Rabih Alameddine - The Hakawati

“That’s not right,” I said.

“No,” he replied, “no, it wasn’t. Eurydice got scared and fled. While running away, she was bitten in the ankle by a white scorpion. Eurydice died. And Orpheus was devastated. He sang his song of grief for all to hear. Up in the skies, the gods wept. They wept so much their clothes turned all soppy and shrank. That’s why the gods are depicted seminaked in the great paintings. They cried so much it rained for forty days and forty nights. For as long as Orpheus sang, his eyelids, and the world’s, were forbidden sleep. On the fortieth night, he realized that he couldn’t retrieve his wife by singing to the heavens. He was looking in the wrong direction. He must descend to the underworld and reclaim her.

“His song was his protection against the denizens of the netherworld. The lyre enchanted Cerberus, the giant three-headed dog who guarded the underworld. As Orpheus descended, the ghosts heard his song and shed their dry tears, for they remembered what it was like to breathe. Sisyphus sat on his stone and listened. The three Furies stopped their tortures, joined their victims in the enchantment. Tantalus forgot his eternal thirst for an instant.

“And the song squeezed Proserpine’s heart. ‘Take her,’ said the goddess of the underworld. She called on the god Mercury to bring forth limping Eurydice. ‘Follow Orpheus with his wife,’ Proserpine commanded Mercury. ‘Set her free in his world. But listen, Orpheus, and hear this. Your wife will live again on one condition. You will lead her out of my realm, but you may not look back. If you fail this task, I’ll retrieve her forever.’ Orpheus set out, walked out of the underworld. He heard the god’s winged footsteps behind him, sometimes faint, sometimes not. He trusted and walked forth through passages dark and steep, through dank tunnels and tortuous paths. He believed his love would follow him. Light changed. He could see the gate before him. He looked back and saw his wife dragged back down to the underworld. ‘A last farewell,’ he heard her say, but the sound reached him after she had vanished. And he lost her.”

“That was not a happily ever after,” I said. “You promised to only tell me stories with happy endings.”

“You’re right, but that’s easy to fix. Orpheus died and descended into the underworld and was able to look at Eurydice as much as he wanted.”

“And they lived happily ever after.”

“That they did.”

“How come it’s always bad to look back?” I asked. “What if something is going to hit you from behind? What about rearview mirrors?”

“I don’t really know,” he replied.

I paused. “Would you have tried to retrieve Grandmother from the underworld?”

“Hmm.” He hesitated, cast his eyes upward as if contemplating. “I don’t think she would’ve wanted me to. It was the right time for her to leave. Eurydice died before her time, which was why Orpheus went down to get her.”

“If I die,” I said, “will you come for me?”

“I’ll turn the world upside down and inside out. I’ll find you wherever you are. I’ll not only come for you, I’ll bring an entire army. You’re my little hero. That’s what you are.”

Who will raise the dead again? Fatima found her lover, Afreet-Jehanam, human-sized and demonlike, lying prone and lifeless on the white altar of King Kade. The imps jumped atop the altar. Weeping, Ishmael said, “Our brother is dead.” Fatima ran her fingers through the demon’s hair, which was no longer yellow and fiery, just unresponsive blue strings of air. She kissed his inert lips. “Wake,” she said, but he remained dead. She kissed his palm, pressed his hand to her chest. She used his swordlike fingernail to cut her lip. She kissed him again. “Wake,” she said, “drink my blood,” but he remained dead. She removed the loincloth of rhinoceros hide and held his listless penis. She put the penis in her mouth and licked. “Wake,” she said. “I am not done with you yet.” And the penis grew rigid, but the jinni did not breathe. She climbed on the altar. “Wake,” she said. “I am Fatima, tamer of Afreet-Jehanam, vanquisher of King Kade. I am master of light and dark. Wake.” She straddled her lover, descended upon him until he was inside her. She felt the force of life tremble within her. And his hair was enflamed. She bent down and kissed him. A streak of blood dripped from her lip to his, down across the convex curve of his cheek. It transformed into a young mud snake upon touching the altar.

“Wake,” she said, and he opened his three red eyes.

Elie leaned on his motorcycle, looking ruffled and agitated. He didn’t notice me until I was right in front of his face. He was now sixteen, and my mother always said that was a horrible age, because you were mean, unhappy, and uncharitable most of the time, and you ended up listening to American music. Elie was moving up in the militia. He already commanded a troop of boys who were older than he was, and, more important, he now carried two guns. He stared at his shoes. I stared at him until a sudden flutter flashed in the corner of my eye. Mariella walked out of the lobby, wearing a drunken smile and a sweater so tight her breasts looked like a high shelf. She whistled a Beatles melody. She strolled by, pretended not to see us. She was a bad actress, but Elie was fooled. “I’m here,” he called.

“Oh,” she sighed. “I didn’t see you.” She kept walking, laughed coquettishly. “I want something to drink.” She entered the store on the ground level of the adjacent building, then stuck her head back out. “I’ll be right back.”

“I need to find a place,” he said. I nodded, unsure what to say. “She’s upset because I can’t find a place. She no longer wants to come with me to any of my friends’ places. She thinks it’s beneath her.” He paused, eyed me to make sure I was following. “You’re my friend, right? I’ve always taken care of you, so you’re my friend.” I nodded, still silent. “I have to use your room. Your mom takes bridge classes Mondays and Thursdays. We can go up there then.”

“Why do you want to visit me when she’s not there?” I asked.

“Don’t be silly. I want to use your room. You’re not going to be there.”

“You want to be alone with Mariella?”

“Yes. What the hell do you think I’m talking about?”

“What about Lina?” I didn’t think she’d be happy if she knew he wanted to be with Mariella. My sister liked him.

“Get rid of her.”

Mariella came over and greeted me by bumping me with her hip. “How’s my little boyfriend doing?” She held her Pepsi bottle with both hands, and her lips played with the straw.

“We’re going to use his room,” Elie said.

She didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him. She concentrated on my eyes. I blushed. “I don’t understand why you play the oud for my sister but not for me,” she said. “Don’t you like me?” I blushed again.

I waited in the building’s lobby on Thursday afternoon. Elie had said he’d come down as soon as he was done being alone with Mariella. I waited for a long time. Finally, he came out of the elevator, walked by me, smiled, and grabbed his crotch.

My bed was a mess. The duvet was on the floor, and so was one of the two pillows. The other was crumpled. I tried to make the bed presentable. I smoothed the damp sheets, fluffed the pillows, and covered everything with the duvet. I sat on the bed to make it look less strange.

Istez Camil asked me to repeat the maqâm. My fingers hurt. I was dripping sweat like hanging laundry. I was happy, though. Istez Camil wouldn’t admit it openly, but I knew he was impressed. I could tell because he sat up straight in his chair and his eyes turned into slim slits of brown, unmoving, unwavering, staring at the well-instructed fingers of my left hand.