Rafik Schami - Damascus Nights

"The next morning, the farmer again stretched out his hand with the gold lira. That was all he could do. His wife sat across from him, staring wide-eyed at his hand. As soon as she took the coin from his palm and placed it on the table, a second one took its place. The farmer took hundreds of gold liras from his hand. But he couldn't even smile, for smiling is also a language, and what a heavenly language it is! And his flute, from which he had once coaxed the most magical melodies, would not produce a single note.

"The man took a piece of paper to draw his wife a picture explaining what had happened, but his hand was no longer subject to his will. All he could produce were meaningless zigzags, but clever Sahar saw in those lines the face of the devil.

" 'Don't worry, my heart,' his good wife consoled him, 'I will be your tongue. I will heal you, even if I have to run every last healer on the planet through a sieve to find the very best.'

"Sahar used the money to build a dream palace. A host of servants, jesters, and musicians were retained to see to her husband's happiness. Her stables housed only the noblest horses of the Arabian desert. And if angels had flown above her garden instead of swallows, people would have thought it the Garden of Eden."

"I actually prefer swallows," Isam interrupted and then laughed at his own thought. "Just imagine, angels whizzing around six feet above your head. You couldn't even enjoy your waterpipe, they'd be flying so low." He puffed out a small cloud of smoke. "Have you heard the joke about the devout man who felt some birdshit hit his head and thanked the Lord for not equipping cows with wings?"

"Quiet!" the barber hissed and turned back to Mehdi. "Please, go on."

"All right, so the woman built a paradise for her husband with her love and the inexhaustible supply of gold, but all he could do was walk around joylessly, his face pale, as if he were in another world.

"The woman's emissaries searched the world over for medicine men and wise women who could heal her husband. Sahar promised their weight in gold if they could restore her husband's voice. True healers and charlatans came in droves, ate their fill, and traveled on. But the farmer remained mute. His rooms were filled to the ceiling with gold, but in his heart he felt poorer than a mangy dog. He couldn't speak a word, nothing, not with his eyes, not with his hands.

"One day Sahar woke up and looked for her husband — in vain. He had disappeared. A servant reported seeing his master ride away on his stallion.

"Sahar had the entire district searched high and low for him, but the servants came back at sunset every day for seven days and shook their heads. Still, Sahar didn't give up, and whenever an explorer brought news of a rider on a stallion along the banks of the Euphrates or the Nile, she would send messengers bearing her request to the local rulers, and these in turn would send search parties throughout the region. No stone was left unturned, for Sahar promised a marble palace to the warden, mayor, steward, or prince, whichever happy soul would find her husband. In vain.

"The farmer, meanwhile, scoured the earth for the wizard who had bought his voice. He chased after every clue faster than the wind, but the wizard was nowhere to be found. Wherever people had suddenly lost their voices, the wizard had come and gone, leaving behind nothing but another breathing corpse, incapable of expressing sadness or joy, pain or happiness.

"One day — his search was now in its third year, and he was ready to give up — the exhausted farmer was resting at a village fair, listening to a man singing in a wonderful voice. Just as the singer was about to finish, a young merchant wearing a broad cape asked him to repeat the last love song, and threw him a gold coin. The singer took a bow and sang the song even more movingly. The farmer was sitting close to the stage. Now, just before the song was over, the merchant walked over to the singer, whispered something in his ear, and moved back into the shadows of the stage. As he passed by the farmer, a cloud of rose perfume filled the air, but the farmer smelled the stench of decay beneath the sweet cloak of roses. His blood froze in his veins. It was the same smell that had filled his lungs before he had lost consciousness, a smell he would never forget as long as he lived. He tiptoed backstage and watched the merchant.

"All right, so in less than a quarter-hour the singer left the stage. The merchant spoke to the singer for a while, then threw his cape over the poor man. The farmer stared as the singer's body shook and quickly sank to the ground, lifeless. But what happened next was unbelievable. The wizard flung back his cape and behold, beside him stood the spitting image of the singer, and both walked away together, talking as if they were friends.

"The farmer was now certain he had found the wizard and ran after him in pursuit. He chased him for two days and two nights. The wizard and his companion seemed never to tire; and when the third day dawned, they kept going as spryly as they had on the first. In order not to fall asleep, the farmer cut his hand and rubbed salt in the wound. The pain made it possible for him to stay awake through the third day. At dawn on the fourth day, he saw a castle rising slowly from the mist in the valley. The farmer was spellbound. As he marveled at the wondrous sight, he forgot about the salt and soon fell asleep. How long he slept he didn't know: perhaps just for a moment, perhaps for several days. A thunderclap startled him awake, and he leapt to his feet. Standing before him he saw the wizard, tall and mighty as a palm tree. 'Why are you following me?' he roared. The man was unable to answer. He couldn't even nod. 'You have been richly rewarded. There is no going back!' the wizard cried. The farmer hurled himself upon him, but the wizard tossed him aside in a high arc and hurried off. When the man stood up, he saw the distant castle disappearing slowly in the fog.

"For years the farmer followed the wizard, but time and again he simply dropped from sight. Nonetheless the farmer refused to give up.

"One spring day he was taking a brief rest by a pond and thinking how he could outsmart the wizard when he spotted a young woman drawing water with a sieve. She managed to run a few steps before the water drained completely, then turned around in despair and went back to the pond, where she started all over again. The woman looked tired, but she didn't give up. 'I must complete the task. I absolutely have to, even if it costs me my life. I have to finish.' The woman spoke out loud to lift her spirits, crying bitterly all the while.

"The farmer grabbed the woman by the arm.

" 'Let go of me, I have to fill this sieve with water and take it to the king of the demons so he will release my husband the woman said and tore herself from the farmer's grasp. Again she scooped some water, but in a trice it vanished through the sieve.

"The farmer grabbed her once more and gently took the sieve from her hand. The woman shouted and beat the farmer until she was so exhausted all she could do was curse him feebly. He, however, walked slowly to a nearby grotto that the farmers filled with snow in the winter so that the rock cistern inside would have water for the summer. The grotto was packed to the brim with snow. He scooped a large amount into the sieve and hurried back to the woman, who was standing by the pond, sobbing in despair. The moment she saw the sieve filled with snow she beamed. She jumped up, took it in her hands, and flew hurriedly away, for she was a demoness herself — may God protect you from her wrath!

"All right, so after a short while the woman came back with her beloved. They thanked the farmer, and when they saw that neither his eyes nor his hands could speak, they knew that he had sold his voice to the wizard.