The sun was beginning to go down as Qadur returned to his family from work. His life was one of routine in the meadow, in the middle of which his tent was pitched alongside the flocks of ewes, lambs, and cows. They would return to the meadow after spending a cold winter’s day, or hot summer’s day, being tended by children and young men who devoted their lives to grazing animals and managed to derive some pleasure from their miserable existence among the livestock and the dogs. They formed friendships with other young people, and they all tended the animals with affection, sharing the duties through the scorching heat, bitter cold, pouring rain, and blistering sun – a life of isolation amid the lush grassland.
Qadur was always anxious to be in the paddock when the animals returned. He had full confidence in Fatina and knew she was quite able to welcome the sheep and cows back, prepare their fodder for them, and milk those cows that needed it. Even so, he preferred being there, particularly during springtime, to welcome a new arrival or to make sure that the animals were all safe and sound after their daily trek. He also wanted to hear reports from shepherds about the day’s events – trivial things most of the time, to be sure, but that was life for the shepherds and for some of the farmers as well.
When Qadur pulled back the tent flap, it was to find Fatina sitting in her usual place, with a bowl between her thighs in which she was rolling the couscous to serve for their dinner with Hajj Muhammad’s family members. She was an expert at the operation and did it quickly and perfectly; she was well aware of the value of fresh couscous when it is offered for a family dinner. Urban folk are particularly fond of it when it is made and cooked by Bedouin.
As Qadur waited for the flocks to return, he sat there discussing the day’s events with Fatina. The only fresh thing to talk about was the life of their guest family, in their house and in the fields – their short trips into the fields and visits to the spring, the ladies riding donkeys and mules, the children admiring the chickens and lambs, the women in particular all wanting to eat yoghurt and crusty bread spread with fresh butter.
The family from Fez found the Bedouin a source of both entertainment and a good deal of unfamiliarity – something that made them not only curious but also often mocking and even scornful. When the Fez family was at the estate, the normal routine of the Bedouin was disrupted, and things became more serious and unusual. The situation provided Qadur and Fatina with unusual topics for conversation, which took them away from the usual subjects of fields, cows, and markets.
At first the ideas of the city folk, men and women alike, seemed naive, trivial, and ignorant. To a man of over fifty like Hajj Muhammad and a woman approaching forty like Khaduj, everything was peculiar. The people from the city seemed scared of everything, things that the Bedouin could not imagine frightening anyone. What made Fatina laugh more than anything was that everyone in the Fez family was scared of the dark, imagining that a fierce wild beast would pounce on whomever it set eyes on. Whenever the wind blew out a candle in a room, there would be a loud scream as though the entire family were in imminent danger. Fatina was amazed that members of the family, both young and old, were incapable of walking anywhere in the dark, as though nature had only ever created light. She talked about the way that Khaduj and even Yasmine – who had first smiled in such fields – and all the children were so amazed that the farmers would sit in the dark and have wonderful evening gatherings in the open air, with no light save the twinkling stars in the heavenly vault. It was topics like these that formed the bulk of conversation in the Bedouin family circle, often provoking its own level of mockery and scorn.
But on this particular occasion Qadur had another topic to talk about, something that had emerged from his discussion with Hajj Muhammad.
‘What do you think,’ he asked Fatina, ‘of a man who’s intent on lowering our share of wheat production this year?’
As Qadur uttered these words, he was staring off into the distance, at the fields of wheat stretching endlessly away.
Fatina stopped kneading the couscous and gave her husband a curious, disapproving look. ‘He’s doing it to us again, again?! It’s your fault! Every time you show him how reliable you are and how much trouble you take in tending the fields and the animals, it only makes him even more eager to stint us.’
‘He’s just like a little babe. Every time the subject of land production comes up, he assumes we’re all thieves stealing his money and grabbing his harvest for ourselves.’
‘How much would this land produce if it weren’t for you, Muhammad al-Tawil, and Isa ibn al-Hajj’s son?’ She guffawed. ‘So let him plough it for himself ! Suggest to the Hajj that he take care of his own land so we won’t steal it all. He can tend his flocks of sheep and cattle too, then we won’t be drinking their milk or selling off their young, as he imagines.’
Her mention of ‘his own land’ stirred up a secret anger in Qadur’s mind; he frowned as though avoiding burning embers. He had been resting his head on his arms, but now he sat up straight. ‘“His own land”!’ he yelled. ‘“His own land”! I can barely say the words. I know full well whose land it really is…’
Fatina was busy with the couscous grains, turning them with her hands on a plate made from doum leaves. ‘Whose land is it?’ she asked, knowing the answer full well. She went on to ask another question that was bound to provoke a response from Qadur, ‘You mean Hajj Muhammad’s land left to him by his parents and ancestors?’
Qadur gave a grunt of total denial. ‘God have mercy on my father and uncle!’ he sighed. ‘They both told us about the land and how they’d lost it.’
‘You mean they sold it?’ she asked, again knowing the right answer.
‘Yes, the way a slave’s sold to his master.’
‘The way a slave’s sold to his master!’ Fatina commented with a laugh, making Qadur even angrier. ‘The master can perfectly well sell that same slave. He’s a slave. What the master owns is his property.’
She had achieved her goal, since Qadur was now furious. ‘Master and slave!’ he yelled. ‘The curse that’s been afflicting city folk has now started affecting us in the countryside.’
‘Don’t we have servants and slaves here, just like Fez?’
‘You don’t even realise. You may be a servant, and I may be a slave. Neither of us has to change our colour!’
‘You mean you can be sold in the market, just like my uncle, Fatih?’
‘Certainly, and there’s no need of a market either.’
Fatina turned toward Qadur as she tipped the tray and scraped off the residual couscous. ‘You sound crazy today,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’
Qadur scoffed loudly. ‘Just imagine,’ he said, ‘that you borrowed money from Aisha, Ali’s daughter, so you could buy some lambs. Then they all died. How would you settle your debts?’
‘But why would I go into debt only for all the lambs to die?’
‘Just imagine it. Use your imagination.’
‘How would I settle the debts, you ask? I’d give you all my bracelets and necklaces, and entrust the whole thing to God.’
‘Well, that’s exactly what happened to my father and uncle.’
‘Did they have bracelets and necklaces?’
‘No, no. What they had was land. They borrowed from Hajj Muhammad’s father, and it seems that he gave them a very generous loan. But then, they fell into so much debt that, when the amount they owed was equivalent to the value of their land, the only thing they could do was to hand it all over bit by bit till it was all Hajj Muhammad’s property.’
This sequence of events came as a shock to Fatina; she had never expected to hear it all explained in such logical and simple terms. She stopped her work and stared off anxiously across the lands that stretched into the far distance. The sad expression on her face was her only reaction.
She turned toward Qadur again, in time to hear him say, ‘With all that in mind, can Hajj Muhammad really say “my lands”?’ When she did not comment, he went on. ‘These lands – my father’s and grandfather’s lands, Muhammad al-Tawil’s father’s and grandfather’s lands, Isa ibn al-Hajj’s son’s, and Ali al-Tahira’s son’s as well. Those people,’ – he pointed towards the house occupied by Hajj Muhammad – ‘they’re interlopers! They stole our lands!’ He was yelling, becoming even more upset. ‘They used small change, which the more gullible among us thought was a lot of money, but actually it was money forbidden by our religion, since the wind simply blew it all away just as it blows away bits of straw.’
Fatina felt sorry for him and did not argue. She simply let him vent his own grievances.
‘Just before he died,’ Qadur added, ‘my late father made me promise never to go into debt.’
‘Too late?’
‘Yes, too late. But I’m never going to go into debt. And I’m going to get it all back, so I don’t have to stay a slave to be bartered over in the slave market.’
Now Fatina tried to calm him down. ‘Don’t say things like that,’ she replied sympathetically. ‘You’re still working on your own land.’
‘My own land! Oh yes, it’s my own land! But Hajj Muhammad can throw us off it – me, you, and our children. He can lower my wages and my share in the profits.’
‘No, no, don’t go on like that.’
He ignored her warning. ‘And he can accuse me of theft, and make insinuating remarks about my reliability and incorruptibility.’
‘But the wind blows away that kind of remark.’
‘Maybe so, but it comes from a deeply flawed heart. If Hajj Muhammad could do it, he wouldn’t leave any of us on his land – “his land”! When this land is liberated and returned to us,’ he added with a sneer, ‘we’ll have a big celebration!’
Fatina followed Qadur’s remarks by saying, ‘Now the Christians are treating them the same way they dealt with your father and your livelihood.’
‘The Christians! Oh, good grief ! He’ll take all the land for himself. He may even throw us off it as though we were the ones who originally stole it!’
‘Don’t panic! The way you keep raving about this will only bring us bad luck. It’s the kind of talk that you don’t want Muhammad al-Tawil to hear. If any of them heard it, it would be in Hajj Muhammad’s ear before we even knew it. The status you enjoy with him makes them all jealous. Any one of them could easily become your boss!’
From far off the sound of sheep bleating could be heard with the sheepdogs running happily around, all of which announced the return of the flocks. Qadur could also hear the young shepherds yelling eagerly at the sheep as they herded them towards their pens.
As the procession made its way back, Qadur’s features relaxed, and he set off running along the track that the flocks would be taking, forgetting his discussion with Fatina, while she carried her bowl over to the stove.