1.6.9
When all had been gathered by the public crier in one place, the sweets brought in on dishes like a herd of camels heading up a race, the emir made an oath and swore, “I shall not taste of these, till Abū Dulāmah”160 (meaning the Fāriyāq) “has composed two lines of praise impromptu!” The Fāriyāq, not slow to respond, came up with the following, in situ:
Abū Dulāmah by nature can scarce forbear to mock
For mockery’s in his nature fixed.
But this date-and-butter pudding stopped him in his tracks
When his sour tongue with its sweetness mixed.
The company went into transports over the lines, to the point that the emir couldn’t restrain himself from shaking the Fāriyāq’s hand and kissing him between the eyes. This sealed their mutual conciliation and all returned home in jubilation, though our friend went to his house and swore he’d never again tie his forelock to any great man’s skirts and would block his ears to the reverberations of their reputations, though they rang louder than any church bells’ tintinnabulations.
CHAPTER 7: A DONKEY THAT BRAYED, A JOURNEY MADE, A HOPE DELAYED
1.7.1
Thereafter the Fāriyāq continued to practice his first profession, becoming, in the process, as sick of it as the invalid of his bed. He had a true friend who kept an eye on how he was; once they met and embarked on a discussion of how a person might keep himself fed and cut a dash before others by dint of wearing the best thread, both concluding that the people of their day judged others not by their virtue and discrimination but by their attire and its decoration, that those who were born to the wearing of the silk-wool, silk, cotton, and linen that are hung on the pegs of merchants’ stores were of greater account than those who were without of such things, and that a person, be he petty and dumb, so long as his pantaloons and drawers were baggy, was the one man all would point to as noble and learned and who’d be praised by every tongue. They ended up agreeing that they’d acquire some goods for trade and try to sell them in certain towns, as a way to observe how their inhabitants lived and to dispel the rancor from their minds.
1.7.2
They hired a donkey to carry their wares, though the donkey was so thin and emaciated he could barely carry his own carcass, let alone whatever might be put on top of him. Nothing of any force was left him but his bray and his fart. The first of these was an appeal for fodder, the second directed at any who threw a pack-saddle on him and at any prodder. Then they set off, cutting the cloth of success to fit the figure of hope, measuring out the carpet of triumph to fit fate’s scope. By the time they reached their destination, however, the donkey was at the edge of a crumbling dike of prostration, while the Fāriyāq too was about to give up the ghost from fatigue and vexation, remorseful at having abandoned his pen, however ungiving, along with the little it spat out by way of a living.
1.7.3
That day he discovered the consequence of greed and where cupidity can lead. He realized how foolish he’d been to lust after that which brings with it physical contusion and mental confusion. It is also true, though, that the wise man is he who extracts some benefit from each reverse, some advantage from each circumstance adverse. Even in loss of health there’s benefit to him whose path is straight, good fortune for him who doesn’t deviate, for the soul of the sick man stretched out head upon pillow is too constrained to pursue depravity, forbidden lusts, or mortal iniquity. As the disease makes him weaker, his insight becomes stronger, and he sees things more plainly as the pain lasts longer, thus pleasing both God and men with his behavior. This was how things stood with the Fāriyāq, after he had suffered through these travails, for when he became sensible of the hardships of travel, and saw what it had to offer by way of trials, it became clear to him that the slit of the pen nib was more capacious than the salesman’s sack, colored wares less gay than ink, however black, while to the marketing of goods there pertained a stigma no less great than that of buboes or of goiter. He determined, therefore, that, on returning to his hometown, he’d rest content with whatever ease or discomfort life might bring, not caring if he were a man of note, wore an elegant coat or lived like a king, and that never again through the world’s cities would he pass, walking behind an ass.
1.7.4
Now, were I to describe the donkey after our fashion, my dear Arab nation, I’d say he was a slow-witted beast with a vicious kick, balky, stubborn, and shaggy, with a hide that was thick, scarce willing to move without the stick. Catching sight of a drop of water on the ground, he’d think it a flotsam-covered ocean and, as scared as though it promised death, shy from it like an ostrich and make a commotion.
1.7.5
Were I, though, to describe him in the Frankish way, I’d say he was a donkey son of a donkey, born of a she-ass all of whose ancestors were donkeys. His color tended toward the black and his hair felt like thorns when you touched his back; his ears were cropped and listless, his legs stiff, his coat starting to fall, and he was toothless; wide-mouthed, slack-lipped, and with hide discolored, he kicked out when goaded and when driven walked with buttocks splayed, not to mention that he sniffed at she-asses’ pee, rolled on the ground, smeared his dung everywhere and sprayed. The stick on him had no effect, nor did rebuke, when he disobeyed and he never moved unless he sensed food, be it only darnel. No trace of animal nature would he show until a she-ass he espied; then you’d see him frisk and gambol, show vigor and pull the bridle to one side, so that he often overturned his load or sent it askew; and another peculiarity he had too, which was that, rarely though his molars were put to work, everywhere he defecated and incessantly over hill and dale he flatulated, making him seem yet more ill-fated. He’d been raised in lands where there was an abundance of cabbage, radish, rape, turnip, and cauliflower, as there is in certain foreign parts, and was therefore accustomed from his youth to producing farts, and this condition had only grown worse as he’d grown older. Thus any who walked behind him had, perforce, to hold his nose and keep saying “How coarse!” In any case, whichever of the two descriptive modes you choose, of all the pains of the journey and its injuries, keeping company with this beast was by no means the least.