Ibrahim al-Koni - The Puppet

“I fear, master, it’s too late for that now. To save the situation, you can backtrack and accept a puppet’s costume, like any other puppet.”

The leader’s chest resonated with his sorrowful moan. Looking up at the ceiling of palm fronds woven around palm branches, he said, “I’m afraid that ever since you chose the wrong man, thinking that anyone can don a puppet’s veils, it has been too late.”

“Am I hearing an opinion or receiving a decision?”

“If it is a decision, it’s destiny’s.”

“I’m sorry to hear this.”

He looked at the elements of the ceiling’s fabric and was astonished by the regularity of the rows of branches and the delicate weave of the palm fronds. The workmanship was comparable to a beautiful woman’s beadwork stitched onto a saddle cloth she has embroidered for a beloved warrior.

When he looked down again, he saw that the froth had vanished, although the mug was still full. The guest’s spot, on the leather mat, however, was vacant.

1

The next day the specter appeared in the walled alleyways, walked some steps beside him, and then said in the same husky voice as before, as if continuing their previous conversation, “You’ve collected vassals to assist you but have forgotten the bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards?”

“Didn’t I tell you that bodyguards are an amulet for sovereigns’ brows?”

“I actually don’t remember. But … who are you?”

“Now you abandon the momentous matter to chase after your curiosity the way worldly people do.”

“Did you say ‘momentous matter’?”

“Yes. When a man elevates worldly affairs while neglecting his own soul, he abandons momentous matters.”

“What do you mean?”

“Know that you possess nothing in the world besides your soul. If you don’t create a fortress for it, you’ll have only yourself to blame.”

“Are you speaking in a threatening way too?”

“No, I’m telling you to defend yourself against the threat.”

“But you want me to commit a heresy that no desert leader has yet committed.”

“You forget that you’re not a desert leader. You forget that you live among people who changed out their hearts by soiling their feet in their fields’ mires, by settling in houses, by turning metal into coins in the blacksmiths’ market, by allowing consumer goods to seduce them in the caravans’ markets, by acquiring gold dust from merchants and crafting from it jewelry to use to purchase maidens’ hearts. …”

“Not so fast! Slow down! Behavior like this doesn’t transform a person’s nature. A man doesn’t change into a ghoul overnight.”

“My master thinks well of creatures. But my master should beware, because such elevated opinions are deadly.”

“Deadly?”

“What matters to me is warning you.”

“I would feel embarrassed walking among the people surrounded by bodyguards.”

“Life is a gift more precious than specious shame, master.”

“Do you think the danger is this severe?”

“Life is a gift more precious than specious shame, master.”

While he traversed the eastern alleys that ran parallel to the blacksmiths’ market, the man was beside him. When the alleys ended at the temple plaza, however, he found that his companion had disappeared, as if the alleys’ shadows, which had spat him out, had returned to swallow him.

2

Shivering is not a typical reaction to danger, but it does suggest anxiety: a nameless anguish shackled by distress that drives one to panic, so that the afflicted person finds no room for himself.

He had felt panic-stricken for days. He could not sleep and felt ill at ease. So he fled to the wasteland to search for a cure. Prior to these panic attacks, while drifting between sleep and wakefulness, he had seen a snake. Taking this to be an ill omen, he had drawn from his kit an amulet to protect himself against evil. He added this to the necklace of talismans he wore. Now he proceeded through the empty land while attempting to recall the vision. He had seen the serpent stretched out in the shade of a retem tree and had walked a few steps closer. It was as long as an arm, svelte, clad in a rough skin, like the ridges in a lizard’s tail, and dotted with vile, loathsome, venomous spots that provoked a shudder and revulsion. He had found the sight entrancing and bent down over the creature. Armies of ants crawled around it; so he felt sure it was dead. He wanted to bury it and fetched a stick from a nearby tree. He lifted it with the end of this piece of wood, but it escaped after he took a couple of steps. As it slithered down, it touched his index finger. During that momentary contact, it struck him indolently with its fang. So he threw down the stick. In its eyes he saw a hostile, resentful, enigmatic look — a nameless look that said, “Have you forgotten that I don’t die? Have you forgotten that I’m called ‘The Snake’?” Although this look was hideous, the serpent’s gaze was rather slothful and indifferent. He examined the nick on his finger and discovered that it was bleeding. He started to shake and perspire, sensing that he was becoming feverish. Before the fever took hold, he had awakened to find his body bathed in perspiration and his limbs trembling. What did it mean for the reptile that had been a rotting corpse to return to life? What secret lay behind this lazy bite that had made him bleed?

He loitered in the wasteland for a time and brooded at length. Then he went to a diviner who had arrived from the forestlands the year before and erected a straw hut near the blacksmiths’ market.

The fetish priest listened to the vision indifferently and then commented just as lackadaisically, “This vision isn’t worth a trip to a diviner. In our country, even children can explain prophecies like these. I’m astonished that you haven’t recognized that the serpent represents an enemy. You’ll be exposed to an enemy’s cunning. So beware!” He started to leave, but the diviner called after him, “This world, master, is nothing but a den of vipers. The serpents in question are the people closest to us. If you want to be safe, don’t let any comrade out of your sight.”

3

That evening, the vassals came to discuss tariffs and the caravan traffic and to recount news of the tribes, foreign lands, and markets. Asen’fru, the tax administrator, commenced, saying that news of the campaign against gold had been carried by the jinn and thus had reached the lands to the south and the kingdoms to the north. Many merchants had ordered their caravans to change routes and bypass Waw. He affirmed, however, that the situation was not as grave as claimed by the oasis’s nobles, whose commerce had been injured by the attack, because the markets were still flooded with goods that surpassed the needs of the oasis, and the taxes collected from farmers, blacksmiths, shop owners, and professionals still showered the treasury with plentiful riches. Then, rubbing together coarse hands caked with a dry crust like a lizard’s scales, he concluded his presentation with the suggestion: “If my master would order the exchange of the gold that comes from the oasis’s inhabitants for pieces of silver from passing caravans, the wealth that would saturate the oasis would bring its people unprecedented prosperity.”

He exchanged a quick look with the chief vassal and also glanced at the campaign’s commander. Then, leaning forward, he ran the palm of one hand over the back of the other. The scales contracted into grim ridges with a distressing sound but relaxed once the palm of his hand passed by, and then settled once more into depressing gray lines.

Abanaban, the chief vassal, asked, “But will this prosperity last long if the oasis loses the confidence of the caravan trade?”