According to Islamic custom the coffin of the deceased is lowered into the grave without any lid, apparently to facilitate the dead man’s ascent to heaven. Once inside the grave, the coffin is covered over with loose boards which perform the same function as a lid.
But I knew nothing of this custom at the time and assumed in my ignorance that the dead man had come out of his grave, rested his coffin lid against the fence, and was now wandering around somewhere in the vicinity. Or perhaps he was hiding behind the lid, just waiting for me to turn my back on him and start running. But I continued to walk, not moving one extra muscle and not accelerating my steps, knowing that I must keep my eyes on the coffin lid, no matter what. At the sound of grass rustling beneath my feet, I realized that I had strayed from the path, but I kept on walking, not letting the lid out of sight. Suddenly I felt myself falling.
I caught a momentary glimpse of the moon streaking across the sky and then plopped onto something white and hairy which immediately shot out from under me. I fell back onto the ground, apparently at the bottom of a large pit. As I lay there with closed eyes, awaiting my fate, I sensed that he, or rather it, was somewhere beside me and that I was completely in its power. And now there began flashing through my mind scenes from stories I had heard shepherds and hunters tell of graveyard happenings and strange encounters in the forest.
I lay there terror-stricken and utterly helpless, but for some reason the apparition made no move in my direction. Finally, when I could stand the suspense no longer, I summoned up the courage to open my eyes.
It was as if I had flung open a door into a pitch-black room. At first I couldn’t see a thing, but then I noticed something whitish moving in the darkness. I could feel that it was watching me, but more frightening than this was its strange swaying motion.
I have no idea how many minutes went by, but gradually I began to regain the use of my senses. First I recognized the smell of freshly dug earth still warm from the heat of the day; then I detected some other, very familiar and almost reassuring smell which somehow reminded me of home. Still swaying and white, the apparition remained in its corner, but my horror, which had seemed to last an eternity, had finally spent itself. I now became aware of a pain in my leg and felt a need to stretch it out full length. I had apparently sprained it during my fall.
For a long time I kept my eyes fastened on the wavering white spot. Suddenly it began to take on a familiar shape, and seconds later it turned into a male goat with horns and a beard which were clearly discernible even in the darkness. Having long known that the devil often assumes the form of a goat, I felt somewhat reassured, since at least this much was clear. One thing I hadn’t realized, however, was that the devil would also smell like a goat.
I cautiously extended my leg, but this seemed to put the goat on his guard. He stopped chewing his cud and merely continued to sway back and forth in his strange fashion.
I immediately froze in position and once again the goat went back to his cud. Summoning up my courage, I raised my head and now was able to see the edge of the pit, sharply etched in the moonlight, and a translucent strip of sky, in the middle of which gleamed a small bright star. A tree rustled in the distance, and it was strange to be able to sense from down here the breeze that was blowing up there. I looked up at the tiny star and noticed that it too seemed to sway slightly in the breeze. Suddenly there was a hollow thud. An apple had fallen from the apple tree. I gave a start, now realizing for the first time that it was growing chilly.
Some boyish instinct told me that inaction is never a sign of strength. And since the goat continued to chew, gazing right through me as if I didn’t exist, I decided I would try to escape. I stood up cautiously and extended my arm, only to discover that the edge was too high for me to reach even by jumping. My walking stick had remained up above, but probably it wouldn’t have helped me much anyway.
The pit was quite narrow, and I decided I would try to scale it at an angle, pressing my arms against one wall and my legs against the other. Groaning from the strain, I managed to raise myself a few short feet, but then one of my legs — the bad one — slid from the wall and once again I landed on the ground. As I fell, the goat jumped up in fright and shied to one side. This was very careless of him, since now I grew bolder and even approached him. As he backed into his corner without making a sound, I cautiously extended my hand. He touched the palm of my hand with his lips and I could feel his warm breath. Then obstinately shaking his head, he began sniffing and snorting in goatlike fashion.
I was now fully convinced that this was no devil but merely a goat which had landed in the same mess as I. I had often noticed when tending my uncle’s herd that goats have a habit of getting stuck in spots which they’re unable to get out of.
I sat down on the ground next to the goat, putting my arms around his neck and pressing close to his body. I tried to make him lie down so that I could get the full benefit of his warmth, but he stubbornly continued to stand. He did, however, begin to lick my hand — cautiously at first, then ever more boldly. His strong, supple tongue ran roughly along my palm, licking the salt from it. I enjoyed the prickly sensation and did not remove my hand. The goat was enjoying himself too and had already begun to fasten his sharp teeth on the edge of my shirt. I quickly rolled up my shirt sleeve and let him move on to fresh territory.
As he continued licking my arm, I realized for the first time in my life how comforting the presence of another living creature can be. It now occurred to me that even if the ashen blue face of the dead man were suddenly to peer over the top of the pit, I would not be too frightened but would merely press closer to my goat.
After a while the goat grew tired of licking my arm and lay down beside me of his own accord. Here he remained, peacefully chewing his cud.
The night was as still as ever, only the moonlight had grown more limpid and the tiny star had moved to the edge of the strip of sky. It had also grown chillier.
Suddenly I heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats, and my heart began pounding madly. The hoofbeats became more and more distinct, and at times I could even hear the metallic clicking of the horse’s shoes against the stones. I was afraid the rider would turn off to the side, but the hoofbeats kept coming closer and closer and already I could hear the horse’s breathing and the squeaking of the saddle. I was too excited to move, and only when the hoofbeats had passed almost directly overhead did I finally jump up and start shouting, “Help! Help! I’m down here!”
The horse came quickly to a halt and in the silence I could distinguish the bonelike crunching of its teeth against the bit. Then a male voice asked hesitantly, “Who’s there?”
I lurched forward in the direction of the voice and cried out, “It’s me! A boy!”
The man was silent for a moment and then I heard, “What boy?”
The man’s voice was hard and suspicious. Apparently he feared some sort of trap.
“I’m a boy from the city,” I said, trying to sound as much like a living person as possible, which only made my voice sound strange and unnatural.
“What are you doing down there?” the voice asked gruffly. The man still suspected a trap.
“I fell in by accident, I was on my way to Uncle Meksut’s,” I quickly replied, afraid that he would ride on before I could finish.
“To Meksut’s? You should have said so.”