Muhammed abuh Hadba

Do not read it as: father of Hadba, read it: his father – is Hadba. For, as it is known, as one calls the father by his son’s name in order to cause him pleasure, so one calls the son by his father’s name, likewise to cause him pleasure. And if you say: but Hadba is a woman’s name and not a man’s, so was Muhammed’s father a woman? But then this is the source of all Muhammed’s misfortune. And do not infer, perish the thought, that Muhammed was born to his mother in sin, and for this reason he is called by her name and not by the name of his unknown father. Heaven forbid, the matter is much simpler, and at the same time much sadder.

And this is how it happened.

Just as Allah knew how to create the epitome of beauty – woman, and the epitome of woman’s beauty – her eyes, so too did he know how to create a tall creature, thin and slightly stooped, with large, thick hands, long and hard as iron bars, with a head large and round as a watermelon. And this head had hair like flax fiber, a ribbon for a forehead, small and deeply sunken eyes devoid of color and expression. And this creature too was, as if to spite, a woman. And her name was Hadba.

Hadba dwelled in her virginity in her father’s house for many, many years. None of the young Fellahin wished to give her his name. Until Abd-ul-aziz, an Egyptian lad, took pity on her, and sanctified her as his wife. True, it was not Hadba that had taken Abd-ul-aziz’s heart, but the eighth part of her father’s plot of land that would become hers after his death. For Abd-ul-aziz had no property and no inheritance in the village, and not even the four walls of a structure.

It was Hadba who gave him the hope of being called a man of means among his people, a landowner. And a corner of her father’s yard was given to Hadba even while her father was alive. In this corner, Abd-ul-aziz built a shack of wooden columns that he had bought on credit from the Hebrew moshava nearby. Hadba covered the walls in plaster and it became a home. And so Abd-ul-aziz became a householder.

And within a year, a son was born to Abd-ul-aziz and his name was called Muhammed. This is the aforementioned Muhammed.

But luck did not favor Muhammed. Another year passed and Abd-ul-aziz’s patience wore out. He was the butt of half the laughter of the village’s young men, who called him nothing else but “husband of Hadba.” And her father was still alive, and hale and hearty, and the eighth part of his plot had not come into Abd-ul-aziz’s possession. And Abd-ul-aziz despaired of his life.

And one fine day he disappeared and was gone. And only several months later did it become known that he had gone to the mountains of Hebron and there he had taken a wife in addition to his first wife, and his life was pleasant. In vain Hadba went to him with her son. In vain did her father promise to give him the plot of land while he still lived. There was no council or sound wisdom for it. Abd-ul-aziz divorced his first wife with her son and would not listen to any of her crying or her entreaties.

And so Hadba remained abandoned for the rest of her life. She and her son dwelled in the house that Abd-ul-aziz had built and she went to work every day in the Hebrew moshava. And when Muhammed was grown, he too went together with her. And they lived both of them on their labor.

And this Muhammed, even though he had already reached his fifteenth year, remained as small as a ten-year-old, short and round. From afar, he almost had the shape of a watermelon. His watermelon-like shape was due not only to his belly and his gown, but also to his sash. For he would bind the sash tightly to his loins and he would pull the gown up until it stood like a wheel… and his short, dark legs were left bare to his waist and even above his waist…

Incidentally, these were the entirety of his clothes: the gown and the sash. Aside from these, he had nothing. He had never yet worn sandals in his life. He wore a skullcap on his head only very rarely: when he’d find in the dump the remains of a cap, his mother would fix it, sewing patch upon patch, and he would wear it until it was ready to collapse completely on his head.

Muhammed had inherited his forehead, nose, and lips from his mother. But his eyes, black and intelligent, he had inherited from his father. And his mind too was keen like his father’s. The young men of the village and also the children and even the elders and the honorable folk singled out Muhammed to be the object of half of their scorn, in place of the scorn they had previously for his father, Abd-ul-aziz. And they called him to his face: “Muhammed abuh Hadba,” Muhammed – his father is Hadba.

Woe! If they had whipped Muhammed’s flesh with thorns and scorpions, if they had stabbed his living flesh with needles – he would not have suffered as he suffered when people called him by that name. His face, underneath its thick layer of dirt, blushed, his black eyes filled with blood, and he clenched his little hands into fists.

Sometimes, out of anger, Muhammed would beat on his head with his fists and run away behind the village and hide under one of the bushes, so that no one would see him in his shame and mock him.

And sometimes he would shout and yell at the people:

“That’s a lie! I am Muhammed abuh Abd-ul-aziz! My father is Abd-ul-aziz!”

And at the sound of his cries the young men’s mouths would fill with laughter.

And sometimes… his anger was such as no man could know. Sometimes Muhammed would take a stone from among the stones of the region and throw it with all his might as his mother, at Hadba…

Do not judge Muhammed harshly. None of you has stood in his place. None of you has had it said that your father – was a woman!

In the Jewish moshava, too, as in the Arab village, he was also called Muhammed abuh Hadba. And even though the moshava folk didn’t anger him as much – they were after all only yahud – even so the people of the moshava vexed him as well.

I was the only one who called him always – precisely to his face  – Muhammed abuh Abd-ul-aziz. And I’m convinced that in recompense for this a nice spot in the next world awaits me. I believe none born of woman ever derived so much pleasure as Muhammed did upon hearing someone else unequivocally say: Muhammed abuh Abd-ul-aziz. His face glowed with happiness and enjoyment, and his intelligent black eyes looked with pride at everyone around: “Here I am as all of you, son of man!” Finally, his gaze would rest on me, a gaze full of gratitude and deep affection. I am convinced that with affection such as that no man ever before looked at his fellow…

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