the prophet’s grave during the morning watch when the cock crows for the third time, and with the aid of God-the-all-powerful its effect will be totally nullified… . But the supplicants themselves could not take part in the pilgrimage; their husbands would not allow them to. The husbands were taking their younger wives, may they be cut down in the prime of their lives and may Allah poison their lives as they have poisoned ours! We are to be left locked up at home. But Abu-Nimmer, the flag-master, can be a mouth for us before the prophet, may Allah pray for him! He will not turn us away empty-handed.
Each of them then reached into the bodice of her dress and drew out a small parcel containing a magic charm, which they had found on a threshold, in a hole in the wall or in some other hiding place. With extreme caution, as if handling a dangerous object that was liable to blow up and destroy the whole house, they all handed the bundles to Nimmer’s mother, whispering and mumbling all the while, so that she might pass them on to her son. Then, with the aid of their teeth they undid the rolls of coins tied in their kerchiefs, and each hesitantly drew out a gleaming silver coin that they also handed to the mother of Nimmer.
“Take this, Abu Il-Shawarab, and remember our errand,” the women said to him. “May Allah bless you and keep you and may you never know distress in your house. Spend part of the sum on the gift for Nebi Moussa and the sacrificial camel, and with the remainder buy a large five-pointed candle and light it for us at the prophet’s head. Were we not afraid that the additional load would be a burden to you, we would have brought the candles ourselves. Apart from Allah and you there is no one on earth who will have pity on us. Despair and distress have driven us to ask you for aid, O generous one!”
Abu Il-Shawarab listened in silence to every word they spoke, nodding his head and beating on his thigh with his hand. He truly felt their woe, so much so that his eyebrows darkened and he pushed aside the cup of coffee his mother filled for him each time she passed by him. When they had finished, he passed the mouthpiece of the nargilleh from side to side, and answered in a sorrowful voice:
“Upon my head and upon my eyes… . Know this: all will be well, Insh’allah. Almighty Allah will see your afflictions and will aid you… .Put your trust in Him and in His prophet…I, of course, will carry out your errand as best I can… .May He bring you complete healing and have mercy upon you and calm your hearts!”
And without looking at them he got up to leave. As he rose, he gave the charms to his mother, telling her to put them in the traveling bags. Then he slowly opened the buttons of his vest, drew out a small velvet purse that hung around his neck, hidden in the folds of his gown—baring as he did so a bronzed chest covered with long, bristly black hairs—and calmly dropped all the coins into it; then he opened another purse that was stuck in his broad belt, and in their presence added double the amount out of his own money. Then he turned his broad back toward the door leading to the inner corridor, and left, followed by numerous blessings.
Outside he was already the center of impatient demands. Groups of noisy, angry men, bare-chested, barefooted, their hairy legs covered with the dust of the roads, were rushing around between the fire and the tents, their angry eyes flittering around in search of Sheikh Abu Il-Shawarab.
These were the donkey- and camel-drivers, just back from the tomb of Nebi Moussa after having brought the wives of the effendis and the most esteemed families there. Entering Nablus, they had raised a furor.
“People, hear us!” they had cried. “You’re all asleep here! And while you sleep, the sneaky Hebronites have taken over the entire market square in front of Nebi Moussa’s tomb, and there’s not even room there for another stall. Even the big khan, where our beasts shelter on days of wind and storm, is overflowing with them!”
The streets had burst into an uproar. Like madmen, the street peddlers and vendors and the sellers of drinks and sweets and pitta and pastries, all of whom had been hoping to make some profits at the Mo’ssam, surrounded the newcomers and dragged them forcibly to the house of Sheikh Il-Shawarab, that they might report to him personally about the abominable and unprecedented shame done to the people of Nablus by the criminals of Hebron.
They jumped about and yelled, gnashed their
teeth and waved their arms. Most irate of all was the tall suss vendor, who ran about from one group of men to another, his face all excited, spittle running down his chin. He raised his head, with its long black braids, which ran down both sides of his face, shook them threateningly at those distant rogues, and screamed:
“Abu Il-Shawarab must get us out of this mess. We have placed our trust in him and now we’ve missed out, we’re too late…He’s responsible, and he’s the one who must make this good. And if he doesn’t, we’ll take what’s coming to us by ourselves! By force! We’ll run them out like dogs, we’ll cut them apart with our swords!”
Abu Il-Shawarab heard snatches of this tirade. With a firm, calm stride, arms folded behind his back, he approached them and stood among them. He surveyed them, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a commander who can enjoy his troops’ mischief and is confident that his slightest gesture will be enough to calm them and bend them to his will.
The voices at first were wild and confused. Although he had already grasped the gist of the matter, Abu Il-Shawarab silenced them with a wave of his hand and invited them to a meeting. He called the main speakers to him and, giving them a place up front, sat down among them himself. He had placed the suss vendor on his right, and now sat with his elbow on the other’s knee, as friends do, his ear turned to him as if poised to listen, and then called on the eldest of the group to report everything he had seen.
As he listened, Abu Il-Shawarab expressed his anger and commiseration with frequent shakes of the head and loud exclamations of surprise. Then he took counsel with them about the measures to be taken to thwart the plans of the treacherous Hebronites.
It was finally decided that the vendors and bakers would set out for Nebi Moussa with their wares that very day, to find and make room for those coming after them. In the meantime, Abu Il-Shawarab would go personally to the chief official of the wakf and get a written order to the authorities at Nebi Moussa, demanding that the customary quota of space due to the men of Nablus be properly set aside. This order would be sent ahead by a courier from Abu Il-Shawarab’s own entourage, in order to forestall violence.
Now everyone was calm again. Even the vendors, who stood to lose most from the alacrity of the Hebronites and had at first questioned the value of turning to Abu Il-Shawarab, now stopped muttering among themselves and gazed at him with expressions of trust and hope, ashamed of their excessive doubting and bitterness. To prove this to him, they quickly drank down the coffee he poured for them and left hurriedly, promising to carry out all his orders to the letter.
He accompanied them to the road leading to the town, again instructing them to avoid unnecessary strife. “Start out peacefully, and be ruled by reason!” he lectured them. “And if that doesn’t help, wait until I arrive…We set out the day after tomorrow, and until then the world won’t collapse, and everything will work out for the good, Insh’allah…He who heeds not the rod of Moses will heed the whip of Pharaoh…”4
All readily assented, feeling he had spoken justly and to the point. At the crossroads the men dispersed, agreeing to meet at the Jerusalem khan before the call to evening prayer. From there they would set out immediately so as to still have light on their way to Ramallah. Only the suss vendor stood aside, still dissatisfied. When everyone else had left, he turned to the flag-master and muttered:
“It would have been better, Abu Il-Shawarab, to send a hundred horsemen ahead of them…I would have gone with them, to overturn their wares, smash their cheating scales, and cast them out from where they sit. I know these curs…they will greet our people like barking dogs, and will mock our elders. You’ll see: our people of Nablus will end up sleeping on the ground, children and all, without shelter under the open sky…”
Abu Il-Shawarab’s face darkened. The creases in his brow deepened, his large eyes narrowed in anger as he studied the vendor from head to toe. His heavy hand was already raised to slap him across the cheek and smash his teeth, but he suddenly changed his mind and restrained himself. Curling his moustache he spoke in a voice that shook with suppressed rage:
“Hurry, fool, and tell the mukhtars of all the streets I want to see them. Then get back to your work. The day is hot and people are thirsty. And you too—have a couple of glasses of your drink and cool yourself off a bit… . Hurry, and say to the mukhtars : Abu Il-Shawarab hopes you are in good health. There is a matter he wishes to discuss with you, and he awaits you in the coffeehouse!”
Having spoken, he took a silver coin from his purse and threw it at the suss vendor’s feet.
The suss vendor, feeling he had gone too far, bent down to pick up the coin and thrust it into his wide belt, which had many loops and niches in it for glasses and cups. He bowed his head in submission and hurried off on his errand, the trays hanging from his belt swinging and clanging as he ran.
Sullen and fuming, Abu Il-Shawarab returned home. He stopped by the fire, stirring the coals with a pair of long tongs, while scolding the man boiling the coffee, who sat on his calves like a camel, for not taking proper care of the fire.
As he spoke he felt an evil mood rising within him. Wherever he looked he saw a mess: the whole field was littered with bones and scraps of food, and not one of the servants or visitors had bothered to remove them. Beside the fence lay an old hairless dog, happily munching at a fat bone held between its forepaws, which it gnawed now with one side of its jaw and now with the other. The sight made Abu Il-Shawarab tremble with rage. He felt like killing the dog. Bending down slowly, he picked up a large smooth stone, and threw it straight at its head. It was a death blow. The dog made one big leap, yelped once, and fell, its head hitting the ground. Abu Il-Shawarab turned away in revulsion and remorse, and then stood looking at the sooty lamps that hung from the ropes. Then he started taking them down from their rings and placing them on the ground.
He heard the voice of the imam5 singing out from the nearby mosque, calling the faithful to afternoon prayer. Chanting voices from the tops of distant mosques took up the song. Abu Il-Shawarab shook his head in bewilderment, as if waking from a dream, and began walking quickly. Picking up a clay jug from among the water jars, he strode among the tents looking for a clean space to pray in.
Beside the tent where the bedding was kept he stopped. He bent down, jerked violently at a rug, and the entire pile of pillows and blankets arranged on it scattered to the ground, where their many-colored floral designs gleamed in the sunlight. Moving away a little, he spread out the rug, sat down, took off his red shoes, and tucked in the edges of his caftan. Then he rolled his trousers up to his knees, and his broad sleeves up to his shoulders, baring his muscular brown arms. He poured a jet of water on each of his limbs in turn, and the inscriptions tattooed on his arms gleamed blue. He hastily washed his feet with the remaining water in the jug and shouted for a boy to bring him another jar, and did not cool down until the boy had poured its entire contents over his head.
The cold water restored him. When he began his series of prostrations on the rug, he already felt quite calm and at ease.
Concluding his prayers, he ordered the boy to saddle his white stallion. Then, he quickly leaped onto its back, and galloped down the long road leading to the coffeehouse to meet the mukhtars, whom he would take to the house of the head of the wakf to discuss final arrangements for the pilgrimage.
Notes
1. Brimless cone-shaped hat, mostly red in color, worn by Arab town dwellers.
2 . Father.
3. May Allah will it!
4. An Arab proverb.
5. Prayer-chant leader
Chapter three
The day of the pilgrimage arrived. Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim lay like huge camels deep in the slumber of dawn beside their burdens, their long necks clinging to their bodies against the morning chill and their heads still hidden in mists and clouds. A shudder of awakening suddenly ruffled their backs, rippled along their thighs, and brought them rushing to their feet.
Long thin fingers of lig
ht glinted out from behind the Mount of Curses opposite it.1 Quivering, they burst through the clouds of fire and magic, cut through the dimness, and differentiated things from each other. On the ridges, the scattered houses gleamed white, like snails in crevices of rocks, and daylight rose over the many winding paths that crossed and recrossed each other and vanished from sight only to reappear alongside the valley floor.
The entire valley, from Abu Il-Shawarab’s house to the square of the mosque of Nebi Youssef, was covered by thin wisps of mist that rose from the many rivulets hiding among the tall bushes and grasses. From afar the valley looked as if it were part of the fertile slopes of Mount Gerizim bejeweled with glittering spring flowers on which pearls of dew trembled in the fresh spring breeze. Now it was filled with many-colored kefiyehs,2 headbands, and abbayehs, as masses of heads mingled and separated, covering the ground like swarms of mosquitoes over a river. Their noise and din, their snorting camels, whinnying horses, braying donkeys, and screaming children, filled the air of the valley with a prolonged cacophony. The wind carried the sound in every direction. Like a current of raging water they poured in waves over the hills and slopes, wound around the city from one end to another, knocked up the late risers, dragging them from their warm beds and swallowing them into the flow.