Rafik Schami - Damascus Nights

"I know what's going to happen. I know!" laughed Isam.

"Whether you know or not, keep it to yourself. I don't like it when someone kills a story right in the middle," the barber scolded, and Isam hushed him down with a wave of his hands.

"Musa's right. Besides, the story gets even funnier," Faris promised.

Junis wanted to say he didn't find the story funny at all, but he still had hopes it might turn out to be a good one.

"Well, when the granaries were almost empty, the king decided to invade a second neighboring country. This time he had all the slaves in his kingdom armed with light weapons and sent them to wear down the enemy, after which his real army. ."

Once again the minister recounted the rulers war in great detail. Although he appeared to be critical of the king, Faris certainly enjoyed his wars. He described each phase of every battle exactly, how the heads rolled just like that and how the warriors shouted with all their might to strengthen their courage. The minister went on and on, embellishing every action and every movement of the king in such detail that even his close friend Musa joined Ali, who had long since been snoring, and likewise drifted off.

"And what happened to the prince?" Tuma tried to help the minister resume the thread of his story.

"Although he had already turned thirty, the prince seemed disinclined to marry. Meanwhile, the king's lust for plunder led him to launch the famous Five Years War…" And here the minister again launched into a battle. By now Tuma was no longer listening — despite the minister's constant assurances that the story would get even funnier. Salim yawned and wished the minister would soon finish. Isam and Junis glared at Faris; they were ready to kill him. Only the teacher interrupted from time to time to exclaim, "What a beautiful turn of phrase."

"And what became of the drought?" asked the barber, when he woke up a little before ten-thirty.

"The drought? It raged for three long years, bringing misery and tears to the kingdom, but the king's wars had brought him much booty. ." And the minister proceeded to describe every gem and diadem as carefully as a jeweler taking inventory of his stock. Mehdi continued to praise Faris' beautiful formulations until about half past eleven, when he, too, finally dozed off. Only Salim held his ground, all the time regretting his obligations as a host.

The minister paused, looked at the sleeping guests, and all of a sudden shouted: "And now for the end!" Just as if the cock had crowed, the old men all woke up, sat straight in their chairs, and paid great attention in the hope they would soon be able to go home.

"As I told you, the king reigned for forty years and never listened to anybody. He rarely left his palace, and when he did, his bodyguards beat anyone who dared to come near him.

"One day the king was celebrating his victory over another sultan. This war had been—"

"Enough wars, where's the end of the story? What happened while this goddamned butcher was celebrating?" Junis interrupted angrily.

"Well, he was celebrating his victory. But his subjects had gathered in front of his palace to heap their curses on the king and his ancestors, and to mourn the loss of their sons. After the king had had a bit to drink, he ordered his servants to bring a tray laden with silver coins. He staggered out onto the balcony, grabbed a handful of coins, and flung them into the crowd. But his hand shook so, that most of the coins landed on the balcony by his feet. As he attempted a second throw, his bodyguards bent down to pick up the coins that had fallen, and for the first time in forty years the king stood before his subjects unprotected. An arrow came flying quicker than the flicker of an eyelash and pierced the royal heart."

"That was nicely said, may God bless your tongue," the teacher commented.

"And yours," replied the minister. "As I said, the bodyguards had only stooped down for a second, to pick up the coins, but by the time they stood back up, the king lay dead on the ground.

" 'The king is dead!' cried the ministers: 'Long live the king!' The subjects shouted with joy. Well, the witch had cursed the king for as long as he should live, and so his ears had gone unused for over forty years. Now, you know, inside the mother's womb, the ears are the first to open a window to the world, and they are the last to close their shutters. Long after eyes, lungs, heart, and brain have passed away, the ears go on hearing, and if someone hasn't strained his brain with too much use while still alive, then when he's dead, not only can his ears hear but his brain can even understand what's being said. Now, the king had more than enough brain left, and his ears were just like new. So he could hear his subjects rejoice and was horribly enraged.

" 'Just look at him lying there, the idiot,' the king heard his jester say. Oh, how he wanted to box the impudent man's ears, but his hand was long dead. The fool made fun of his master's stupidity, and the ministers all laughed. The king wanted to kick each one of them in the rear, but his legs, too, were long dead.

"Suddenly everything around him grew quiet. The king listened full of curiosity. In the distance he could hear footsteps. 'Quiet!' whispered the fool, 'the queen and the prince are coming.' The jester almost choked trying to contain his laughter.

" 'How did it happen?' the queen sobbed, 'I had only stepped out for an hour, I was sitting with the prince in the garden, and now. .'

" 'We always told his majesty he should never show himself, but as you know, O queen, he never listened to us. We always told him to keep his bodyguards well fed, so they wouldn't turn around or bend over for anything. But as you know, O queen, he never listened to us, and besides, he paid them so little. The bodyguards bent over to grab the coins— Who wouldn't have? And right at that moment he was hit by an arrow. If my heart had been in my hand, I would have held it in front of his.'

"The king recognized the voice of his minister for internal affairs, who just a moment ago had been laughing himself crooked along with the others. 'Hypocrite,' thought the king — that much thinking he could still do.

" 'And what about me?' Prince Ahmad said. 'How often have I wished to speak with him.' The king noticed a certain peculiarity in the voice of his beloved son, and it wasn't just the sound of intense grief — which, if truth be told, the king was sincerely happy to hear. No, there was an unusual gentleness, a tenderness that made the king a little uneasy. The prince sobbed. 'He loved me for what I wasn't. There have been so many times when I tried to tell him the truth. There have been so many times when I tried to tell him that I am a woman. A woman!' The king listened closely to the voice of his prince, and he heard the cry of a wounded soul. 'A woman!' the king again heard the prince cry out. The king wanted to shut his ears, but he couldn't. 'All of you hated him, but I loved him. For thirty years I lived just for him. And for thirty years I wanted to tell him that I went into the lions' cages only out of love for him, to entice a smile from his tired face. Again and again I invented the ugliest lies to turn away good women who were presented to me so I might choose a wife. Again and again I hoped, out of love for him, that he would die before he discovered the lie of his life, but this morning I resolved to let him live with my truth. I hated always wishing his death. And now, just when I was coming to tell him the truth, he's dead. He cannot hear me,' Ahmad sobbed.

"But the king heard Ahmad very well, and he felt a pain he had never felt while he was still alive. It wasn't worry about the throne, and it wasn't shock at his daughter's revelation. No, it was because he wanted so much to tell his daughter that he did hear her, and that he understood, but his mouth was long since dead. So great was his pain, however, that two huge tears escaped from his dead eyes and slowly rolled across his cheeks. That is my story and I wish you all a long life."