by Неизвестный
These were pilgrims from more distant places, men of the Galilee, the Jezreel Valley, and Bedouin from Beit-Shean. They made their way among rocks and cliffs to join the main stream of the pilgrimage, which began from the hill country around Nablus. They had come a long way and had a long way to go. Having arrived at the town in the evening to allow their weary beasts to rest, they had slept under the open sky, filling the streets of the town and the empty fields around it. In the morning they began to spread like locusts, in large groups, leaving the places where they had slept and scattering all over the town, some invading the mosques and others filling the coffeehouses. The poorer ones gathered around the baking-stoves and oil presses, gratefully warming themselves by their heat and smoke. Many jostled around the vendors of pittas and sakhlab. Shivering from the cold, they drew red trembling hands out of their abbayehs, curled them around the hot cups, and drank the warmth into their bodies with a whistling sound.
Today, though this was not the general custom, the shops had opened before the shadows left the roofed markets, before the faithful had had a chance to make istftakh, the first sale of the day, which determines the day’s fortune. Scores of beggars and cripples tramped in their filthy rags from shop to shop, calling for alms; the town beggars stood in silence, swinging censers of incense around the shopkeepers with one hand while with the other hand they stretched out pails to receive in miserable silence whatever was given them, a neck bone and an onion, a dried pitta or a moldy piece of bread.
Busiest of all were the gypsies and the poorer Bedouin, thin and shriveled figures with eyes like embers. Beating on drums, jangling the copper rings and green beads hanging from their hoops, they sang of the glories of Nebi Youssef and Nebi Moussa, the heroes of this day, and of the great reward to be earned by all who took part in this pilgrimage. They forced their listeners to pay them generously, and insisted on handsome sums. Anyone who refused was punished on the spot with derisive rhymes composed there and then about his miserliness. Many merchants had been stung before, and now acted cunningly to avoid such trouble. As soon as they heard the singers approaching they hurriedly turned their backs to the street and fell into attitudes of prayer, continuing to prostrate themselves until the singers had gone.
One of these new arrivals, a tall, white-faced man who was as thin as a rooster, had stood since dawn at the main crossroads in the town center, his pointed chin resting on his staff. His gown, a patchwork of many colors, hung over the wreck of his body, beneath which poked his long thin legs. One of his hands was pressed to his breast, and the other was stretched out to passersby. He did not move aside even for loaded camels or galloping horsemen. In a hoarse dry voice he repeated a monotonous chant, beginning over again even before he had finished:
“I beg of Allah…and of the delight of Allah…and of the possessions of Allah…and of the generosity of Allah…I have vowed a vow to Allah…and to Youssef and to Nebi Moussa beloved of Allah…Who will have mercy on a poor sick exhausted man…four rials to be blessed by Allah…the price of a beast for the pilgrimage to Nebi Moussa the generous one of Allah…and the recompense and the payments be upon Allah!”
He solicited no one and at first made no movement. Only his eyebrows, which looked very black underneath his white forehead, moved and trembled nervously each time he was forced to repeat the sad and poignant request.
And suddenly he had a fit. His eyes expanded and turned red and bulged out of their sockets. White spittle flowed from his blue lips, from which fever had taken the redness. In a mad frenzy, he cast off the rag that covered his body and stood there naked, his protruding chest, in which the thin ribs were coiled like springs, rising and falling in rhythm like bellows, his features contorted. In insane fury he tossed his head to and fro at a feverish pace. He raised his voice, cleared his throat, and repeated his cry in terrible and desperate screams.
The onlookers who had gathered around him in a circle stepped back in horror, and then stood there as if rooted to the spot. Soon they were joined by many more passersby, finally blocking all traffic. Those furthest away stood on tiptoe to stare and listen. Hearing him repeat his inordinate request for four rials they shook their shoulders pitifully, calling out “May almighty Allah have mercy upon you and fulfill your request,” and moving off, some making a detour to avoid the crowd.
A hunchbacked Egyptian vendor of fodder and beans appeared. He looked like a dressed-up turtle and was known for his wit and his hatred of beggars, whom he chased away wherever they crossed his path. Now, to make fun of this beggar, he filled his hand with beans and hid them in his gown. Then he quietly approached the pauper, making strange movements all the while, like one who is looking for a lost purse that only a moment ago was lying in his lap. Suddenly his face lit up, as if he had found it and with a show of great generosity he handed the beggar a large quantity of beans.
All the onlookers burst out laughing. The wretch who had been tricked threw the beans away from him in disgust, snorted loudly, and started rolling around like a wheel, to the delight of all those present.
For some time they cavorted around him. Suddenly there was an outcry, and men began to push and fall on top of each other. The closely packed crowd split open; men who were being shoved and trampled began to curse and swear, clenching their fists and looking around for whoever it was that had started shoving his way, ready to beat him to a pulp. But on recognizing Abu Il-Shawarab, they all drew back, their curse unspoken. Shamed, embarrassed, they retreated before him on all sides.
Curling his moustache, the way he did when he was angry, Abu Il-Shawarab stood there unspeaking in the cleared circle, which grew narrower and narrower as more men pushed closer in their eagerness to see what he would do. His eyes darted about in search of the hunchback, who, realizing in time what would happen to him, sneaked stealthily through the throng and hid behind a wall of backs. When Abu Il-Shawarab saw that he could not find him he shook his head. With slow, heavy steps he approached the beggar, shook him by the shoulder to stop him rolling about, and kissed him on the back of the hand. To ensure that the beggar heard what he had to say to him, he repeated his words several times, in a loud voice:
“May your strength be preserved! And may Allah aid you! Hear this, Father! Allah has opened unto you the gate of salvation!”
Thrusting his hand into his belt, he took out four pieces of silver and pressed them into the beggar’s hand.
The pauper suddenly stopped his contortions and snortings. His reason seemed to have returned to him. His maddened eyes stopped rolling about. As he looked straight at the face of the benefactor, his entire soul seemed to be rejoicing. For a moment he stood there in absolute silence. Then he gathered the remains of his strength, as if about to do a great deed. He wiped the spittle from his chin and threw himself to the earth and, lying prostrate, he buried his face in the hem of Abu Il-Shawarab’s abbayeh, while his trembling hands embraced the flag-master’s knees.
Abu Il-Shawarab, deeply moved, whispered:
“Poor man! There is no endurance nor strength save in Allah.”
He bent over him, placed his arms around him, and lifted him from the earth like a feather. With his arms still around him, he said:
“Praise Allah, the Blessed and the Supreme, and pray to the Prophet! Now run and find yourself a mount while there is still time. We move off in an hour!” Letting go of him, he straightened up and turned to the onlookers, at whom he roared:
“May your houses be ruined! Why stand here in idleness? Where are my men? Come here! Put this man’s coat on for him. Take him from here and see him on his way: one or two of you go and hire him a donkey or a camel, whatever you can find, put him on it and let him have some rest. Look after him well, as I command you—and then catch us up in the square of the mosque.”
The onlookers hastened to do his bidding. Many vied with each other for the right to carry out the command. The strong arm of Abu Il-Shawarab separated them. Well pleased now, and smiling broadly, he selected two and
put the pauper in their charge. The remainder he sent off to tell the pilgrims in the town to hurry, and to alert those in the more distant streets who had not yet been informed. Only when the entire crowd had dispersed did he too hasten home, to change his clothes, don his weapons, harness his horse, and take his place at their head.
Leaving the central market, he could hear the dull, incessant din that came to his ears like distant thunder bursting against the summits of the surrounding hills. The sounds grew louder and louder. From moment to moment they broke against the stonewalls and overflowed on all sides like the waves of a stormy sea. The dim gates and alleys, the domes and the archways, the minarets and yards of the mosques all responded with a prolonged echo that made him tremble.
The voices enveloped him, inflamed his blood and cut into his flesh like the teeth of a saw. He moved quickly through the throngs of children and adults streaming past him on all sides like clouds of dust in a sandstorm, panting, rushing, stumbling, becoming entangled in the skirts of the frayed abbayehs of those in front of them, quickly getting up again, thrusting the edges of their caftans into their belts and running on.
Abu Il-Shawarab wanted to reach home by a shortcut on the far side of the road, but was prevented from doing so by the masses of people pressing along it with their donkeys and mules and camels. He pushed through the waves of people moving slowly beside the narrow gate of the town, found a way out of the gate, and was suddenly in the clear. His gaze rested on the mountains and hills and valleys all around, and he stood rooted to the spot in amazement, unable to take his eyes off the many sights that presented themselves to him all at once.
All around the valley, along all the roads and paths leading to the town, streamed hosts of pilgrims from the nearby villages. They flowed toward the square of the mosque, singing joyfully. Flags, gleaming and many-colored, waved and fluttered slowly above their heads, and the blades of drawn swords glinted as they struck against each other in the dance. Men carrying spears and daggers walked slowly backward, facing the drummers, the players of cymbals and lyres, and the dancers, who advanced with short measured steps. Those in the lead turned about in all directions shaking their heads and gesticulating wildly to urge the dancers, the singers, and the players to even greater exertions.
From the hillsides and the rock paths clusters of dervishes and hadjs now descended to the main road, over which clouds of dust were rising. They belonged to various sects. Some had come from Shiloh and Levonah, some from Pharoton and Salem, from Horata and Orata. On they came, barefooted ascetics with tangled hair, naked except for a narrow belt covering their loins, men wearing sackcloth, their skins covered with blisters and pockmarks, hadjs, in a magical mixture of headgear of all hues; lily-white, olive-green, saffron-orange, and poppy-red. Before them came bearers of implements, carriers of incense-burners, and players, some strumming the one-stringed rebab, some blowing crude flutes, their bare feet skipping from crag to crag as they advanced.
As soon as they reached the open space they separated into groups, arranging themselves in circles or columns. Here the spirit suddenly descended on some of them, and they began to prophesy in terrible screams. Like swarms of bees smoked out of their hive they whirled and turned about, flinging their bodies to and fro, throwing themselves to the earth only to bounce up into the air again like balls; they crawled on all fours, stood on their heads, regrouped and again performed their extraordinary feats. Many poked spikes into their cheeks, from one side of the face to the other, or stuck long nails into their nostrils, crunched broken glass between their teeth, and walked barefoot on blades of swords, which they had stuck points upward into the earth for this purpose.
The crowd roared in religious intoxication and excitement, with loud praises of Allah and his Prophet and of those who do His will and perform His miracles upon the earth.
The excited crowd thronged around the group of dervishes who had now formed a circle and were all swaying to and fro, prophesying and gesticulating around their master, Abu Alhidja. Abu Alhidja was mounted on a white horse, with a white sheepskin spread over the saddle and another draped negligently over his back. Two black snakes curled around his arms, their raised heads and forked tongues darting out toward his tangled beard, their alert eyes turned toward his in sparkling fury, while their flat heads and necks swayed to and fro to the rhythm of the flute in his mouth.
The tall figure of Abu Il-Shawarab, which had been advancing slowly, now appeared beside them. From here on he was unable to make further progress. The disciples and admirers of Abu Alhidja filled the entire road from one end to the other. They had stripped themselves naked, their faces were blue, their eyes bulged, their wild and tangled masses of hair mingled with their beards, and blood streamed from their mouths, as they rolled about and repeated in hoarse cries the phrases spoken by their master.
Abu Alhidja gave a signal. In response, all dervishes prostrated themselves on the earth, facedown, shoulder to shoulder. He pulled at the reins, and his horse, froth dripping from its mouth, rose on its hind legs and swayed from side to side without moving from the spot. The rider kicked the horse harshly in the belly and pounded on its head with his fist, and it lowered its head, bent its legs a little, and, like a swimmer diving into the water, flew off like a streak of lightning over the prostrate people, its hooves pounding on their backs.
Abu Alhidja reached the end of the line of backs, pulled up, and shouted a command to his people. They got up as one man, teeth clenched and lips white with pain. Not one of them batted an eyelid. With blanched faces, shaking knees, dizzy heads, and trembling hands they looked around, as if searching for something to hold on to until their strength returned.
The walls of onlookers, who had watched all this with bated breath, now moved forward in terrible waves, like sheep pushed by a storm, and rushed to the dervishes, to kiss their hands and receive their blessing. Abu Il-Shawarab was carried along with them, pushed and shaken, stumbling and recovering, until he reached Abu Alhidja, who had completely lost interest in what was going on around him and was now totally engrossed in his snakes. He patted and caressed them, unrolled them from his arms, and calmly put them into a leather bag hanging around his neck, which he then closed and replaced in his lap.
Abu Il-Shawarab fervently and devoutly kissed the hem of the camelhair robe of the master of dervishes, bent his head to the other’s knee, and asked for a blessing from him. Abu Alhidja recognized the flag-master, leaned over him, and kissed him on the shoulders. The merry eyes in his yellow face twinkled as he whispered:
“May your fortune be great and exalted! Ma-sha-Allah4…there are many pilgrims this year, their numbers are like locusts, may Allah increase them. The flag of the Prophet will fly this year from the highest stair…”
And with a sly crease of his eyebrows he added:
“We are already roasted and charred from the sun, yet you have not yet dressed or called out your people. It is time to bring out the holy flag in all its splendor and to set out on our way. Hurry home, complete your arrangements, and return quickly. We shall stop here and await your return.”
“Yes, my father!” replied Abu Il-Shawarab. “You speak truly. But the blame for the delay is not ours. The men of Nablus have been waiting since morning at the gate of the mosque, and I too am ready: behold, I return!” With this, he hurried off through the crowd of heads that had been turned inquisitively to them to overhear their conversation, and which now immediately withdrew to clear a path for him.
It did not take Abu Il-Shawarab a long time to emerge among the horsemen who stood mounted in the olive grove beside his house, waiting for him. He galloped toward them, stooping slightly over the neck of his white stallion. With one hand he straightened the silk abbayeh he had just donned in honor of the day, which fanned out in streaming waves down to his new red boots.
As soon as the horsemen saw him they affectionately pounded on their horses’ necks, which were raised high in the air, their small ears almost touching their r
iders’ chests. At a prancing trot they rode toward Abu Il-Shawarab and surrounded his white stallion, which was also gaily caparisoned in honor of the day. The stallion seemed to be aware of his own importance and splendor. Proudly raising his head, he shook his ears, as if to show the other horses the red silk scarf tied around his forehead, with roses and carnations braided around it in a wreath. He turned lightly and haughtily to the sides, shaking the red fringes of the saddle blanket that hung over both sides of his belly. He dilated his nostrils, threw up his head, shook his mane, stamped his hooves several times, and waggled his ankles to let the sunlight fall on his horseshoes of polished steel that gleamed like silver.
Abu Il-Shawarab and his escort rode slowly down through the breaks in the high fence that separated the grove from his grounds. Women, their faces half-veiled, leaned out from the windows and the roof of his house and showered sweets and flowers down on them. Without glancing at the women, he turned left and paused for a while beside the row of tents now being dismantled and rolled up by their owners.
The tents came down to the ground one after the other. A shadow passed over his face as he gazed with contempt and anger at these men who were so concerned over their property. Then, lowering his pointed eyes, he slapped his horse and galloped off along the path leading to the main road.
Behind him he heard stifled cries of weeping and prolonged wailing. He stopped, turned his horse’s head, and looked back. His two sons were running after him with outstretched arms, weeping and sobbing. They caught up with him and hung on to his stirrups, raised their tear-stained faces to him and pleaded:
“Yaba! Take us with you to Nebi Moussa!”
Abu Il-Shawarab bent down to them, moved and bewildered. He picked them up and seated them on his horse’s back, in front of him. Then he took out a kerchief and wiped their eyes and noses, and spoke to them, trying to calm and console them with affectionate words. He gave each of them a coin, kissed them, and prepared to set them down and send them home.