14
ABDO-JULIEN
GRANDFATHER USED TO SAY: the desert you see there, well, it's alive, like you and me. Proof is, the dunes are white in their childhood and grow yellow over the centuries. To see it, all you have to do is put on the right kind of glasses or stand at the right distance. Nothing ever dies, and the desert you see there can regain its former face, the face of the savannah, go back to the sea of water and grass, the way it was a few million years ago. Clock time and hourglass time are nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the age of the globe. In the same way, man's path is not linear like the horizon: it has roots, branches, and sap. It's all renewal, rhizomes, and ramifications. Man is a tree, my boy. I hardly listen to him; he's been talking by himself for hours. A hundred billion neurons, what a capital! But very few people draw generously from this capital Providence has bestowed on us—not to mention the evils of khat, alcohol, tobacco, and the intoxication of arms. Men are brainless hunks of meat; I almost choke when I say that to you. A star falls from my eyes, they're suddenly misty, a tear is putting a pearl on my wrinkled cheek. It is time for me to go away and leave you to your daydreams, my boy. I'll come back tomorrow and we'll pick up the discussion exactly where we left off.
My grandfather used to tell me a story he'd told Papa and the many cousins and grand-nephews. The family and the tribe are all mixed together. With us, the tribe is a compact crowd, a whole people. But before telling his story, all of a sudden he would be off, far away, as if he were on the Balbala bus. Then he would come back to the beginning and tell us his story. We would savor it like fresh milk from the udders of a cow. Grandfather was unpredictable. Grandpa, you're like those women who want to be loved right away, someone would say without raising his hand, like at the Muallim school.1
“Do you know that the crazy planispheres of the fifteenth century put the earthly paradise—a paradise surrounded by flames, of course—on the exact spot where Abyssinia is located, that is, here in our country?”
And he would turn around and tell his story.
“I'm going to tell you the story right away. It's an old Arab tale. Zakaria Tamer of Syria cooked it up like a chef. One day in the Alep bazaar, a man bought two big eggs from a grocer. He was very hungry. He put an egg in each pocket, politely refusing the bag that the grocer held out for him. Once he got home, he ran to the kitchen and took out a plate and a frying pan. He broke the first egg against the second one. Out came a little chick all covered with down. Mad with rage, he was cursing the sly grocer who had deprived him of his omelet when suddenly his heart sank down to his feet, for the chick began to grow and soon took on the shape of a man with two wings, a pleasant face, and loose, white clothing. He took fright, invoked the name of The Unique, and dropped the second egg. Out came a chick all covered with down, who quickly grew and took the shape of a man who looked exactly like the first. What could he do, what could he say? He girded up his loins:
“‘Good God, who are you?’
“‘I am Munkir,’ said the first. ‘And he is Nakir.’
“Then he added, with authority:
“‘You must have heard of us. At your age, you certainly should have. We are the two angels who visit a dead person during the first night he spends in the grave in order to draw up the balance sheet of everything he has done on earth.’
“‘So why have you come? Can't you see I am not dead? Or do you want to tangle with me? I am a boxer, and in all of Alep and beyond, and even in Palmyra people know the force of my fists.’
“‘Do not be angry, brave boxer,’ said Munkir in a sincerely sorry voice. ‘There must be some mistake. Accept our apology.’
“And Nakir apologized sincerely to him, too. Then they both walked towards the door.
“‘Where are you going?’ cried the man, blocking their way.
“‘Much work still awaits us,’ answered Munkir.
“‘What about my eggs? Who's going to reimburse me for them?’
“‘Well, you see…’ stammered Nakir.
“‘It is quite simple. Pay me,’ suggested the hungry man.
“Munkir held up his arms:
“‘Search our pockets; we possess nothing. Nothing earthly, at least.’
“The man refused to let them go. He did not want to remain without food because of a mistake other people had committed, even if they were well-intentioned.
“‘Be reasonable, we have no money,’ begged Nakir.
“‘We could help you out a bit on Judgment Day,’ added Munkir.
“‘By overlooking some of your bad deeds,’ said Nakir.
“The man thought for half a minute and then reluctantly accepted. He pointed a firm forefinger at the angels:
“‘You give me your word as men?’
“The angels fluttered their wings in sign of protest.
“The man hastened to correct himself:
“‘I meant, your word as angels!’
“And the angels nodded and slipped away.”
1. Koranic school.—Translators’ note