His companion also sought relief in the floor mat and replied tersely, “I know.”
“It’s said that the chief merchant ordered him beheaded before the interrogation was concluded.”
“I’ve heard that too. …”
“It’s said he did that to prevent the prisoner from falling into my hands.”
There was no response.
“I know you always avoid meddling in the council’s affairs, but you ought to know, too, that magnanimity has frequently caused the destruction of the innocent.”
“I don’t catch my master’s drift.”
“I’m trying to say that you kept silent about the many evils committed by the council because of your magnanimity. Have you forgotten that you’re the chief vassal?”
“I acknowledge that I’m wary of intervening in the council’s affairs because of my respect for the Law that established tribal councils in the earliest times.”
“You can honor the Law in a council that honors the Law, but is it right for you to honor a council that doesn’t hesitate to attack the Law every day?”
There was no response.
“I wanted to tell you that I spoke with the wretch the day he committed the crime. It wasn’t difficult for me to understand the man. I say for certain now that the assassination attempt against me was totally out of character for a man like that.”
“I acknowledge that many people share my master’s suspicion.”
“Tell me, then: Who granted the chief merchant authority over the destinies of men and allowed him to issue verdicts against people?”
“I don’t know, master. We reached the temple plaza and found him seated on the hill like a bogeyman, surrounded by a vanguard of noblemen and vassals. It’s said the council chose him.”
“How could the council appoint the man with two veils to arbitrate a case in which he had a vested interest?”
“I don’t catch my master’s drift.”
“Doesn’t the council know that the chief merchant was the wretch’s enemy? Have you all forgotten that I sentenced the wretch to exile for absconding with a purse that belonged to the man with two veils?”
“It’s a truly shameful situation.”
“It’s not merely shameful, it’s suspicious. My intuition is that there’s a conspiracy afoot.”
“But my master shouldn’t forget that he would have received the death penalty in any event.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Didn’t the wretch slay the beauty?”
“Didn’t you hear they were acting to fulfill a vow?”
“That’s what people say.”
“Didn’t he say in the interrogation that he did what he did to retrieve a creature he had lost?”
“My master almost seems to have been there with us.”
“Didn’t he also say he didn’t cut off a breast and didn’t stab a leader?”
“My master almost seems to have been there with us.”
“How do you know I wasn’t? Do you suppose I pay no attention to people’s affairs? Don’t you know that the jinn relay news to leaders’ ears?”
“Our clan says that too.”
Feeling drained, he paused. He was not merely panting; he realized he was also trembling. He toyed with the edges of the leather mat. Ripping off some fuzz with sudden violence, he said cryptically, “I don’t want you to think too well of me.”
“I don’t grasp the wisdom of my master’s statement.”
“I meant to say that I don’t merely feel the punishment was unfair to the wretch and hardly a victory for justice, but I was trying to defend myself too.”
“What need should my master have to defend himself? Aren’t we all my master’s soldiers and guards?”
“You refuse to admit that the blows to my chest didn’t come from the wretch who was beheaded. Those blows sprang from a deceitful plot.”
“Who would gain anything from a deceitful plot against my master?”
“You should have addressed this question to the men who were so quick to sever the wretch’s neck to prevent him from falling into my custody.”
“Amazing!”
“I don’t need the mind of a diviner to grasp that, after attempting to convince me of his alleged hostility, the council didn’t want me to question the wretch.”
“Amazing!”
“You know the ancient stratagem a wily schemer uses to convince an inattentive person of a false tale. He recounts a true story — I mean the first part is true. Then he crams the second part full of falsehoods. This type of confusion is required to render the tale credible.”
Then the leader looked up at him with inscrutable, wretched eyes that released barely visible tears.
3
The day the leader had set to meet the people after his long convalescence, he discovered that groups had been gathering outside since morning, after closing their own doors behind them, in more massive throngs than the oasis had ever witnessed. Men elbowed each other aside, and women with children in tow jostled against them. Foreign residents, the masters of passing caravans, and bands of slaves formed an awe-inspiring ring around the area. The moment the leader appeared — encircled by vassals — women began to trill and shaykhs advanced, embracing him at length. He made his way through the congestion, heading for the temple plaza. Those in the crowd with special pleas rushed toward him, blocking his way. A woman began to complain about her husband, and an old man wept before him, alleging that his only son wanted to kill him because of a disagreement about a tract of farmland. A third person butted in to complain that another man had stolen his wife while he was away, traveling with a caravan. People surrounded him on all sides, and he could go no farther until the vassals intervened. He promised the people, however, that he would attend to their needs once the meeting with the nobles in the sanctuary was adjourned. He was not content merely to reassure the masses, but summoned the herald and ordered him to tell everyone he planned to address them about the campaign, metals, and the future of commercial transactions in the oasis’s markets. While the herald rushed off to make the rounds of the squares and to traverse the alleys, shouting his new tidings and summoning people to gather in the temple plaza, the priest from the forestlands emerged from his miserable hut beside the blacksmiths’ market and hastened toward the leader’s home. The maid told him that her master had just left, surrounded by more people than she had ever seen. The diviner interrupted her, saying that she must find a way to coax him to return home as quickly as possible. When she asked why, the diviner toyed with the cowries strung around his neck. Then he told her nonchalantly that he doubted she would ever see her master in his house again if she did not succeed in bringing him home at once.
She was floored by his tone and stood watching him rush off in the opposite direction, away from the throngs. He disappeared behind the buildings along the road that led to the fields. She told herself that she had never known a diviner, sorcerer, or any other individual involved with the occult who was not eccentric. She leaned over the bedcovers and then began to drag them to the courtyard to shake off the dust and to air them in the sunshine. She was humming an ancient tune she often relied on to revitalize herself and to energize her body. How delightful are melodies and how fine are lyrics that inflame sorrows! What would have happened to the desert and its people had they not inherited sorrowful poems from the mouths of their ancestors? What would have become of the desert and its people if the wasteland had lacked the antidote and the malady both called “yearning”? Yearning is the only secret that harbors its opposite within itself. It scorches the breasts of lovers with pains till they consider it a malady. When it dies in their hearts, the loss torments them and the privation slays them. Then they realize that it was an antidote. But God forbid that yearning be consumed without poetry’s flint stone to spark the fire! Poetry not only serves as a flint for longing’s fire; it is also the flint stone for everything in the desert. Were it not for poetry’s flint, the heart of a beautiful woman would never throb with passion. Were it not for poetry’s flint, thunder would not rumble in the sky to announce the thirsty earth’s inundation with rain. Were it not for poetry’s flint, real flint would not spark fire.