A growl of thunder shot across the dull green mountain to the north. Ashe looked at his reflection in the big muddy puddle in the centre of the street. It was dotted with dying buttercups, like poppies around a wreath, and Ashe thought he looked different. Large droplets of rain splashed in the puddle. The image was distorted.
Ashe hurried back to Gulé’s house. Gulé was sitting beneath a stone archway decorated with olive branches that led to the courtyard, mending a white woollen shawl.
‘Jolo waiting for you.’
‘I like your cap, Gulé.’
She pointed to her little turban, ringed with bright silver coins. Ashe nodded. Gulé giggled. ‘I have it when young girl. It is called cumédravé, Tobbiash.’
Jolo emerged from the courtyard carrying two glasses of tea. ‘You don’t see these things now. All girls used to wear them. Gulé has it for the Sarsaleh – our Spring Festival. You miss it. Every Nisan – that is, your April. You have April Fool; we have Sarsaleh!’
‘And is foolishness permitted?’
Jolo laughed. ‘Do you like dancing?’
‘The English have forgotten how to dance.’
‘Very sad, Tobbiash. We could teach them again! Bashiqa best dancing in the Sheikhan. Everybody used to come for Sarsaleh at Bashiqa! People come from Kirkuk and Mosul! Dancing here is best.’
Gulé nodded. ‘Tell him more, Jolo.’
‘There are buttercups round the doors and all the women wear red flowers in their hair. And the girls… they dance the debka.’
‘Debka?’
‘A mountain dance. In a circle. The arms are raised. Like this!’ Jolo demonstrated. ‘Everyone loves this dance! And the boys join in, and a lamb or a chicken is sacrificed. We put the sacrifice blood on our houses to remember. And the meat is cut and shared for the poor. See the graves! The women are at the graves, giving food to passers-by. And the qewwals play… Oh, Tobbiash! The daff and the shebab – music like you never hear anywhere else in the world.’
‘Daff and shebab, what are they?’
‘Our qewwals – they are sacred musicians. They play daff. Daff is huge, round, like drum, but in hand.’
‘Tambourine?’
‘Tambour, yes.’
‘And the shebab – a flute?’
‘Flute. Yes! Good! This is our happiness.’
‘And I missed it.’
Jolo shook his head. ‘This year, not very good year. There is sadness. Danger.’
Gulé coughed. ‘Even in a war, there is time for joy.’ She disappeared inside, leaving the men sheltering from the rain beneath the stone archway at the entrance to the house.
Ashe was about to compliment Jolo on the sweet-tasting brown tea when a man poked his turbaned head through the doorway. He looked at Ashe with solemn interest and scratched his beard. ‘Tobbiash. My father used to serve Ismail Beg. You know him?’
Ashe shook his head.
‘Ismail Beg great man. Ismail Beg believe in schools. He make friends with Christians in Armenia. He try to help his people. He is liking English soldiers – and he love English aeroplanes. The English are often friends with Yezidis.’
Jolo got up. ‘Now you meet Jiddan. He is Kochek.’
‘Ah! The dream genie.’
The Kochek was shocked. ‘Me? Jinn? No! No! I Jiddan, yes. Jiddan.’ He gripped a bundle of rope attached to the black sash about his waist. ‘Jiddan – Kochek, not jinn.’
The three men sat themselves down on a low wooden bench.
‘Why call Jiddan jinn, Tobbiash?’
‘A dream genie is a—’
‘A jinn who appears in a dream?’ The idea seemed perfectly natural to the Kochek.
‘Yes, yes, that would be it.’
‘Then you see me in your dream? I see you, Tobbiash, sir…’
‘Will you explain “Kochek” to me?’
‘Excuse…’ The Kochek went abruptly back inside.
‘What is Kochek?’ Jolo rubbed the soft black hairs on his chin. ‘Is very difficult, Tobbiash. There are many things you must live with Yezidis many years to understand. Even after many years, you do not understand all. I tell you, Tobbiash, I do not understand. We ask pirs: they are our holy men. Sometimes they explain. We have… oh, many ways, different men can explain things. These things are learnt in the heart. No books.’
‘I think you’ve put that beautifully, Jolo.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But what is a Kochek?’
Ashe’s mind turned to Sarsaleh and to April Fools’. The fool is sacrificed – made a lord for the day, fooled into thinking himself important. The fool is the animal who is fed well, separated from the herd or flock, treated with care – until the day comes when his blood will decorate the doorway. The fool is like a blade of corn, before the scythe whips its arrogant crown off.
These were the origins of the April Fool. Spring and harvest were directly linked – underground. First the gilded crown of corn, then the cutting. For a few blissful minutes Ashe forgot that he was a government agent close to a war zone.
Jiddan returned, carrying a huge plate filled with food.
‘Look! He is like Gabriel!’ said Jolo.
‘When man die, Angel Gabriel carry ruh.’
‘Ruh?’
‘Spirit. When man die, angel carry spirit of good person to Paradise on tray.’
‘Or to hell, presumably.’
The Yezidis looked shocked. ‘No hell.’
‘No hell?’
‘Fires all gone!’ asserted the Kochek. ‘Little child empty jar of tears – fires all gone!’
‘Now see, Englishman, we have kleycha! Dolma! Nan! Kaub! Khubbaz!’
Ashe tried the dolma, popping the vine-leaf rissole into his mouth in one go, the better to savour its delicately spiced rice-and-meat stuffing.
‘Good!’
The Yezidis smiled. ‘Try kleycha!’
Ashe picked up what looked like a mince pie. ‘We eat these at Christmas!’
‘Yes, birth of Angel Jesus from Holy Mary.’
‘You…?’
‘Like Jesus? Of course! There is Syrian Orthodox church in village. There are Roman Christians in the Sheikhan, and American Baptist missionaries in Armenia. All kinds of Christians telling different stories. We say: we hear it all before. Disciples of Jesus know our country when no one knows England or America! Jesus was good angel, very beloved of God. He come to earth to tell people what is good life and about day of resurrection.’
‘You mean he’s a prophet?’
‘Many, many holy men are coming to Hakkari Mountains and to Sheikhan. Many holy men. But Jesus not buried like prophet, Tobbiash. If Jesus buried, every good person come to his mazar. No. Jesus angel. He fly, like bird, back to Khuda when Khuda tell him.
‘Jesus must do as he’s told.’