Ibrahim al-Koni - Seven Veils of Seth

Boys joined him as he made his rounds. They kept him company, with one line racing along to his right and a second one on his left. Some would fall away whenever he exceeded their range, but others would join each time the procession reached a new settlement. Elders were scattered at the entryways of huts and mud-brick houses, standing there like silent specters or statues; they did not budge till the company had passed by and disappeared from sight in a grove of trees or behind the top of some hills.

Only the visitor to the oasis sequestered himself that morning on the flank of the hill. He watched the procession from the time it left the press of northern houses and traversed the shacks scattered along the plain that led to the dwellings surrounding the market square and circling the hill to the north and east. He did not cease watching until it turned to slip down the narrow alleys where dwellings clung to each other and the houses shared walls, as if protecting each other from an unknown danger.

The public affairs announcement reached his ears too, booming loud enough at times for him to make out clearly every word and then fading into the distance where, in the stillness of the open country, it seemed the buzz of a fly. Even though insolent laughter rattled in his throat from the moment the tour began and the proclamation first rang out, more than once he choked on a tear in response to the tragic ring of the call, which sounded like a lament to him, perhaps because he heard only tragedy in the announcement and could decipher in it only a mourner’s admonition whenever it resounded through the tribes’ settlements. Were creatures destined to hear from the herald’s mouth nothing but an elegy whenever a proclamation rang out in the tribes’ lands? Were creatures destined to hear nothing more than a lament from the mouth of the herald? Are glad tidings a voiceless, shameful secret that slips into these lands covertly and diffidently and flees clandestinely from these territories too, as shamefacedly as it arrives?

He nearly choked on his disquieting laughter once more, because he resembled the ancients’ legendary jackal, which only grinned when hungry, since it realized that hunger is inevitably followed by satiety, and only wept when satisfied, realizing full well that hunger inevitably follows a good meal. He likewise would laugh till his throat rattled when sad, because he knew better than anyone else that sorrow always ends with joy, and would weep through joyful events, since he knew that joy ends with sorrow.

He swallowed his laughter and descended the hillside to meet — at the bottom of the hill — the chief merchant, who was upset. His anxiety was apparent in his eyes, and his veil, which was pulled back from his mouth, revealed the deep scar of an ancient wound that had marked his left cheek, crossing his upper lip.

He brought the merchant up short with the question: “Has some evil befallen you?”

He glanced up at the stranger absentmindedly before responding: “What is there in our world but evil? The moment we catch our breath from one evil, we encounter another. Didn’t you hear the public announcement?”

“I heard the announcement and watched from my vantage point as your herald made his rounds.”

The chief merchant stared at him with red eyes: “Yesterday all the pregnant women miscarried.”

”No!” His disquieting laughter, however, rumbled, and he chortled a bit until he could ask, “Why did that happen?”

“A malady this widespread isn’t a medical issue; it’s a punishment.”

“And as you know, a punishment is often a message of deliverance. Should we fear it this much and lapse into anxiety?”

Amghar waved his hand as if to drive away flies and then asked desperately, “What shall we do with women whose bellies are barren?” He reached out to seize the end of his veil, which had pulled away from his mouth, twisted it around his index finger a little, then pulled it up toward his left ear and tucked it into the fold so his nose was completely hidden. He asked with an unexpected sigh: “Tell me: Is a woman with a barren belly still a woman?”

Confining his wicked laugh to his chest once more, he replied, “A woman with an empty belly is definitely not a woman, but she’s not a man either.”

“Yesterday, after midnight, my wife suffered a miscarriage too.”

“No!”

“I was there when she ejected the stillborn child the way a she-goat ejects a kid.”

“Ha, ha. . ”

“Writhing like a viper from her pain, she released a sound that reminded me of the bleating of a goat. Then she groaned and the fetus slipped out with the groan.”

“Amazing!”

“I wouldn’t feel so bad if I had children, like most men.”

“I don’t understand.”

He looked up at the stranger blankly: “She’s the third woman to enter my home and the first to become pregnant by me.”

“I’m sorry to hear this.”

“The spirit world has decided to punish me for forgetting my vow.”

“Vow?”

“Yes, absolutely: my vow. I promised a banquet to the goddess Tanit if one of my wives became pregnant. When she suffered morning sickness, began to crave clay, and admitted to me that she was pregnant, I remembered the vow. By the next morning, however, I had forgotten it because I was busy with one of my caravans that had returned with goods from the forest lands. After that I forgot it altogether and never thought of it again until the affliction struck yesterday.”

“Vows are destined to be forgotten. We never remember our vows until after disasters strike.”

He cast a suspicious look at the stranger: “But the elders say you’re responsible.”

“Me!”

He glanced far away to remark, “They’re not sure, but evil’s always marked by an omen.”

“Ha, ha. . did they read in the tablet of the Unknown that I bring evil?”

“The diviner did not confirm that but didn’t deny it either.”

“They have a right to suspect me since I’m the only outsider to visit the oasis of late. They also have a right to think ill of me because I rejected their community the day I declined to eat with them.”

“I suspect that refusing the invitation is the only reason.”

“Yes, indeed; declining an invitation is a sign. Turning down a banquet is always an indication of a departure from the Law that everyone has prescribed for everyone to follow. But. . but, what do you think?”

He was silent for a time. Then he replied: “What does the victim think? The victim has a right to be suspicious. Only a person struck by an adder’s fang sees the rope as a snake.”

He tucked the purse under his arm and went out. He had awakened shortly before dawn and stammered out his arcane incantations first thing. Then he had slipped into a corner of the entryway, where he poked his head into his kit, pulling out the scary satchel ornamented with talismans of the ancients. From this he removed two scoops of suspicious-looking, powdered herbs and then dumped them into a smaller, leather purse, which he tucked into his flowing sleeve, also embroidered with cryptic traceries. The purse bounced around the thin garment’s empty spaces. So he secured it under his arm and went out.

With deliberate but haughty steps he crossed the open space between the fields and the mountain. When he reached the irrigation ditches fed by the heavenly spring, the scent of the earth and its vegetation and puffs of humid air assailed him. He took a deep breath. Then a string in the Unknown vibrated and a tear burst from his eye. He crossed the irrigation ditches with wide strides that mimicked a lunatic’s leaps, penetrated the palm groves, and stopped by the spring.