He stopped talking for a while, took a little rest, and then went on.
“I was cruel to everyone I met in the desert. I was kind only to my wives and you, my children.”
“Allah is gracious, Father; he will have mercy on you and forgive you if you try to repent,” said the younger son.
“Don’t you interrupt me! It’s impossible to forgive me. What’s worse, I don’t regret anything. I have always taken pleasure in hurting people.
Once, a long time ago, I was having a rest in an oasis. My men had come to know that a huge caravan was traveling several riding days away from us. There were about hundred men, women and children in the caravan, and they were carrying a real fortune with them.
We had been preparing for the attack for two days. I gathered a group of thirty men. They were all bloodthirsty and ruthless fighters.”
The sons knew a lot about their father, but they had no idea of what he was telling them now.
“We soon caught up with them. Some twenty men were standing on guard of the caravan. We killed them all so quickly that they even were not able to resist us.”
The old man’s eyes shone with a strange delight; as if he was attacking his victims fiercely while talking to his sons.
He paused again, sipped some water and went on with his story:
“The men died like heroes. I have never regretted killing them. And I’ve never thought about their families. We left the bodies to the beasts, right in the desert.
We divided their fortune between us but it didn’t seem enough for us. So we decided to sell our captives into slavery in El-Bayda.*[15]
There was a long way ahead us, and we were short of food. We avoided the populated places.
I remember the greed with which we divided food between us. We took much for ourselves and gave too little to the captives. And we hardly gave any water to them.
I will never forget how a young woman begged me to give some water to her child. I got rid of her with the help of a whip. Next day the woman followed her way without the child.
Now I recall the exhausted and wizened faces of the children who were no longer able even to beg for anything.
I didn’t feel any sympathy for them. None of the children reached El-Bayda. We could have dropped in at some places and got some water, but we tried to avoid inevitable fights.
None of us felt sorry for the murdered and perished, or took a tiny wee bit of pity on them.”
The brothers listened to the description of the cruel events frozen all over. It was incredible that those atrocities were committed by a human, and that the human was their own father.
None of them tried again to comfort their dying father, assuring him that Allah would forgive him.
“You should have understood by now that I can’t be forgiven. So much so that I don’t even regret what I have done. At times I regret killing the children though, and that’s why I don’t want to die with my natural death. I want to experience the worst thing that might happen to an Arab. I want to die from the hand of my own sons. I want you to cut me to pieces and leave my remains in the desert to feast the animals.
You should know that it’s not a request, I have never asked you for anything; it’s my last order and you, my sons, have to obey it. Don’t be afraid. Allah will not punish you for this.
Doing so, you will kill a Shaitan[16] , and fulfill your father’s last will.”
***
The sun had already reached its zenith when the two warriors, riding loaded camels, set off, leaving the human remains behind them.
After some time, the elder one said with a feeble, broken voice: “Let Allah take mercy over our souls.”
They say, it all happened during the early years of the previous century.
Pakistan
June 20, 2011
STRAY DOGS
Them calls us stray dogs. So what? Let them do as them wishes. On the other hand, us isstray dogs indeed, for nobody don’t let us enter them homes, and we don’t have no masters.
A friend of mine from the neighborin’ quarter sleeps in various yards and entrance halls. So what? He is a smart doggie anyway. He can understand not only cursin’ and naggin’, but a normal speech of them humans. I mean it. And he hasn’t even spent no single day at school.
Them who is well-bred in the best families, them who done been taught how to give a paw to them masters or when to give them voices, are still awfully misbehaved. Them runs out into the street for five minute, pee at some wall, pollute the environment and rushes back to them clean and polished parquet floors again.
Have them done been taught at school to pollute them others’ habitat and then sleep peacefully, shampooed all over, in them comfortable easy-chairs? And them masters, them giant mans who walks them out, says nothing to that horrible fact. How can us manage to teach them a good lesson for this terrible disrespect? Them huge guys, the masters, is ready to call special organization that ‘takes care’ of the stray dogs, catches them, turns them into soap or sends them to the eternal sleep!
Nay, I ain’t not complaining. I just don’t understand why folks regards us as stray doggies and them as thoroughbreds? In what way is them better then us is? Is them smarter, prettier or better-behaved?
Us don’t relies on nobody. Us wins our own bread ourselves. It’s only a rare case when some good guy offers us a generous food nowadays. Them good guy folks vanished long ago. There was lots of them earlier though.
But in some way us is happier than them is, indeed. Them gets married after them masters’ will or with the help of the whole team of the match-makers. But us marries only the bitches us likes and loves. Believe me, if I take to some bitch, I can follow her to the other end of the city without no moment of hesitation.
Can them molly-coddles takes a sweet bone to them sweethearts from one end of the city to the other?
Them can my ass!
Pard’n me for using the impertinent tongue, for me is a stray dog. But every word me says comes from the bottom of me heart.
Everything comes from the bottom of us hearts – both hatred and love.
Them intelligent hounds done been taught to hunt or eat people up for ages. Wretched, ain’t it? If a person done no wrong to me, why should me eats him up? As for hunting, well, all of us done been after us game since us done born.
Us don’t dance to nobody else’s music. Us can never be led by the noses. Us hunt when us is hungry!
Well, me is not goin’ to sue you for the violation of us rights, of course. Neither is me goin’ to beg you to take care of us. It’s no use, me knows. But me will remind you of something: don’t forget that you should not ignore us. If there is some kind of problem in our district, us can solve it much better than them shampooed cuddle puppies.
So, my dear fellars, think twice before you calls us stray dogs and worship them artificial creatures.
Us has us own place in the city and under the sun. So you mind your P’s and Q’s while dealin’ with us!
Me apologizes for me ignorant talk. Me is a stray doggie, you know, and me lacks good breedin’.
Pakistan,
June 20, 2011.
THE CAPTAIN
In Casablanca, in the café Tubkala on the beach, you would often see an old sailor. His tanned face, rough features, thick, gnarled and a bit deformed fingers – all suggested that he had been at sea for a long time.
He spent most part of the day in the café or on the beach. When he got bored with sitting still in the café, he went out and took a slow walk along the shore. His clothes were fit for any sort of weather. Most of all he enjoyed taking a stroll in bad weather. He would put on his waterproof coat and, as if challenging the weather, walk as slowly as he could. At times he paused and gazed at the rough waters of the ocean, his gaze searching for someone or something beyond the huge waves.