The Wedding of Zein

by Tayeb Salih

  ‘Blessed be he who takes his provisions and journeys

  In the plain of Fereish, seeing the beckoning banner,

  To visit Hussein’s grandfather.’

  People’s eyes filled with tears and some broke into sobs, especially those who had performed the pilgrimage and visited Mecca, Medina, and the other places described by the chanter. The man continued chanting with that certain huskiness for which he was famed.

  ‘Blessed be he who takes his provisions and urges on his camels

  And who, reaching the plain of Fereish, calls out for joy on

  seeing the banner.

  He visits Hussein’s grandfather.

  Before him raisins, figs and water-melons, they spread—

  And cups of wine. ‘Go ahead and drink’, they said.

  When he visits Hussein’s grandfather.’

  The ululations of the women in the circle of chanters mingled with those of the women on the dance floor. Sometimes a group from the dance floor would move across to the chanters’ circle. In the former place their feet would be set in motion, their zeal fired; in the latter their eyes would water with tears. So, too, a group would move from the chanters’ circle to the dance floor, making a migration from religious rapture to clamour. Suddenly Mahjoub was alerted.

  ‘Where is Zein?’

  Like the rest of his ‘gang’ he had been busily engaged in organising the wedding feast and Zein had disappeared from his sight.

  He asked everyone else, but they all said they had not seen Zein for about two hours. Abdul Hafeez said he remembered last seeing him listening to the chanters.

  They began looking for him, though without attracting anyone’s attention for fear of upsetting the others. They did not find him with the group congregated with the Imam in the large diwan; he was neither in the circle of chanters, nor with any of the dance groups scattered throughout the houses. They entered the kitchens, where the women were busy in front of the ovens and cooking-pots, but Zein was not there. At this they were overcome with alarm, for there was no knowing what Zein might do—he could well forget all about the wedding and just vanish. They split up in their search for him and left no place untouched. Some of them struck into the desert that lay opposite the quarter, while others went in the direction of the fields, right up to the Nile bank. They entered the houses, going through them house by house; they looked under the trunk of every date palm, every tree.

  There remained only the mosque, though never in his life had Zein entered it. The time by now was early night: a night of dense darkness. The mosque was quiet and empty. The light from the wedding lamps streamed in through the windows in lozenges of brightness, some of which were reflected on the carpets, some on the ceiling, some on the prayer niche. They stood listening, but heard not a sound except for those that reached them from the wedding party. They called his name and searched in the corners and halls of the mosque, but Zein was nowhere to be found.

  They lost hope: he must have taken himself off. But where to, with the whole village congregated together in one place?

  Suddenly an idea struck Mahjoub. ‘The cemetery!’ he shouted. They did not believe it. What would Zein be doing in the cemetery at that time of night? But when Mahjoub went off ahead, they followed him.

  They walked in silence behind Mahjoub among the graves, with the sounds of singing and ululation coming to them, loud and distinct, then low and distant. The place was a wasteland except for salam acacia and sayal trees scattered among the graves. The gaps between their branches were filled with darkness so that they looked like squatting phantoms. The domes erected above the graves of the holy men were like ships on ocean waves. The large tomb in the middle looked mysterious and forbidding. Suddenly Mahjoub stopped and said to them, ‘Listen.’ At first they heard nothing, but when they listened closely there was a faint sound of sobbing.

  Mahjoub moved forward, the others following him, till he came to a stop above a squatting phantom form at Haneen’s grave.

  ‘Zein, what brought you here?’ said Mahjoub.

  Zein made no reply, but his weeping increased till it became a high-pitched wailing.

  For a while they stood watching him in bewilderment, then Zein said in a broken voice choked with tears: ‘If he hadn’t died our revered father Haneen would have attended the wedding.’

  Mahjoub placed his hand gently on Zein’s shoulder. ‘May God have mercy upon him,’ he said. ‘He was a man blessed of God. But tonight’s your wedding night and no man cries on his wedding night. Come, let’s go.’

  Zein got up and went off with them.

  They arrived at the large house where most of the people were assembled and were met by the great din. At first their eyes were blinded by the bright light coming from the tens of lamps. Fattouma was singing, the drums were roaring, and in the centre there danced a girl surrounded by a great circle of tens of men clapping and stamping and making whinnying noises in their throats. Zein slipped through, gave a high leap into the air, and came down in the centre of the circle. The light from the lamps illuminated his face still wet with tears. His hand outstretched above the dancer’s head, he shouted out at the top of his voice: ‘Make known the good news! Make known the good news!’

  The place bubbled with excitement like a boiling cauldron, Zein having transfused into it new energy. The circle of men widened and narrowed, widened and narrowed, the voices growing fainter and then rising again to a pitch, the drum thundering and raging, while Zein stood, tall and thin, in his place at the heart of the circle, like the mast of a ship.

  THIS IS A NEW YORK REVIEW BOOK

  PUBLISHED BY THE NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS

  435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

  www.nyrb.com

  Copyright © 1968 by Tayeb Salih and Denys Johnson-Davies

  Introduction copyright © 2009 by Hisham Matar

  All rights reserved.

  This collection was first published in Beirut, Lebanon, as ‘Urs al-Zayn: Sab‘qiṣaṣ, 1962. First published in this translation in the Heinemann African Writers Series, 1969.

  “The Doum Tree of Wad Hamid” first appeared in this translation in Encounter, November 1962. “A Handful of Dates” first appeared in this translation in Encounter, January 1966.

  Cover image: Obiora Udechukwu, Writing in the Sky; courtesy of the artist

  Cover design: Katy Homans

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Salih, al-Tayyib.

  [‘Urs al-Zayn: sab‘ qiṣaṣ. English]

  The wedding of Zein / by Tayeb Salih; translated by Denys Johnson-Davies.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-59017-342-8 (alk. paper)

  I. Johnson-Davies, Denys. II. Title.

  PJ7862.A564M313 2010

  892.7’36 — dc22

  2009036057

  eISBN 978-1-59017-430-2

  v1.0

  For a complete list of books in the NYRB Classics series, visit www.nyrb.com or write to:

  Catalog Requests, NYRB, 435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014