Since the day Sheikh Abdullah was taken – God have mercy on his soul – to the true world, to eternal life, the heart of Fatmeh, the sheikh’s widow, turned to his mare for the better, for she had become orphaned of her master. Jealousy is an indecent trait – and Fatmeh had been a modest woman all her days, good-hearted and God-fearing, but there was no concealing the truth: a feeling of jealousy had weighed on her heart all these years towards her husband’s mare. Fatmeh was never one to converse much, even in the secrets of women, and certainly not to her husband’s face, whom she lived in fear of always. And so she poured out not her bitterness in talk either to her husband in private or to her companions in public. In the depths of her soul she guarded her silent grief. A bitter sentiment nested in her heart all the days of her life with her husband, for more than his soul was bound to her, it was bound to his mare.
But one mustn’t sin – and ingratitude is counted a great sin: – neither did her husband tire of her. Each week the sheikh would make his way to her at night from his tent to her tent, the women’s tent. And Allah had blessed the fruit of her womb. Each year she bore her husband a male child, not one daughter had she borne him. Would he not let his face shine upon her for this? Half her sons, whom Allah had not taken, were alive and well with her to this very day. Seven brave warriors were they, and with strength and might did they carry the banner of their father’s house, and all the houses of their adversaries lived in fear of them. And the sheikh was faithful to his wife and took no other wife in addition to her. Neither did he flog her much. Only infrequently, when his soul was very ill upon him, because the mare had given birth to a colt and not a filly, or one of the cows had given birth to a stillborn, or one of his adversaries had whitened his face in public, – only on such rare occasions would his fury burn like a fire. And if Fatmeh knew no better than to come before him suddenly at such a time – he knew no mercy… In his left hand he would hold her by the hairs of her head, and with his right hand he would whip her flesh once and twice and thrice with the crop he held in his hand… Quick-tempered was the sheikh, and in his temper he would growl like a beast of prey. And Fatmeh would moan silently, no sound of shouting would be heard from her mouth. And if at such a time her firstborn son, her soul’s delight, who clung to his mother with love, chanced upon her, and it seemed to her he might burst forth to deliver her from her tormenter – she would look at him pleadingly to warn him: “Keep thou! Thy father’s honor…”
Such evil instances were few in Fatmeh’s life, and over them she did not begrudge her husband. A husband would always be a husband, and from Allah was given him the right to be sovereign of his house and ruler of his wife. And what ruler would not sometimes use the power of his rule?
Only one thing troubled her heart: the sheikh’s excessive love for his mare. Whenever she heard the sheikh speaking fondly to his mare, and whenever she saw his hand tenderly and pleasantly stroking the mare’s mane, his face beaming with pleasure – her heart would shrivel from jealousy and grief. The sheikh never spoke to her like that, and never stroked her hair like that, and his face never shown on her like that even once… And Fatmeh came to dislike the mare.
Since the day Sheikh Abdullah was taken to the true world, her heart had softened, then, towards the mare. The feeling of jealousy had passed – and not, far from it, out of rejoicing in the mare’s misfortune. Allah keep her from such a criminal transgression! The calamity which had befallen her husband the sheikh because of the mare, had struck her head and crushed her heart like sudden thunder from the heavens, and in her wounded heart there was no room to spare for any sentiment aside from a heavy mourning.
And this is how it happened:
During the days of the festival of the prophet Reuben, Sheikh Abdullah went out, as he had always done, to partake of the horserace, and his seven sons went with him. The daughters-in-law too, the wives of the sons, went out with the men, and only Fatmeh alone remained in the household. And on the third day since the party’s leaving, the women suddenly returned to the tents, crying out loud and wailing. Fatmeh could hear the sound of their crying from afar, and ran out to them… And ill tidings were in the girls’ mouths: during the horserace, the sheikh’s mare faltered as she ran and did fall and overturn, her rider thrown backwards and his neck broken… While they still cried and wailed, the sons could be seen from afar returning ashen-faced to the tents… four sons carrying the father on their arms, his hair wild and scattered and his eyes closed; the fifth son leading the mare by her bridle, and the remaining two following behind, the sheikh’s crop and keffiyeh and agal in the hands of one, and the other holding the mare’s saddle. And in the rear, behind them, a large crowd of men, women, and children…
Fatmeh had never cried out loud in all her days, and knew not how to shout and wail. She would only sigh, silently sigh. And this time, too, she did not shout, running towards her sons… At first, her gaze fell on the mare – and a kind of whisper of pleasure moved in her heart… for just the blink of an eye… A burdensome feeling of sin seized her heart and her head – she almost fell… she grew pale… her gaze fell on the sheikh, she wanted to shout – and couldn’t. She wanted to cry out loud – and her voice choked. She wanted to embrace his head with her arms and caress him with great affection and mercy – and a feeling of shame hindered her. From the depths of her heart a voice trembled for her husband: “From now, I am yours, I only, and I will guard you like the apple of my eye” – and she restrained the voice in her heart. Words were taken from her mouth. She had never been one for words.
All of that day, the sheikh lay like a wooden log on his bed, neither moving nor stirring nor uttering any words from his mouth, his eyes closed. Only a quiet sigh, like a spirit out of the earth, broke out from time to time from his throat. Fatmeh stood the whole while at his feet, not taking her eye from his face. And at his head stood the old dervish, who had been summoned in haste to the sheikh, and he whispered his whisperings over him. A holy man was the dervish, and not one of the secrets of the creation was withheld from him. The dervish did not rest or remain silent: closing his eyes, whispering, spitting once to his right and once to his left, opening his eyes, raising them upwards, and closing them again, whispering and spitting, and the hajj – an elderly negro from among the swamp dwellers who too had been summoned in haste to the sheikh – assisted him. The dervish in his spirituality and the hajj in his corporeality. An iron horseshoe he whitened in the fire for the third time and with its edge burned the sheikh’s face – once his forehead, once his chin, once his left cheek.
And all their effort was in vain. And to no avail was Fatmeh’s warm prayer to Him that dwells in the heavens: the sheikh opens not the openings of his mouth and does not open his eyes.
And come darkness, when the dervish and the hajj had been paid and returned each to his abode, and Fatmeh remained alone in the tent by her husband’s bed, she thought his hand made a slight movement, beckoning her closer to him… And when she approached his head and bent her head over his face, she heard his whisper:
“Let no man ride her… She shall be kept…”
And when he had stopped whispering, a deep and heavy sigh broke out from his mouth, and his soul left him.
_____
And when the days of mourning were ended, at the end of the seven days of eating and drinking and receiving guests who came to console and to taste of the mourners’ table, Fatmeh rested. And she told her sons their father’s final words, and admonished them to carry out his will, and not forget to take care of “her”, to feed her and clean her and keep her from all harm.
Fatmeh’s heart belonged to the mare. Each morning, as she awoke, she hurried to see if her trough had been filled. And the cattle herders, her small grandchildren, she ordered to bring back from the field, when they returned with evening, a bundle of soft, fresh grass for the mare. And if it seemed to her that the mare was sad, mortified like one in mourning – she was overcome with mercy, and she approached her and stroked her mane and the bare part of her neck. And as she cared so for the mare, it was good and pleasant for her, too.
Fatmeh began to pay attention to herself as well. For many, many years it seemed she had forgotten her own existence in the world. Long, long ago had her attention had been diverted elsewhere. What was she and who was she within all the whirl of life around her, to think of herself? And suddenly it was as if she remembered that somewhere, among the tents, in the tent of Sheikh Abdullah, his widow Fatmeh still lives and breathes. And this to her was good. And she was relieved. And the fear, too, was removed from her, and the distress that had oppressed her always had passed and was gone…
Sometimes, from the drudge and toil of housework or with the cattle, she would forget herself, as in those days, and feel only the hardship of the work – and suddenly the sound of hoofbeats came to her ears, borne in a tempest galloping towards the tent… Taken aback, she lurched from her spot, shrinking behind the tent-flap, looking out from the slit to see his face and wonder: is his mood good or bad? … But then he passed from her face like a cherub of heaven, and she cast the fear and grief from her heart. Her face adorned itself in light and the very deep wrinkles in it became as if smoothed somewhat. From down the road her firstborn son whom she loved could be seen, his face saying to her from afar: “Be calmed. Look and see: the crop hangs orphaned there in the corner of the tent… There is no evil raised against thee…”
Fatmeh was relieved. Her heart was good to the mare. And her heart was good to herself.
_____
The good days did not last long. Something began to vex Fatmeh’s heart again. It was well known that after his death, the husband would come from time to time in a night’s dream to the wife that he left in the lower world, to visit and to ask her to tell him of his sons and of his household. So the knowledgeable old women would tell Fatmeh. And sometimes they wanted to know from her own mouth what Sheikh Abdullah had asked her. And one neighbor lady bothered her much with her questions, as if it was her intention to upset her. This woman’s eye had been ill to her always. Even when the sheikh had been alive, she had cast a narrow eye at her, for already in her youth she had been jealous of her for having attained that honor – marrying Abdullah.
Fatmeh hid her face and bit her lips. To reveal her shame was difficult. For almost a year, since the sheikh had gone, he still had not appeared to her in a night’s dream even once. Why? Had he forgotten his sons and his household? Had he forgotten his mare? Had he not commanded her before his death?!
And once again Fatmeh went about under the distress of knowing that her husband’s heart had departed from her… Had he tired of her after his death? What wrong had she done him?
And sometimes the thought scared her: perhaps the sheikh had appeared to his mare in a night’s dream, to ask her of the goings-on in his household? And she feared this thought of hers – perhaps it was a sin… Would a Muslim man come to a beast in a night’s dream?
And the doubt gnawed at her heart. She wanted very much to reveal her heart to a wise man – a hajj or a dervish, or just an elder. But she guarded her mouth out of shame, lest she become a laughing-stock, or worse – lest she sin against her soul!
_____
The memory of her husband began to pound at her heart. Each day his memory rose before her. All day, even at night, she thought of him. All that she remembered from the days of his life brought her pleasure. Even the memory of the floggings… the crop, which she hated most – it now pleased her gaze when she encountered it…
All at once Fatmeh remembered the day she had seen the sheikh for the first time. She had never recalled that day. The days of her life had not been days of reminiscence.
Even in her virginity in her father’s house, she had not known leisure. Her father was forever raging; her mother, one of her father’s three wives, was always anguished, bowing under the burden of hard work. And Fatmeh’s hands too were always laboring, ever since her childhood. By day she went with her brothers to herd the cattle in the swamp, by night her hands spun thread together with all the women of the tent, her father’s wives and her sisters. When she had grown, her brothers took her by day to work in the gardens, orchards, and fields as a day laborer for strangers, and by night she helped the women cook, bake, launder, and with the cows in the cowshed. In the summer, at harvest season, she worked with the harvesters in the field from the sun’s rise to its setting, and at threshing season – on the threshing floor.
And Fatmeh knew blows, too. Her father would by habit each day beat someone of his household – one of his wives or one of his sons and daughters. And when he beat, he beat furiously and would have no compassion. Merciful beatings had no effect, to his mind. And Fatmeh too did not emerge unscathed from his hands.
The women of the tent, including Fatmeh, did not know rest during holidays and festival days, either. During Eid al-Qorban and Eid al-Fitr, their hands were filled with double and triple work. Only one day a year was a holiday for the women, too. After the harvest and the threshing, all the tent dwellers went out to Rubin, the festival of the prophet, to spend their time pleasantly among the sea dunes. The men celebrated for three days, and one day, the third day, was given also to the women. On that day the women were free from all work, from morning light until evening, and all hours of the day they stood huddled, watching and observing the men’s games, the wrestling and the horse races. The horserace – no spectacle took the girls’ hearts captive like it.
And here, at Rubin, Fatmeh saw Abdullah for the first time.
_____
…The girls stood in a huddle, crowding each other aside, and whispers of surprise, revelry, and enthusiasm were on every lip. Gallant riders came in a long row which slowly approached the wide field designated for the horserace. From the sands, behind the steep dunes where their mares warmed up – came the riders, their hands halting them with great effort, lest they burst forth from the line.
Fatmeh stood across from them and looked at the faces of the riders. She recognized and knew them all from the competitions of previous years. Since she was ten, she had come each year to watch the horserace. Only the face of one she did not recognize and did not know from beforehand – the rider passing in middle of the row on his white mare. How wonderful they were, the rider and his mare! How young was the rider! Almost a boy. Sturdy as an oak. His face radiating strength.
“Abdullah… The young sheikh of Arab abu-Kishk… His father died this year,” Fatmeh heard the whispers of the older girls who stood in front of her.
“How handsome he is,” the words escaped her mouth. And the older girls turned their faces to her and laughed. Fatmeh’s heart sank within her, her face blushed and she covered it with her headscarf. The line of riders came nearer, passing in front of the girls – they met face to face, their eyes flashed at each other, and it seemed to Fatmeh that the black eyes scorched her face – the sparkling eyes of the young rider.
The young rider in the middle lifted his drawn sword and waved it above his head, and all the riders did likewise in the blink of an eye, spurred their horses, pulled on their reins – and the legs of all of them launched all at once into a flight-like run, as if on the wings of vultures. A cloud of sand and dust rose above the mares like a wall between the girls and the riders. And it vexed them much that they stood behind the riders and not in front of them… Where stood the men.
It took only a few moments for the cloud of sand and dust to scatter, slipping away as if it had never been, and the row of riders appeared again before the girls’ eyes, returning towards the girls, and at the head of the line, several paces in front of the line – the young rider, his hand clutching his drawn sword above his head. He had won the first race.
Twice more the riders passed by in flight, and each time Abdullah returned the winner. The entire crowd all around cheered, and the screeches of the girls who cheered too in his honor grew louder.
_____
Until the days of the next festival of Rubin, Fatmeh saw Abdullah no more, but much did she hear his name on the mouths of travelers as they spoke to her father and her brothers, and also on the mouths of the girls who came to the well to draw water, and well she knew that there had not arisen in the land a more spirited rider as he, nor was there one like him in knowing the souls of mares. And it was also told of him that he was quick-tempered, and that in his wrath as it waxed, he heeded no man.
And again came the days of Rubin, and Fatmeh saw Abdullah this time, too, at the horserace. And again many black eyes flashed at the young victor, Fatmeh’s eyes too.
And one day, a number of weeks after Rubin, as Fatmeh was busy laundering the coarse and dirty undergarments behind the tents, the sound of hoofbeats reached her ears as they rode over the main road towards her father’s tent. Fatmeh looked from the behind the angle of the tent, and a company of Bedouin were dismounting from their horses, and her father and her brothers met them with warm greetings. And among the guests was also the young sheikh, Abdullah. Fatmeh’s soul trembled: what was there for him in her father’s house, and why had his feet carried him here?
In the women’s tents there was chaos and confusion. There was much work to do receiving the guests, and Fatmeh too was called to help. From the bits of words that escaped the mouths of the brothers, who ran hurriedly back and forth from the women’s tents to the guest tent, their hands full of refreshments – coffee, dates, rice fried in oil, dried figs, pita bread dipped in oil, and roasted meat – the purpose of the guests’ arrival became known to the women, too.
Fatmeh’s father had a mighty stallion, famous throughout the area, and Abdullah’s soul desired him to breed his mare. A heated argument arose between the guest and his host. The host was loathe to accept from his guest money as a stud-fee, and the guest foreswore on the life of his soul accepting for free a gift of charity from his host. And after heated words and oaths and vows from both sides, they agreed between them: if the mating was a blessing and the mare bore, with Allah’s help, a filly – Fatmeh’s father would receive no pay, and it would be thought an honor for him that from his stallion the filly came to Abdullah, the acclaimed rider, whom all the sons of Arabs took pride in. And if, God forbid, a colt was born – he would belong entirely to Fatmeh’s father, and Abdullah’s mare would nurse him until he was weaned.
And when the guests’ hearts were merry with the feast, the negotiation settled peaceably, and Abdullah’s mare brought to the stallion to be bred, Abdullah’s escorts, the sons of his father’s house, stood up and said to the master of the house:
“We will not leave the shadow of your roof until we have made a pact of marriage between us. You have a daughter in your old age, and our master the sheikh seeks him a wife of his youth – let us shake hands; your daughter for Sheikh Abdullah.”
And again an impassioned argument arose, long and very extended, over the bride-money and the conditions, and all the smallest details. First, the master of the house said:
“If Sheikh Abdullah’s soul wants my daughter, let her be his with no bride-money, the honor of his father’s house is more to me than silver and gold.”
But when the guests heard these words, they leapt from their places as if bitten with rage:
“Is our master the sheikh as one of the paupers, to take him a wife with no bride-money?”
And Sheikh Abdullah sat and heard – and was silent.
Finally, it was agreed:
If, with Allah’s assistance, Abdullah’s mare should bear a filly – then the filly and half the mare shall be to Fatmeh’s father – in lieu of the bride price of his daughter. And if, God forbid, a colt is born – then the colt shall belong to Fatmeh’s father as agreed – and also the mare in her entirety shall be his as the daughter’s bride price.
And the guests left and returned to their home happy and good-hearted. And the heart of Fatmeh’s father, too, was very good upon him.
Some months later the wedding was celebrated in utmost splendor. Noble sheikhs, from near and far, came to honor the faces of the groom and the father of the bride – from the south and the north and the east of the land they came. On a camel, decked with purple cloth and silver and gold, sat the bride. And the groom rode on his splendid mare, surrounded by the great men of the land, riding on renowned mares. And the groom’s mare was decorated with every valuable possessed by his father’s house, and the sheath of his sword was pure silver. Three days and three nights the festivities and celebrations lasted, twenty sheep were slaughtered and five calves, twenty tins of olive oil were opened, and pita bread by the hundreds were baked of wheat flour. Both the father of the bride and the groom spent generously.
And when the three days were over, Fatmeh was brought to her husband’s house, to dwell in it all the days of her life.
And when Allah remembered Fatmeh and she conceived to her husband – the days of the mare’s pregnancy were at an end and she foaled… and bore a colt. That was the first time Fatmeh saw her husband in his anger. And his fury burned in him destructively. And for the first time since their wedding, Sheikh Abdullah stretched out his left hand to grasp his wife’s hair, while his right hand grasped the crop to flog her with brutal lashes. And his mouth was full of swearing and curses against her father…
The mare and the colt both passed into the possession of Fatmeh’s father, as had been stipulated. And Sheikh Abdullah went about angry and scowling. And at the end of summer, when the harvest was over, Sheikh Abdullah left his home to go south, and he traveled a distance of thirty days, and on his return he brought with him the mare that he would ride until the last of his days, and he loved her and guarded her like the pupil of his eye until the day of his death.
_____
…When Fatmeh began to remember her husband, she began to age with each passing day. Her heart ceased to think fondly of his mare, and she no longer watched over her. And sometimes she looked at her with loathing. And sometimes she said to herself, as if to console herself while looking at the mare:
“The sheikh will take me to him ere he takes you…”
Her grandchildren who tended the herd saw that the old woman was no longer mindful of the mare, and began to treat her frivolously.
And one day, as the sun set, with the returning of the herd of cattle from the field and among them the mare, Fatmeh glanced at her and her heart fell: the mare’s face looked very bad. How had she not noticed this until now? Her head was bent, her ears cast downwards, and her stomach shriveled. Fatmeh hurried, came up to her and held her head. The mare breathed heavily, and the look in her eyes was full of sorrow.
“What has happened to the sheikh’s mare?” Fatmeh asked with trepidation. And while she asked – her perceptive eye recognized on the mare’s hairy back signs of riding…
Her trepidation increased sevenfold. Had the sheikh’s will been violated?
She refused to believe what her eyes were seeing, and felt about with her shaking hands… Indeed, the abomination had been done!
“Who has dared to ride the mare?” shouted the old woman with every last bit of spirit she had. And the faces of the grandchildren herders were shamed and they buried their gazes in the ground.
And while the old woman wept and clapped her hands – her firstborn son came from the field, riding his mare. Her leapt off of his mare, came near to his mother, took her withered and shaking hand, kissed it, and said in a whisper:
“A despicable act has been done…two of thy grandchildren competed at riding on the sheikh’s mare. I saw them in their iniquity.”
The mother’s face became jaundiced with grief, pain, and shame – and of a feeling of grave sin… Her knees failed, and if not for her son who supported her, she would have fallen to the ground then and there.
_____
At midnight, when a deep sleep fell on the whole universe, Sheikh Abdullah appeared to his wife Fatmeh. He appeared to her for the first time since he had passed away. He stood before her angry and scowling, the hair on his head wild and his eyes closed, and only his lips spoke:
“The lot of you have violated my word… You have not kept my will… Tomorrow I take my mare to me… You are not worthy that I leave her among you… And such will you do: a sack of sifted barley will you send with her, the saddle, the bridle, and the crop…”
And when he had finished saying these things, he berated and rebuked Fatmeh – and she startled, and shouted, and awoke from her sleep.
And Fatmeh knew that the sheikh had appeared to her in a night’s dream, and her heart rejoiced, and her value increased in her sight. Now she too had seen her husband appear in a night’s dream, as did all Muslim wives. And she was relieved of her grief and the pain of her disgrace… but only enough to calm her. Her husband’s words still rung in her ears, and they kept on ringing, as if they had not ceased. And again her heart fell in on her, and she grew smaller in her sight… Even his final grace the sheikh had denied her. The mare he would take to him – before her.
Her sleep drifted; she could fall asleep no more. She rose from her bed, left the tent, and approached the mare… The fear of God fell on her… The mare lay dead, there was no breath of life in her… She had become entangled in the rope she was tied with – and strangled… Fatmeh yelled a great and bitter yell, and to the sound of her yelling came all her sons, and tried to raise the mare and revive her spirit – and they could not. Mourning descended upon the tents.
When the sun had risen, the sons dug a deep hole behind the tents and, at their mother’s request, placed in it a sack of sifted barley, and the saddle, the bridle, and the crop – and they covered the hole.
And on the third day after the mare’s death, in the morning, Fatmeh was found lying dead on her bed. Her soul had left her silently, without a sigh or a shout.
Her sons and her neighbors escorted her with great respect to her final resting place, and mourned her for three days of eating and drinking and words of praise.
▄