Russell Hoban - Pilgermann

Everyone became silent, and in the silence there came on the wind snatches of singing from the Franks encamped by the Gate of the Dog. They were singing in Latin and the only words that came clearly in the gusting of the wind were: ‘Deus trinus et unus’, ‘God three together and one’.

‘Do you know what tongue they sing in?’ Yaghi-Siyan said to me.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They are singing in Latin.’

‘Scholarly Jew!’ said Yaghi-Siyan. ‘And what do they sing?’

‘“God three together and one”,’ I said. ‘Those were the only words I could make out.’

‘“Three together and one”!’ said Yaghi-Siyan. ‘Which is it? Is it three or is it one?’

‘It is both three and one,’ I said. ‘The three are together in the one.’

‘How many gods do you worship, Jew?’ he said.

‘One,’ I said.

‘I also,’ he said. Still looking at me he said over his shoulder, ‘Bring Firouz here.’ One of the bodyguard rode off at a trot towards the Tower of the Two Sisters.

Everyone waited in silence. There had been no command for silence nor was Yaghi-Siyan, Governor though he was, a commanding presence. It was clear to everyone, however, that something of great power was commanding him. The faces that were turned towards him were looking at what was commanding him. The awnings flapped and fluttered, the green-and-gold banner carried by one of the bodyguard snapped in the wind. Mount Silpius, continually surprising in its mountainness, seemed itself surprised to find itself where it was, surprised to find that the present moment had indeed arrived. I cannot say less than I must but I dare not say more than is permitted; for the first time in this narrative it comes to me that words are images, and what is sacred cannot be imaged. Still there is the obligation of the witness: though the world should pass away, what has been seen has been seen; the voice that does not speak is denying God.

Yaghi-Siyan himself seemed to be snapping in the wind like the banner as he sat there on his horse in silence. The horse arched its neck, pawed with its hooves, dunged upon the tiles that at another time Yaghi-Siyan had taken off his shoes to walk upon.

The guard returned, Firouz riding beside him. Yaghi-Siyan said to Firouz, ‘Get down off your horse, please.’

Firouz dismounted, stood upon the tiles of Hidden Lion. The guard who had brought him took hold of the bridle of Firouz’s horse.

‘Firouz,’ said Yaghi-Siyan, ‘you have been a Christian, have you not?’

‘I bear witness that there is no god but God and that Muhammad is the messenger of God,’ said Firouz.

‘Yes, yes, we know that,’ said Yaghi-Siyan. ‘Now you are a Muslim. But you must tell me about the Christian god, the Three in One.’

‘What must I tell you?’ said Firouz.

‘You must tell me,’ said Yaghi-Siyan, ‘what this Three in One is. Is One the head and Two the body and Three the legs? What is this Three in One?’

‘One is the Father, Two is the Son, Three is the Holy Spirit,’ said Firouz.

‘Very good,’ said Yaghi-Siyan. ‘Here we are, you and I, upon Hidden Lion with its twisting serpents, contiguous with infinity: you are an Armenian, you have been a Christian and now you are a Muslim; I am only a simple Turk, I lack your experience in religious matters; I have always been a Muslim the same as I am now, I don’t know anything else. But you, having been a Christian, must know all about Christians — probably you can immediately recognize them when you see them. How is it with them, have they got lines upon their bodies dividing them into Spirit, Son, and Holy Father?’

‘Christians wear blue turbans,’ said Firouz.

‘Ah, yes!’ said Yaghi-Siyan. ‘Probably the blue signifies the Heaven that is waiting for those of them who are virtuous. In any case you will have no difficulty in knowing them on sight. And of course now that you have been living among Turkish Muslims you know very well what they look like, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Firouz.

‘Show him a Turk,’ said Yaghi-Siyan to the cavalryman on the mule-cart.

The cavalryman lifted a corner of the cloth, put his hands into the cart, and lifted out a man’s head. He did not lift it up by the hair, he held it respectfully with both hands. The nose was smashed, the open eyes were covered with dirt, the face was broken and smeared with blood. I looked from the face to the mountain, from the mountain to the face.

‘This is the head of a Turk,’ said Yaghi-Siyan. ‘His name is Jhamil Muqtin. He was one of our bravest fighters, he was like magic with a horse, like magic with a bow. His body is not here, his body has been roasted and eaten by the Franks. They have slung his head over the wall with a stone-slinger. His wife, his two sons and his daughter have waited for his return from battle. His old mother has waited also. There are a hundred heads in this cart and there are hundreds more of our men dead. They are dead from treachery, they are dead because the Franks knew of our plans, they were lying in wait for us. We were betrayed by the Christians who live among us, Armenian and Syrian Christians. Now you must bring three hundred Christians to me here upon these twisting serpents. You will know the men by their blue turbans and the women by their blue headcloths. If you find Christians naked you will know the men by their uncircumcised members and you will know the women because they will be with the men. You will know the children because they will cry when you take the parents. I need these three hundred Christians urgently, I must send their heads over the wall to the Franks. They have sent me a hundred heads but as their god is three for one I must send them back three hundred.’

Bembel Rudzuk spoke and his voice seemed to come from a very small quiet place far away, as from a cleft in the rock of a distant mountain. ‘Your Excellency,’ he said, ‘as you speak those words you are standing on tiles inscribed with the names of Allah The Compassionate, Allah The Merciful.’

‘Yes,’ said Yaghi-Siyan, ‘and that is why I shall overlook what you have just now said. A second time you won’t be so lucky.’

Bembel Rudzuk came forward and knelt before Yaghi-Siyan. He took off his kaffiya, bared his neck, bowed his head. ‘Let my Muslim head then be the first of the three hundred,’ he said. ‘I cannot turn away, and it is better that I do not look upon what you are going to do.’

Having no sword with me I went up to Firouz who was standing as if in a daze and I drew his sword from its sheath. With it in my hand I stood over Bembel Rudzuk. ‘I prefer not to look upon the death of Bembel Rudzuk,’ I said. ‘Who kills him will have to kill me first.’

‘Devoted Jew!’ said Yaghi-Siyan. ‘No one is going to kill either of you. I give you this gift because of what you have shown me with your Hidden Lion. But you shall not be allowed to interfere with what is going to happen here on your pattern that is contiguous with infinity. That is why it is being done here, that the beheading of these three hundred traitors may also be contiguous with infinity, may go on for ever and ever until time will have an end.’ From Firouz’s girdle he removed the sheath of the sword and slid it over the blade as I held the weapon in my hand. ‘Keep this sword and remember me in time to come,’ he said. ‘Go now in peace, go up to the top of your tower and bear witness that this is also part of the pattern.’

Soldiers of the bodyguard came and led Bembel Rudzuk and me to the tower that stood on David’s Wheel. We climbed to the top, and when I looked down at the pattern it seemed for the moment not to have in it that motion that was always there; it seemed to be the frozen shards and fragments of a Law that was created unyieldingly hard and rigid and for ever broken. The red, the black, the tawny triangles were swarming with figures watching, figures waiting, staring eyes in staring faces. From the place above his shoulders where his head would have been I felt the tax-collector’s eyes on me. Tower Gate’s round face appeared in the crowd like the moon seen for a moment through the cloud-race of an angry sky. The Imam, the Nagid, and the Rabbi seemed to pass like sorrowing dark angels through that same sky. Ah! I thought, this would have been a good time to die; I ought to have killed Yaghi-Siyan when I stood before him with Firouz’s sword in my hand but I had not done it.