1

The hunter Ibrahim was young. Seven days ago, he had reached the end of his eighteenth year. The land where his fathers dwelled was far away – on the banks of the river Tigris. When he was still a boy, he was accustomed to hunt prey with his father in the fields between the river Euphrates and the river Tigris. And from one hunt to the next, his father would tell him stories. The father was old and had seen his share of days. He had traversed the land by its entire length and breadth, had seen all sorts of people and had met with all manner of animals. And many an adventure, many an incident and misfortune had befallen him. He had seen much and heard much, and all that he had seen and all that he had heard, he told to his son. And his son, the lad Ibrahim, listened to his stories with a rapt desire and did not know what he loved more, the hunt, or his father’s stories. And sometimes a leopard would encounter them on their way, and they would not cease their talking until the leopard had drawn close, until fire was ignited in their blood from the danger. And after skinning the leopard, the father would return to his telling, and the son – to listening.

Of the Hula swampland too did he hear stories from his father. He was sixteen years old then. And when he heard, his heart trembled and his soul filled with intense longing. And he said to his father in a shaky voice:

“Father, I want to see the Hula.”

A black shadow crossed the old man’s face. In his heart he regretted the things he had told his son, and he said:

“You are still ignorant, my son. I was eighteen when I left my father in this place to wander the world’s expanses.”

And Ibrahim kept these words in his heart, and did not plead to his father nor speak to him again about it, for he knew that the old man did not go back on his word. And when the two years were up, when he and his father were returning once from the hunt to their tent, Ibrahim said:

“Father, today I am eighteen years old.”

The matter was bad in the old man’s eyes, but he did not go back on his word. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, poured forth his prayer to Allah, and said to his son:

“The east and the west, the north and the south, are open before you. Go wither you will and may Allah’s blessing be upon your way. And when you return to the place where your fathers have dwelled, come to lay yourself down over my grave.”

Ibrahim kissed his father, took his gun and his satchel, and set off. He walked by day and by night, seven days and seven nights, and did not tarry on his journey except to roast his prey and break his hunger, and slept not more than two hours after the setting of the sun. And at the end of the seven days, he came to the foothills of Mount Hermon as far as the swamp of Hula. And he lay down to rest from his difficult journey.

2

And this is what the father told his son about the Hula swamp.

When Allah created the heavens and the earth and the entire universe, Satan, who ruled the netherworld, envied the maker’s creations. Satan hatched a scheme in his heart: I too shall do as Allah has. And Satan stood and watched Allah’s creations and strove to make their like, and he created on the face of the netherworld all the same creatures that Allah had created on the face of the earth: crocodiles and every thing that creepeth, fish and fowl, cattle and every kind of beast. And created he too man and woman, in the image of the man and the woman upon the earth created he them. And it was told to Allah all that Satan had done. And Allah heard, and he was not angry, and he did not decree that Satan’s creations be destroyed, but only laughed to himself. For he knew that his deeds would not be established. And indeed Satan did not rejoice in his handiwork. When he took his walks long and short over the length and breadth of the land, he saw and came to know that his creatures were not as the maker’s creatures. The one looked like the other – yet still they were not equals. For the faces of the creatures of the deep were like faces of stone: they knew neither laugher nor crying, neither sorrow nor happiness, they neither fought nor befriended, they made neither war nor peace. And Satan was saddened in his heart and thought: what was the thing Allah had made in his creatures that he did not know how to make? And Satan went and asked his creatures: how and in what way were they different than the creatures upon the earth? What was it they lacked? And they knew not what to answer. Neither did the man know. But the woman Satan had created was wisest of all the creatures, and she opened her mouth and said:

“Your creatures do not know the secret of love.”

And Satan knew that the woman was more righteous than he. So he walked day and night upon the land and enquired and made search: whither did love come from and where was its place? – And no man knew what to tell him. For the secret of love was well kept among those who dwelled above, and above Satan had no movement. And Satan was saddened and walked about gloomily all the days, for he saw that his desire had not been achieved.

One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh. Of the creatures Allah had created on the earth, the first generation died and second and third generations rose up after them. And of the creatures Satan had created, when one of them grew old and died, no other came to take its place. And Satan saw that evil was determined against his creatures, and he knew that the woman was the wisest of all he had created, and he came and asked her counsel. And the woman said:

“Take your creatures on to the earth, and they will learn to love, and they will return to you and be fruitful and multiply and burst forth in numbers.”

And Satan knew that the woman was right this time as well, but he did not do as she counseled, for he said to himself: if I take my creatures on to the earth and they see that it is good, they will return to me no more. Satan attempted to create new creatures in place of those who died – but he was not successful. He had forgotten the secret of creation. He went to see the actions of Allah and to follow their form, but Allah had ceased to create, for the creatures he had made in the beginning were fruitful and multiplied unto themselves. And all Satan’s creations died, and only the woman remained, for he had created her last of all. And he approached her saying:

“Love me and we shall raise a second generation, and the remnant of the creatures I created will not be wiped out.”

And the woman answered him saying:

“Take me out on to the earth that I may learn to love.”

And Satan answered:

“Who will pledge me that after you leave my domain you will return to me again?”

And the woman said:

“Put me in a place that is half of the deep and half land that I may see the creatures of the earth and learn from their deeds – but not come among them.”

And Satan did thus and took the woman out to the swamp of Hula.

And it came to pass, when the woman returned to the deep, that Satan approached her and asked:

“Have you learned?”

“I have learned.”

“Let me come in unto you.”

“I am with child.”

“To whom?”

“To a man who dwells on the earth.”

“But I put you in the Hula swampland, and how did you go out to the man?”

“How? The man came to me… And returned no more.”

And the thing was very bad in Satan’s eyes concerning the woman who had deceived him.

And the woman consoled him saying:

“Let it not be bad in your eyes. You shall receive your share. At the end of the year I will bear twins. One of them, the male, shall be yours. He will be a devil like you. And the other, the female, will be mine: half she-devil and half daughter of man. And I will die after childbirth, for I shall not live after having loved man. And when my daughter grows up, you shall take her out to the swamp, and a man shall know her whom she shall choose among men, and she shall bear him twins, a male devil and a female, half she-devil and half daughter of man. And so shall you do to the end of all generations, and Satan’s creatures will not perish from the world. From man, the glory of Allah’s creations, you shall take them.”

3

And at midnight, seven days after Ibrahim had reached the end of his eighteenth year, the hunter Ibrahim woke from his sleep and lent his ear to listen. Tonight would be the sign. Tonight he would hear the sound from the Hula swamp.

It was the last night of the month of Marcheshvan. Tonight, after midnight, the first rain would fall. This Ibrahim could tell by the easterly wind that had begun to blow three days ago at midnight. By the moon’s halo during the final days of its waning, and by the sun, which during its setting today had been red and blazed like fire. Ibrahim knew: at midnight, with the birth of the moon of Kislev, the wind would come from the north and bring the first rain. And with the northern wind and the first drops of rain the voice of the she-devil would be heard. For so his father had told him: she will appear in the swamp with the first rain.

It was black night. Ibrahim’s eye could see nothing around him. The darkness burst forth from the mountains and from the valley – and it covered him and was heavy upon him. He knew he was surrounded by mountains in front and in back of him, which enclosed the Hula, but he could not see the mountains, nor could he see the Hula either, but he could hear it well. It whispered furtively. The easterly wind, which had blown for three days, had ceased with sunrise and it was as if it had frozen and all around was dead. But the swamp had not ceased its whispering, and the tall reeds had not ceased to speak.

Ibrahim turned his ear at a slant and listened.

From afar, from the north, on the other side of Mount Hermon, he could hear the clapping of the wind’s wings. Then he knew the first rain was coming. The air in the Hula shook, heaved, clutched at the heads of the reeds until they began to moan loudly.

“Hoi… ho – Hoi yo…”

A storm wind erupted out of the north, passed the Hermon that stood in its way, and touched the four corners of the Hula, as if grabbing it and attempting to throw it to the ends of the earth. The reeds groaned and bent to the ground and the reed stalks hit each other loudly and tumultuously, fighting each other and trying to tear themselves out by the root. And from the gaps in the mountains came gusts of winds in all directions, meeting each other in the Hula, attacking each other ferociously, crashing against each other and becoming a single force, a force to take apart mountains and break up boulders, aiming to turn the whole universe on its head. The wind sobbed and wept. One time it cried in a thin voice like the voice of a small child and sadness gripped the entire valley as if the souls of all living things were wrapped in it. And one time it groaned, roared, and growled like a lion – and terror and fear seized the entire universe. Sometimes laughter could be heard, a mischievous whistling, and the sound rolled, and rolling on its way it filled up the space of the whole world. And suddenly the voices stopped, vanished, and were gone.

Ibrahim wrapped himself in his cloak and covered his face and head, only his eyes did he not cover. Thus he sat and waited. The wind had desisted from its anger. Some hidden hand had gotten hold of it and put a bridle to its mouth. Black and heavy clouds crawled from among the feet of the Hermon and covered the face of the Hula. The clouds crawled very low and hung lying over Ibrahim’s head.

“Tif, tif, tif!” dripped the large drops of water that had begun to fall noisily and tap on the ground. And the wind, that had fallen silent for a moment, attacked the universe again with renewed powers. The windows of heaven opened and continuous rain poured onto the earth, a deluge of water. Ibrahim wrapped himself completely in his cloak, lent his ears to listen, and his eyes penetrated into the darkness of the Hula.

4

“Hush! Hush! Hush!” Ibrahim lurched fully upright and there stood the figure of a woman before his eyes, emerging from the reeds at the foot of the swamp, and a rising glow illuminated her face. Thick black hair fell from her head and covered her bare body down to her knees. And her hair was wet and full of water and clung to her body. Her face was white as the white of snow, clear, washed, and pure. And a thread of beauty, humility, of innocence and modesty, was drawn through it. From behind her long, black, and downturned eyelashes, two eyes black as night looked out at Ibrahim, and their look was full of silent sorrow and it was as if they were asking, begging, pleading. From behind the thick black plaits covering her body, the translucent white skin of her flesh was visible, and her two round and soft breasts were prominent. And her legs from the knees down were coated with reeds.

“Who are you?”

“A woman.”

“What do you want?”

“Love.”

“Why?”

“For this I was created.”

“Who created you? Allah or Satan?”

“What difference is there to you? My love is hot and my kisses burn, and what is my creator to you?”

“The daughters of man created by Allah do not ask for love.”

“They ask, but they do not say. All the girls who see you yearn for your love.”

“Why?”

“Because you are beautiful. Because you are young. Because your muscles are iron and your blood is fire. And for this woman was created that she should love man and covet his beauty and his strength in her heart.”

“And why do the daughters of man not say this?”

“For so Allah created them. He revealed to them the secret of love, but the strength and courage to take love he did not give them.”

“Why?”

“Allah’s eye is narrow. Only for himself he has taken everything. To others he has given only half. To the one he gave the strength and courage to take love and to the other he revealed the secret of love.”

And Ibrahim’s anger burned like fire: could fault be found with Allah and he, the believer, hear and keep silent?

“Silence, daughter of hell! You speak the words of a scoundrel. All that Allah has made is good and proper!”

The words left Ibrahim’s mouth and the woman’s face was shamed. A blinding flash of lightning cut through the heart of the heavens and the entire earth was illuminated. A roll of thunder was heard, rolling and falling all the way down to the feet of the Hermon. The woman had vanished.

5

“Daughter of hell?” in the morning Ibrahim asked the heavens, which now had become clear of the thick clouds and were filled with light and radiance. But the heavens did not answer his question. They were silent. And Ibrahim did not know how to resolve the doubt that had arose in him. He could not believe that the daughter of hell had stood before him, the one his father had told him the story about. Could a daughter of hell have a face so humble, so pure, so modest? Were not the mouths of the daughters of hell filled with mischievous laughter, were they not loud and debauched, and their eyes full of impudence?

And at times Ibrahim thought that Allah had sent one of the daughters of the Bedouin to try him. And he kept the thing to himself.

6

On the heights of one of the mountains of Naftali, Ibrahim sat and looked out across the Hula. The sun had come up from behind the mountains of Bashan and illuminated the face of the valley. The sun was large, round, full of light and warmth. Its rays, scattering in all directions, those dancing rays of many hues, announced that the rain had ceased and the storm had fallen still. It was as if they called out: come, and be warmed in our light! And everything living came out to the announcing voice of the sun and spread out over the earth. Man went out to his labors, to plow and to seed. Beast went out to graze in the marsh. All manner of animals and insects went out to stalk their prey. And the entire Hula filled with life. The Hula is large, its beginning lies at the feet of the Hermon, and it stretches out westwards up to the waters of Merom. And it is wide, dividing the mountains of Bashan on the left from the mountains of Naftali on the right. And in places as it stretches lengthwise and breadthwise, the eye cannot encompass it. The Hula is bisected by the Jordan, whose own beginning is at the feet of Hermon. The Jordan makes its way downwards and southwards, embraced in the arms of the Hula and wrapped in vigorous greenery that its waters have grown. And from within the two rows of mountains, that stand as guardians on the Hula’s two sides, rivulets of water emerge, spring water and rain water, and crawl between the rocks on the mountain slopes, grasping their way between bushes and reeds and falling into the Jordan. Some come to a stop on their way and some spread out sideways and still others wind through their paths and come to a standstill in the low places. And the standing water comes to be swamps and lakes, eating away at the fertile land. And the whole valley divides into little bits: bits of land and bits of swamp. The land bits are full of life, and plentiful in them are the fruit of the tree and the bounty of the fields. And man sows them three times a year. He plows, sows, harvests, waters, and plows, sows and harvests once again. Wheat he sows in winter, sorghum he sows in summer after harvesting the wheat, and then watermelons after gathering the sorghum. And between land and swamp there grow all year round, summer and winter, fresh and moist grasses, making for rich pasture. And the good pasture was eaten by the cattle and water buffalo, and nibbled by the sheep and goats. And they grew and fattened on the settled water and man’s eyes rejoiced to look upon them and never tired of seeing them. And the fowl of the air, too, covered the face of the valley as they descended to eat of the insects that swarmed in the Hula by the many thousands. And the birds grew fat and were fruitful and multiplied, and man hunted them. And fish were plentiful within the streams of living water, and man ate of them. And the water buffalo grew here to be like elephants and crossed the swamp up to their bellies, romping in it on the hot days, cooling their flesh in the filth and eating of the grasses and becoming like wild cattle, and man drinks their milk. All this is the blessing of Allah above!

But there was death in the swamps. The standing water becomes covered in scum, and the swamp brings up a stench during the hot days, poisoning the air and sending half-death after man on land – and he flees to the hills. And in the swamps the papyrus sedge rose up and the marsh flourished and they grew large and beautiful. And sometimes their modest appearance deceived man in its charm and beauty, and he was drawn after them until his foot grasped at mud and he fell and drowned and could not be found again. And the whole valley was given half to life and half to death, half to Allah, and half to Satan.

Ibrahim looked out at the Hula from the top of the mountain and delighted in its beauty, for it was beautiful in its entirety, covered in a bluish mist, the blue being translucent and full of radiance and not obscuring anything that lay in the valley. From afar a multitude of people could be seen who gathered in groups and spread out like ants over every bit of land to wrest it from the swamp and redeem it for the living. The beasts could be seen grazing in the grasses and in the marsh in their herds, and over the heads of the men and beasts flocks of birds circled, their mouths full of song.

“Life and death in a single place… Blessing and curse arm-in-arm… Why did Allah make his world like this?”

So pondered Ibrahim to himself as he sat on the mountaintop, leaning on his club, his gaze lost in the distance and his cloak draped over his shoulder, falling like two wings on either side of him. Above his head, on the opposite plain, a procession of camels extended on its way from Damascus to Acre. The procession was long, it had no beginning and no end, and each camel strode proudly, its neck curving upwards, carrying the bounty of the fruits of Damascus.

“Daughter of man or daughter of hell?” Ibrahim returned to his earlier thought, rose from his place, shouldered his gun, took his club in his hand, and went to the tents of the Bedouin on the slopes of the mountain near to the valley.

7

At the foot of Hermon, where the Jordan emerges, there is a hill that eludes the eye. From the north, it is hidden by the Hermon, and from the south and east – by the plains of Bashan. Only from the west is it open. It sprawls along the opening to the valley that extends out of the Hula and makes its way between the Hermon and the plain. The Jordan flows on its west. And among the trees and the thick bushes that grow on its banks, the Hula is visible. But only a part of it is seen in the west, for all its glory lies in the south. The hill is not sad that Allah has closed his world to it. It is happy with its lot. The Hermon looks out upon it year round and the hill sees all its changes – and who among the great mountains has been so favored?

The hill sees the Hermon when old age seizes it overnight. It turns white to its middle and all its limbs freeze over. And then people no longer ascend to mount its peak., they will only come as far as the boundary that winter and summer have placed between them. The hill sees Hermon in its fury, heavy black clouds assault it and encamp around it from all sides, as if to take it prisoner. The grandfather grows bitter, he is completely covered in darkness, and there, in the dark, entire worlds are created and destroyed. Rolling and tumult and the crashing of thunder, and a sound like that of mighty waters. The great cliffs of the world are set against each other and the earth rumbles and trembles. And Hermon does not know all that transpires in its darkness. And the hill knows in advance how the thing will end. The clouds will slowly scatter, an abundance of water will flow off the mountain, all its nooks and crannies will run with water. And the water noisily falls from the head of the mountain to its base – and the entire valley fills with water. And the Jordan overflows all its banks, and it floods and goes on to become a storming river. And the hill knows this, too: the rage will not last forever. Tomorrow, the sun will shine from across the Bashan, its red rays will fall on the head of Jabal al-Shaykh, and there will be no more any trace of the clouds, and the grandfather will shake himself and be filled with radiance. Then all the precipices of his body will become prominent, and all the narrow paths will become visible that twist their way up to his head. The paths crawl like snakes, and the mountains that are of his corpus and the valleys that lie between the mountains burst out and rise up. And the valley will become wrapped in greenery that will grow and flourish. And springs run down from above and on their way become rivulets and fall below, sometimes concealed, and sometimes revealed anew. And in the sun the rivulets seem like arteries of silver, interwoven and flowing through the giant’s body.

And at the hill’s edge there is an ancient fortress. The ancient fortress looks out from its darkened holes at the hill covered with new greenery and tells it tales from ancient times. It tells of big dreams that little men dreamt here, dreams that created it, too. The dreams have passed, the dreams have ceased, but it, the fortress cannot cease – it will be the witness to the dreams forever… And the merry hill, whose face has rejoiced in the Jordan’s waters and who shelters in the Hermon’s shadows, mocks the old fortress and its old dreams, which are created so that they might die. And it, the hill, will live forever.

8

The sun was preparing to set when the hunter Ibrahim ascended the top of the hill that lay hidden. Three lone Bedouin tents revealed themselves to his eyes, and the thing was a wonder to him: who are these lone tents and with what tribe of Bedouins are their inhabitants counted? – In the opening to one tent, which was black with age, sat a worn woman and spun at her spindle. And beyond her, in the opening to the second tent, which was new, sat another Bedouin woman, her face and head covered and her gaze turned towards the hillside. As Ibrahim approached, he saw that the two women were silent and angry. It seemed that each was cross with the other. Only then did they notice the visitor.

“In goodness be your day!”

The old woman lifted her head and looked at the visitor in astonishment. The second woman did not turn her head.

“In goodness!” the old woman replied.

“A stranger am I in this place. To the shadow of whose roof have my feet brought me?”

“Blessed be the feet that know how to direct their way. You have come to the tents of Sheikh Rashid.”

“Will I be fortunate enough to see the sheikh’s shining face?”

“Ere the sun falls behind the mountains, the sheikh will return from the flock. And ere the sheikh returns, let my guest grace me with the glow of his face and take his rest on the mat that is in the shade of the fig tree.”

Ibrahim took the shoes off his feet and sat in the shade of the fig tree opposite the tent.

Ibrahim thought to himself: Who is the old woman who works her spindle, wife of the sheikh, or his mother? And who is the other woman – old or young, daughter or beloved wife? – The matter of the two women was strange to him. He remembered hearing his father tell of one of the Bedouin sheikhs in the mountains at the foot of the Hula who was chief and elder to one of the tribes, whose livestock were many and whose servants were without count, who was powerful among his people and whose voice was heeded among the great sheikhs, and his name was Rashid. And when Ibrahim’s father had gone to hunt prey in the environs of Hermon, he had been a guest in the sheikh’s tent. And he wondered all the more: why was the sheikh separated from his people? And where were all the tents of the Bedouin who obeyed his command?

“I see my guest is a man who has come from afar. And where is the mare he rides?”

“Your servant was never a rider in all his days. I go by foot. I am a hunter.”

The old woman looked at the speaker with an examining eye, as if she were trying to remember something. Then she said:

“Seventeen years ago, when I was first come under the shadow of Sheikh Rashid’s roof, a hunting man was our guest for near to a month, going by foot like yourself, who had come to us from afar, from the land between Tigris and Euphrates. Abu-Ibrahim we called him, after the son his wife had borne him at the start of that year.”

A smile of happiness shone on Ibrahim’s face.

“I am Ibrahim, and it was my father who was your guest.”

The old woman’s face, too, glowed with joy.

“Welcome are you under the shadow of our roof! A blessing surely comes to our house at your feet. How happy the sheikh will be at your arrival! The name of your father lives still in his mouth to this day. Is your father still an able hunter?”

“Praise be to Allah! My father can still hunt prey as he did seventeen years ago.”

While Ibrahim was still speaking, the whinnying of a mare was heard from across the hill. The other woman got up and stood.

“Here Sheikh Rashid comes from the flock.”

Ibrahim turned his face and beheld a man whose hair was turning white riding a mighty mare and emerging from among the trees that blocked the hill paths on the slope. The other woman lifted her head and walked towards the sheikh with her neck outstretched. Ibrahim looked at the woman as she walked from him – and his heart swelled. Never in all his days had he seen a woman so erect, whose head strutted so, with legs that were so bold, so full of strength and beauty. And it vexed him greatly that she had not turned her face to him and he had not glimpsed it.

“Look how she hurries to greet her husband! She wishes to show him her affection, as if she thinks of nothing but him all the days as she sits still as a stone. If only your father knew, if only he heard! Would he believe that in his old age the sheikh would take a wife in addition to his wife whom he had loved and who had taken care of him all the days of his life? If only your father knew!”

The old woman drew closer to Ibrahim and whispered in his ear:

“A Bedouin sheikh has taken a wife from the daughters of the Druze on the mountain… A Druze woman!”

Ibrahim listened and did not listen to everything the old woman told him. He looked at the sheikh and at the young woman who walked after him with outstretched neck. And when the woman drew close, the sheikh dismounted his mare and stood near to her. And the woman bowed down to him with her face to the earth and kissed his hand. And Ibrahim’s heart swelled. How graceful were the movements of the woman’s body as she bowed! And the sheikh’s face glowed. And Ibrahim knew that the sheikh loved his second wife.

9

Sheikh Rashid was very happy with his guest. And as his heart was good upon him drinking the sharp black coffee, he whispered in his ear:

“It is from Allah that this has happened! Then, when your father came to my tent, I betrothed my first wife, I was thirty years of age then, and until this year I took no wife after her. This year I betrothed Ghazala, a daughter of the Druze on the mountain, and Allah has sent you to my house, the son of your father. Is this not a good omen?”

“May Allah’s blessing be on your house all the days of your life!”

“My friends and comrades shun me and the sons of my tribe have left me and departed from me over my taking a wife from the daughters of the Druze. The thing is from Allah! Allah led me to the mountains to buy a flock of sheep. I bought the sheep from one of the sons of the Druze, and I saw his daughter and my soul desired her, and I measured out for him the bride price of his daughter the same as the price of the sheep. Is the thing not from Allah? And the prophet – did he forbid the Druze women? The Druze are not at one with the prophet; but this one is only a woman. What does a woman know? She will do as her husband does. Is this not so, son of Abu-Ibrahim?”

Ibrahim agreed to what the sheikh had said. But far from him and far from his words were his thoughts at that moment. They floated in space and demanded answers to the puzzle that had burdened his heart since that morning.

“They say that the Druze have dealings with Satan. But do women know the doings of their husbands?”

Ibrahim shuddered at the sheikh’s most recent words.

“Truly? Are the Druze in league with Satan?”

“Allah knows the conscience of man! Who knows? – So the elders say. Perhaps they speak the truth, and perhaps even the wise pronounce lies. But if the men have eaten sour grapes, shall the women’s teeth be set on edge?”

Ibrahim stuttered an unclear word, and the sheikh looked at him in wonder. At that precise moment, the old woman emerged from her tent and placed on the mat rounds of bread, a bottle of milk, cheese, eggs, and a tureen of cooked food. And from the new tent, the young woman emerged and sat in the tent opening. Her face was revealed and her eyes were cast towards the sheikh. And Ibrahim’s heart died.

“It’s her!” A horrific thought pounded at his brain. Yes! The same violet, dusky and forlorn face, the same deep look in her eyes, that look full of piercing sorrow that descended to the depths, and the same thread of beauty that ran through her face.

The sheikh saw that the face of his guest had gone pale, and he laughed to himself and thought: “Who among the men, whose eyes have seen Ghazala, does not look like that?” – And no feeling of jealousy passed over the sheikh. He knew that his young wife loved him with all the heat of her youth. When she embraced him – her love was fire and her kisses honey. The sheikh was old, but his strength had not yet left him and he was in no way the lesser to younger men. For this reason the sheikh spoke much in the ear of his guest words that were good and pleasant and heaped upon him good things to eat of every sort that the old lady, the woman of valor, had prepared. Ibrahim listened and didn’t listen, ate and did not eat. His thoughts were occupied and troubled by the difficult question that had pecked at his brain since that morning and that now took on a new form:

“Which of these two was the woman, and which was the she-demon?”

10

Two weeks had passed since Ibrahim had come under the shadow of Sheikh Rashid’s roof. In the morning, before the sheik went out to the flock, and in the evening after his return, he spoke with the sheikh. And the burden of his heart he had not yet revealed to him. He wanted so much to talk with the sheikh, to ask him to speak of the Hula and to tell him about the woman who had spoken to him from the reeds – and he could not find the courage in his soul. He was afraid, lest the sheikh become angry and banish him from his house. And Ghazala, the sheikh’s young wife, Ibrahim saw each evening: when she went out walking tall towards her husband returning from the flock, and when she sat in the threshold of the tent, looking with affectionate eyes at the sheikh. But all day he did not see her. She sat closed in in her tent. At night, the sheikh too went to her tent. All the days, Ibrahim walked the environs of the Hula, climbing the mountains, jumping into the valleys, stalking the local animals, and talking to folk about the Hula and about the entire region. And only about the one thing that burdened his heart he did not ask and did not inquire, for he feared he would be laughed at. And at night he had had his fill of wandering. He would hear the sheikh’s wife as she clung lovingly to her husband, his ears taking in the whisper of her kisses, and it seemed to him that he could feel in them the heat of her breath. And sometimes his heart filled with a certain distress, and sometimes his heart tugged at him to go to the swamp, and he would go and sit all night by the reeds, and return whence he had come. But even before going, he knew that his efforts were in vain: the she-devil would not appear on nights of the moon and stars. Only with the north wind, with the rain and darkness, would she emerge from the fathoms of the deep and hover above the swamp to haunt mankind. His heart moved him to think: Maybe she is a daughter of man who disguises herself as a demon? – And Ibrahim would have enough of wandering. And the more he saw the sheikh’s young wife, the more the burden on his soul grew and his heart tormented him.

One night, when two weeks had passed, Ibrahim woke from his sleep at midnight and heard a noise of rumbling beneath the mountain. Ibrahim saw the mountain wrapped in clouds, and thought to himself: “Rain is coming.” He donned his cloak, took his gun, and set off on his way. And he came to the place where he had stood on the first night. Silence. And then – a voice was heard… A murmuring of lips… The reeds at his feet moved apart – and the figure of a woman appeared before his eyes… He shuddered: It was the same woman he saw, the sheikh’s young wife! She and no other! His heart died within him.

“Son of man!”

“What is it you want?”

“Love.”

And Ibrahim answered not a word. And he did not take his eye of the woman. And her face was so sad, and the beauty cast in it was so piercing to the depths! And her innocent eyes were full of silent sadness and mute prayer, as if she were pleading for her soul… His spirit yearned. A question hung at the edge of his mouth and he did not have in his heart the courage to voice it.

“Love me!” – A woman’s voiced was heard. And the voice was so captivating, sweet, tugging at the heart! And the woman’s long, black hair twisted and scattered over her two shoulders, and all of her white, soft, and strong body was as attractive and as demanding as her voice. Her chest rose and breathed heavily, as if waves were crashing against it and bursting to get out. And it seemed to Ibrahim that fire came out of her two breasts and was burning him.

“Who are you? What is your name? And what has brought you here?”

“I am a woman. I thirst for love. My desire has brought me here.”

“A woman does not ask for love: A man shall compass a woman.”

“And what shall a woman do who has not known a man?”

“She shall sit and wait.”

“And if her soul can wait no longer?”

“She shall pray to Allah.”

“Allah has hardened his heart to woman. He has given the world to man.”

“Why?”

“Allah’s eye is narrow. When he created woman, he saw his handiwork and it was beautiful and pleasant, and he envied man, and in his envy he cursed woman: ‘To him shall be thy desire, and he shall rule over thee’.”

And Ibrahim’s anger burned like fire over the woman putting fault on Allah. And he pointed his gun and aimed it at her forehead and pulled the trigger… And a commotion rose up in the swamp, and voices of fright were heard, voices that cast terror. And the woman was gone.

11

Since the dawning of morning, Ibrahim walked around the edge of the hill and could not find the courage in his soul to approach the tents. How could he look upon the face of the sheikh? And how would he see Ghazala? And would he see her? And if he did see her – what would he find in her? Ibrahim knew that soon the sheikh would go out to the flock, and he did not go near the tents. But towards evening he returned to the sheikh’s abode and sat down beneath the fig tree. And when the old woman asked him where he had been all morning, he replied that he had found the tracks of a gazelle on the mountain and had gone in quest of it. And he did not lift his head as he spoke. A long while he sat in his place with his head downcast, in fear lest he look and see the young woman. But she was not seen outside until the whinnying of the mare was heard from the other side of the trees. Only then did the tent flap move from its place, and the young woman emerged and her face was concealed. And Ibrahim did not lift his eye from her. It seemed to him she was more erect, and her gait more proud than it had been.

And when the sheikh sat beneath the fig tree and inquired of his well-being and the reason for his lateness in the morning, his soul was greatly afeard and he could not speak clear words. He knew that at that moment Ghazala sat at the threshold of her tent with her face revealed and her eyes leveled towards the sheikh – and he did not look at her.

“Ghazala, what is that black dot on your forehead?”

The sheikh’s voice touched the ear of Ibrahim, who heard the words as if from within a dream. Then Ibrahim raised his eyes to Ghazala in fear and saw that in the center of her forehead, in the place where he had shot at the woman in the swamp, was a black dot, a sort of burn.

“It is nothing, my champion the sheikh!”

Her voice was forlorn, sweet, and peaceful, as it always was. A thread of beauty, humility, and innocence went through her face, as it always did. And her black eyes were leveled towards the sheikh and their gaze was full of love.

The sheikh finished praying the night prayer, blessed his young friend before his sleep, and turned to go to the tent of his young wife. Then Ibrahim called to him and said:

“My man the sheikh!”

His voice trembled and his face was very pale.

The sheikh turned his face towards him in puzzlement and asked him:

“What is this fear that has taken hold of you?”

And Ibrahim fell full length on the ground before the sheikh and hugged his feet and said in a pleading voice:

“Have mercy on me, my sheikh! Listen to that which I will tell you! And if I should transgress with my lips – you shall kill me as one unworthy.”

“Let my son speak, for I am listening.”

Ibrahim guided the sheikh to behind the fig tree and told him in a whisper and with a trembling voice all that he had seen and all that he had heard in the swamp since the day he had come to the Hula and up until this day. The lad told and the sheikh listened with great attentiveness – and his face was pale and his eyes sparkled like fire. And the more the lad told, so the sheikh’s face grew paler and his eyes increased their sparkling. And when the boy had finished telling and recovered his composure in silence, the sheikh too stood before him silent as a stone. Finally, the sheikh said:

“Tomorrow, ere the sun rises, I will take her out of the tent and kill her.”

And the boy trembled, as the leaf trembles when it is blown by the wind.

“Heaven forbid my champion’s hand from taking her life. Perhaps she is clean of any wrongdoing and it is but a false vision that I saw?”

The sheikh thought a moment and said measuredly:

“You are more righteous than me, my son. I shall try her and see what thing has been cast in her.”

And that night the sheikh did not go to the tent of his young wife; he went to spend the night in the old tent. And Ibrahim’s soul balled up inside him and he knew no rest all night.

12

In the morning, Ibrahim woke from his sleep, and when he looked to Ghazala’s tent he saw that the tent flaps were raised and there was no one in the tent. And in the entrance to the old tent, the old woman sat and embroidered and her face expressed satisfaction. And the sheikh’s place under the fig tree was empty. “Why has the sheikh gone to the flock so early today?” – he thought to himself. And the old woman, as if knowing his question, said to him:

“The sheikh has gone to the flock early today, and will not return before three days have passed.”

“And what has the sheikh done to his young wife?” – Ibrahim pondered to himself. And as if answering his question, the old woman said:

“The Druze woman’s schemes have come to light at last. Tonight the sheikh has returned to me.”

“And she… Where is she now?” – Ibrahim asked out loud, but with stammered speech.

“The sheikh has chosen her a cool place and soft bedding. She lies cast at the foot of the hill among the trees. She shall rest until the three days are up. And should she not divulge her schemes, she shall be fodder for the hounds of the field and for the fowl of the air.”

And Ibrahim knew that wickedness had been done to Ghazala, and he was much distressed: it was because of him that this had befallen her. And perhaps he had moved her husband against her to destroy her without cause. And Ibrahim descended the hillside and stood amidst the trees.  And when he had cast his eye every which way, his gaze fixed on the sycamore: beneath its sloping branches he could see Ghazala’s head – and it was attached to the ground. In a panic he came near to the tree and the hairs of his body stood on end. Beneath the tree a hole had been dug and Ghazala had been cast into it, and earth had been poured on top of her until the hole was filled and it covered all of Ghazala up to her head… Ghazala’s face was soft and kind, humble and innocent and a thread of beauty was drawn in it. Only the sadness in her eyes had grown. And it seemed to him that she looked at him in rebuke and with grievance. Ibrahim drew his sword from its sheath, imbedded it in the hole, and began to dig in the ground.

“Do not do any act great or small. Ere the sheikh has mercy upon me, I shall not come out of here.”

And her voice was soft and low and full of endless gentleness. And Ibrahim desisted from his labor and turned his face towards the mountain.

For three days and three nights Ibrahim walked on the mountain. He neither ate nor drank nor let his eyes slumber. He poured out his prayer to Allah to have mercy on him and reveal to him the secret that was cast in the Hula, the secret in the woman who spoke to him from the reeds, and in Sheikh Rashid’s wife, in Ghazala. And Allah heard not his prayer. And in the night, when the wind came from over the hill, a faint wailing reached his ears.

And in the evening, on the fourth day, when Ibrahim returned to the tents, he saw Sheikh Rashid from afar, seated in his place, as usual, under the fig tree. In the opening of the old tent the old woman was sitting and spinning at her spindle and her face was sad. And in the threshold of the new tent the young woman was sitting, her face revealed and beautiful, and her look, a look of love, directed toward the sheikh, and above her forehead the black dot could be seen.

“My savior, be in goodness, my man the sheikh!”

“In goodness, in goodness!” the sheikh replied with great amiability and his face was radiant and happy. “Blessed be your return to the shadow of my roof. Sit with me and dine your heart’s comfort.”

The sheikh made room for his guest and sat opposite him, and when they had finished eating, the sheikh rose and took his guest aside and said to him:

“The thing was from Allah, to try her. It was only a false vision you saw. Her spirit is pure, she is innocent of any wrongdoing.”

13

Ibrahim knew not his own soul. For some time now he had intended to return to his father and his hunting – but could not: How could he go before knowing for sure who the woman was who spoke to him in the storm from the swamp? And how could he go before learning the mystery of Ghazala’s soul? And on top of that: a remorse as fierce as death consumed him over the suffering he had caused Ghazala, and he racked his soul for counsel how and with what he could atone before her. Every time he saw her, his mind became a jumble and there was no peace in his soul. And each time he saw her warm gaze bestowed on the sheikh, his spirit sighed. Then he remembered the gaze of the woman from the swamp: that was the same gaze that fell on him… And since he had returned to the tents, the nights became very long. And all night long Ghazala’s hot kisses were heard. His soul was on hot embers and laborious nights were his lot.

_____

It was morning when Ibrahim went out from the sheikh’s tents and took a walk in the Hula. The Hula had woken from its brief winter hibernation and was celebrating spring. All the plots of land whose appearance had turned black in man’s hands, became covered with a thin carpet of green, a vigorous, joyous, rich green that impertinently rose upwards. And the marsh and the reeds were covered with a new green, and the mountain slopes on both sides were decked in flowers of every sort and variety. And men, after having finished their plowing and sowing, lay stretched out in their tents pitched on the mountain sides, in the midst of their many flowers, and grew drowsy on the intoxicating fragrances and rested until the time arrived for new labor. Only the little ones scattered outside to graze the horses, cattle, and sheep that walked the thin strips between land and swamp and nibbled the green grass, and the little ones watched them lest they devour the crops on the one side or drown in the swamp on the other. And only the water buffalo crossed the swamp up to its neck. And when it came up out of the mud, the green scum coating its wild hairs, it looked like the spawn of hell. And the beasts, after eating their fill, were filled with happiness and danced and filled the Hula with lowing and neighing.

A black stallion, tall, long, and light as a leopard, lifted his head up high, pricked up his ears, stuck out his tail, and ran like an arrow out of a bow into the reeds. And near the reeds stood a mare with her head hidden by the reed stalks. The mare sensed the visitor who was approaching her and she took her head out fully and sniffed the air and stretched her neck out its full length. And the mare was beautiful, white as the snow on the peak of Hermon and the smoothness of her flesh shone with fat. Her tail was long, wool-like, and descended down to the ground. Her mane was thick and grew in curls. Her head was small, her ears tiny and erect, and her breast broad and prominent. The stallion had not reached the mare when he stopped and opened his mouth and neighed to her with a powerful and mighty voice. And the air shook from his neighing and all around filled with the sound, and her silence constituted a reply – and he came up to her. He stuck his tail out even more and his nostrils flared. And he touched her head with his, and sniffed her scent. And she too whinnied lightly and quiveringly and wagged her tail. And again all around filled with his neighing. And all the horses from near and far answered him and lifted their heads and stuck out their tails and each ran towards him…

And the heavens were high, wide, and pure in holy sanctity and deep as the abyss, and embraced all the expanses of the Hula with giant arms. And the edges of heaven touched the edges of the earth and spilled out in a single kiss…

Ibrahim’s soul yearned and he knew not for what.

14

At a late hour, after the sun had set, Ibrahim returned to the home of Sheikh Rashid. And when he reached the tents, he looked and was astonished. It was quiet all around, the stillness of death. The barking of the sheikh’s dog was not heard, nor was the snoring of his mare. And Ibrahim came up to the fig tree and found no traces of an evening meal. What was this? Had the sheikh not returned from the flock? This was not his way. What was different about today? Then his gaze fell on Ghazala’s tent. And he was suddenly seized with a desire to know if the sheikh had returned from the flock to the tent of his wife – and he turned to go to the tent. And Ibrahim knew something evil had been cast in him: such a thing was not to be done in an Arab encampment, to look into the tent of a married woman. But this time Ibrahim was not able to control his urge. A spell, whose origin he did not know, gripped and overpowered him. As he walked, he cast a glance at the old woman’s tent and he saw that its flaps were drawn tight. “She is sleeping,” he thought to himself, and this thought eased the burden on his soul.

The flap at the opening of Ghazala’s tent was not tightened and it swayed slowly in the breeze. With furtive steps Ibrahim crept up to the flap and lifted one end. The dim light of the moon penetrated between the flaps into the tent. The bed in the corner of the tent was empty: no sheikh, no young wife. Had his wife gone to join him with the flock? Could that be? – And it vexed Ibrahim greatly that Ghazala should go after her elderly husband to the flock. And while he dwelled on this thought, he was pushed as if of his own accord through the half-open flap into the tent. Ibrahim heard the sound of a jump from behind him – something warm caressed his neck, and something smooth as a snake embraced his entire body. A head wrapped with black hair sprouted up as if from beneath the earth and from within the hair two eyes blazed like two torches… A burning kiss scorched his lips… Ibrahim was held in the arms of Ghazala, who was naked as the day she was born.

“Have you come to me… Do you love me? I waited for you… I love you!”

And before Ibrahim could find his thoughts, from outside the tent the sound of hoof beats was heard. The sheikh and the shepherds of the flock had come to the tent. A moment later, the sheikh’s mare stood in the tent opening and the sheikh’s voice, full of gaiety and affection, was heard:

“Ghazala!”

And he came into the interior of the tent…

For three days and three nights, Ibrahim was shut in and confined in Ghazala’s tent. That night, the sheikh’s shepherds grabbed Ghazala by the nape of her neck and dragged her and pulled her out of the tent and beat her brutally with ropes they held in their hands. Ibrahim butted like a lion out of its lair and pounced on them, and he subdued three of them; but their companions caught him, bound him with ropes, and threw him down next to Ghazala’s bedding place. And so he lay in the tent three days and three nights. He saw the faces of the armed shepherds that stood over him to guard him day and night. He saw Bedouins and Druze coming and going. And he heard the voice of the sheikh ordering and giving commands. And on the third day, Ghazala’s voice reached his ear, a moaning voice, the voice of severe torture. And when he heard her voice, all of him shuddered, and he raised a loud and bitter cry:

“Bring Sheikh Rashid to me!”

And the sheikh came and stood outside the tent. Ibrahim could not see his face, but could only hear his voice speaking to him:

“Let the son of Abu-Ibrahim say what is in his mouth, for I am listening.”

“Let not the sheikh spill innocent blood! The fault is all mine. Only I have transgressed. She is innocent. Her hand did no wrong. Take me out of the encampment and kill me that I may die the death of a scoundrel, but raise not your hand against her!”

And the sheikh answered not a thing. And Ibrahim heard only the sound of his footsteps as they drew further from the tent. And the sound of Ghazala’s moaning did not cease. Her tortures did not stop.

And on the morning of the fourth day, there came to Ibrahim in the tent three guards armed from head to foot and removed the ropes from his hands and from his feet.

“Get out of here and go back whence you have come.”

And Ibrahim jumped to his feet and stood:

“What thing has been done to Ghazala?”

“Get up and go!”

And Ibrahim set his face westwards and went, toward the Hula, and did not turn to look back.

Suddenly he was standing. He was standing on the hillside. A soft sighing voice reached his ears, the voice of a tortured soul. And he turned his face towards the voice and he saw that there under the sycamore Ghazala was sitting on the ground, her head cast downwards and her hair falling on her shoulders. And her hair was swaying slowly and from within it her sad face was visible. And from within her face two blood-soaked holes looked out at him…

“Ghazala!” cried Ibrahim, and with one leap he had reached her… And suddenly he stood like a pounded nail. From the other side of the sycamore, the face of the sheikh revealed itself to him. Old age had overtaken him. His face was pale as a corpse and his eyes broadcast horror. And great was the pain that was in his face, and greater sevenfold was the grief in his eyes. There was no spirit left in Ibrahim, his heart trembled and was moved from its place, and he turned and went.

A northern wind came from the Hermon and shook the Hula. The skies darkened with clouds black and heavy as lead. Continuous rain poured onto the earth. Ibrahim did not go east towards the mountains, but set his face towards the swamp. And when darkness had enveloped the world and the rain became a deluge, Ibrahim stood within the Hula swampland in the place where he had stood twice before… And at midnight, the reeds began to sway and the head of a woman rose from the marsh in sight of the face of Ibrahim. The face was sad, the hair was black, and in place of eyes – were two blood-soaked holes.

“Ghazala!” cried Ibrahim, leaping like a lion and jumping into the swamp, into the reeds…

_____

A row of graves stretches out by the river Tigris, the graves of hunters. Each year, the sons come and lay themselves down over the graves of their fathers, pour out their tears there, pray to Allah, and make a feast for their relatives. And only one grave at the end of the row stands neglected and desolate. The son does not come to lay himself down over his father’s grave and does not say his prayer over him. And the wind brings sand from the river and covers it, and has already covered up half of it…

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