The cortege reached the tomb’s perimeter, and the council of wise elders sent a messenger to represent them and negotiate with the women. These discussions began in veiled language as the women chanted many demands on behalf of the virgin. Then the envoy would rush back to the council with these before returning to the cortege, saying each time that the groom’s spokesmen had pledged to fulfill these demands and that they would even build for the virgin, should she want it, a house located between the earth and the sky.
The women gained courage from this and took a step closer to the tomb and then more steps. Finally the women knelt and wept grievously before they handed over their treasure, placing the bride’s hand in the diviner’s.
5
The wedding ceremonies ended.
The prophetic rituals commenced.
The crowd dispersed, and the noble elders went their separate ways. Inside the tent that had been erected over the tomb, the diviner sat mumbling secret talismans while clutching the beauty’s wrist. He began his instructions in a mysterious voice. “Every woman will find herself wailing in a corner one day while a man holds her wrist. The beauty is luckier than all the other girls because she has been chosen to enter the leader’s eternal home.”
The young woman’s wail grew louder. She muttered softly, “But I’m afraid.”
“A young woman has a right to be afraid on entering the house of a man who holds her wrist, because man is the spouse of pain. But what right does the beauty have to be afraid when she sleeps beside a man who has dozed off eternally?”
The girl’s wail died away, and her virginal breathing became more regular. In a voice like the wind whispering in the retem groves, she murmured, “I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of being alone. I’m afraid … of the tomb!”
“Solitude is a necessary precondition for prophecy, my daughter. Don’t forget that you will bring a prophecy back to the tribe tomorrow.”
She sighed deeply, as if relieved of a burden, but her wrist continued to tremble in the diviner’s hand.
The diviner returned to his instructions. “You will lie down soon and rest your head on the stone of the sanctuary. Have no fear, because I’ll be near you. Know that there is no reason for you to fear loneliness or solitude or the Spirit World in a place the diviner frequents. I will be near you, because I am a diviner, and the diviner is destined not to sleep. You will feel drowsy. When you sleep, you will hear a commotion. Don’t be afraid then. After the commotion, the bee will come. You will hear the bee buzzing, but don’t be afraid. Once this buzzing ceases, our master will arrive immediately. He will come to speak. Listen very carefully to what he says. Listen and remember every word. His remarks may seem strange or cryptic to you or even laughable, but beware: Don’t forget or disdain what he says. Don’t forget what is said. Don’t underrate an expression that may seem devoid of meaning, because words you think lack meaning may be more important than those you find meaningful. So beware!”
The virgin whispered with a virgin’s curiosity, “But does my master think that my master will show himself?”
“He may if he feels like it, but what’s important is what he says. Remember that the bee’s buzzing will precede it. In any event, pay attention!”
6
The diviner arrived at first light and was surprised to find people hovering around the tent. He assumed they were curiosity seekers from the hoi polloi. When he made out the features of the hero, however, he shouted, “I thought only diviners were entitled to stay up nights; reading the news in the hordes of stars is their calling.”
The hero jokingly replied, “But my master forgets that the tribes don’t wake the diviner when danger threatens the campsite. Instead they rush to the hero’s tent.”
The diviner inquired anxiously, “Danger?”
“The bride of our master, the leader, has had a mishap.”
“A mishap?”
“Her body is feverish, there is a crazed look in her eyes, and her breathing is so labored she seems to be taking a bitter last gasp.”
The diviner rushed at the group blocking the tent’s entrance. They parted ranks for him. Inside, women were gathered around the girl, and a few old men sat off in a corner. The tent’s air was stifling. Foul-smelling, acrid salves mixed with the stench of suspect herbs the old women had squirreled away in their belongings for a long time — the way amulets are tucked away — till they had acquired the musty smell of old bones burning. The only scent he could identify in this upsetting potpourri was wormwood. He felt suffocated by the smoke, and the burning incense made him dizzy. He confronted the women and scolded them loudly, “Stop this! Get this out of here!”
They made a path for him through the group, and he scrutinized the girl. Her face’s pallor resembled a corpse’s, but her whole body was burning with fever. She was shaking, stretching, and trembling violently. Thick foam oozed from her lips, and trails of saliva ran from her mouth. Her charming plaits hung loosely down, and her braids had divided into matted little hairs covered with dust.
The women surrounded her. One morose old lady was pressing the girl’s body with thin, twiglike hands crisscrossed by many braids of veins. By the girl’s head stood another equally stern woman from whose hands dangled a ceramic censer. Long use had marked it and the burning incense had charred it, turning it as black as a piece of coal. Lethal, legendary fragrances emanated from this pottery vessel. The sullen woman went back and forth between the hearth at the entrance and the group of women each time the incense burned out.
He shot a threatening glance at this woman and said in a harsh voice, “Go away!”
The old woman took a step back and replied just as threateningly, ‘‘Would the diviner interfere when he knows better than anyone that when morning comes and the bride leaves her husband’s tent she becomes the women’s responsibility?”
“But the husband whose home the virgin has left isn’t just any husband. When the virgin leaves the dwelling of a slumbering leader she becomes the diviner’s responsibility, because you know that the fruit of the union in this case is a prophecy, not a child.”
“See what the diviner’s prophecy has done to the tribe’s virgin! She went to seek a prophecy and returned from the Spirit World crazed.”
“People like you can become crazed even when loitering in the open countryside — why should you criticize the possession of someone begging for a prophecy from a man who resides in the Spirit World?”
“But she, Master, will die. The girl will soon join the leader and live in the tomb if you don’t bring a sorcerer to free her from captivity by the jinn.”
“Has she said anything? Anyone who got here before me must repeat every word she said, even if it seems nonsense or idle chatter.”
“She has been raving; the poor dear hasn’t stopped raving since her first scream woke us.”
The diviner leaned over the old woman’s head till the end of his turban touched the covers. In a self-controlled voice like a whisper he asked, “What did she say while she was raving? If you collect your wits and remember one statement from what you call raving, I will reward you handsomely.”