He was starting to submerge once more when the whispering started again. He discerned a feminine timbre to it. He listened for a time, but the voices fell silent and stillness prevailed, interrupted only by the cooing of a dove and the chirring of grasshoppers. He disappeared again, surrendering to the mysterious deeps, as vague insights were awakened in his consciousness. From the body of water he received a forgotten message. He strove to crack the talisman protecting it, but this was difficult. He struggled and did not give up. He almost succeeded, for consciousness’ smoldering coal flared up so that darkness was dispersed and existence was convulsed by a prophecy, but a commotion spoiled everything. He shot to the surface to find a row of beauties above him. He was unsure whether they were human beauties or beautiful jinn. They traded jests with a boldness unknown among the women of the desert and winked at one another with a coquettishness in which virginal bashfulness was not totally overshadowed by traces of the seduction of wanton hussies or even of the temptation of the women singers of whose audacity visitors from distant lands had provided him legendary accounts. They were haughty and uncannily similar in physique and height, and perhaps even in rank. They had beautiful faces, fair complexions, and large black eyes — like gazelles’ — that sparkled with promise, seduction, and passion. They wore wraps that concealed their towering bodies but revealed the contours of their full, curvaceous rumps. So he decided to jest: “Do I see female jinn or beautiful women?”
They all laughed again, and their bodies swayed back and forth, as if dancing at a celebration of the full moon. They so dazzled his eyes that he whispered some advice to himself: “Had no beautiful woman ever entered the desert, it would have been preferable to put your head under the water and keep it there forever.”
One of them, in a lilting voice, asked, “Why do you doubt we’re human?”
Without any hesitation he answered, as he plowed through the water, “Your beauty!”
They echoed in unison, “Beauty?”
Even so, he replied with the wiles of a man well acquainted with women, “Not merely your beauty, but your similarity. You resemble each other like female jinn.”
“Like female jinn?”
They laughed merrily, and then the woman with the seductive voice suggested, “You speak about the female jinn as if you belonged to that nation.”
“I’m not a jinni, but my first wife was one.”
They cried out with genuine curiosity, “Really?”
Then they started laughing again as they leaned their alluring figures over the bank of the spring. One of them requested, “Tell us about the female jinn. What are they like?”
In her eyes he saw a seductive look that no man experienced with women could have missed. He asked, “Do you mean in bed?”
They all laughed with genuine gaiety and for the first time blushed in embarrassment. So he decided to push the game one step further: “I’ve never found anyone to equal them in bed. They’re like blazing fire.”
The area resounded with their boisterous, flirtatious laughter, which no longer hid its bashfulness or seduction. He observed then that they were a covey of six beauties, each so comparable in allure and stature that it was hard to tell them apart. He seized the opportunity afforded by their mirth to ask, “Are you sisters?”
More than one responded, “Of course not!”
“As you know, I’m a stranger in this settlement, and the stranger is always entitled to consideration from the resident.”
“Speak!”
“I want to hear you sing at an evening party.”
One replied, “We’re singers by profession. What good would we be if we didn’t sing for men?”
He added mischievously, “A belle is only beautiful if she recites poetry. A belle is only beautiful if she slips into the bedchamber.”
Some laughed but others said, “It’s not right for a man who has just made shocking remarks to ask women to sing.”
“Shocking?”
“Didn’t you say — moments ago — that water’s embrace is more delightful than a beautiful woman’s?”
He disappeared into the water to seek prophetic inspiration to deliver him from this crisis. Then he said, “That was the tongue of the desert dweller speaking, not mine.”
“The desert dweller’s tongue?”
“Thirst’s tongue.”
“Thirst’s tongue?”
“A person who has never known the fire of the desert doesn’t understand the meaning of water; so forgive me.”
The woman with the seductive voice said, “Before you obtain our forgiveness, I have a piece of advice for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Never insult a woman, not even in private.”
“You’re right!”
“Do you know why?”
“I’m all ears.”
“Just as the birds carry seditious talk to a leader, the air is charged with carrying insults to a woman.”
“Are you a diviner?”
“Every woman is a diviner. A woman is instinctively a diviner.”
“You’re right, so right. I swear I’ll have to figure out how to repay you for this counsel, because advice is more precious than a pot of gold. That’s true even if it’s from the mouth of a fool; so, what then if it’s from the tongue of a beautiful woman?”
“Are you a poet?”
“Everyone in the desert is a poet; why ask?”
“Because the only appropriate recompense for a woman is praise in verses that tribes broadcast and that subsequent generations repeat. Similarly, there is no punishment for a woman more harmful than mocking her in an ode that’s repeated by every tongue and enjoyed by the tribes.”
He responded admiringly, “You’re right, so right.”
The woman with the seductive voice approached him and introduced herself: “I’m Tafarat.”
She stepped back so her companion could introduce herself: “My name’s Temarit.”
She stepped aside so her neighbor could present herself: “My name’s Tamanokalt.”
She drew back so the woman next to her could introduce herself: “My name is Tahala.”
She stepped back so her neighbor could come forward: “My name’s Tamuli.”
She stepped back so her friend could introduce herself: “My name is Taddikat.”
Silence prevailed. The dove stopped its cooing and the grasshoppers quieted their refrain. Then the stranger said, “My name is Isan!”
More than one of the covey exclaimed: “Isan! What a name!”
Then the proud beauty who had given her name as Temarit moved forward to say, “May I give you another piece of advice?”
When he nodded his bare head, she declared, “Be careful never to expose your head in a woman’s presence again.”
He was quick to defend himself: “I thought it shameful for a man to remove his veil in the desert, but not in the water.”
Temarit stepped back while Tamanokalt moved forward to elucidate the saying’s secret meaning: “If men realized how repulsive their faces are, they would never take their veils off.”
“What?”
“Their faces resemble camels’.”
“Camel faces?”
She stepped back so Tahala could add: “And their ears resemble donkeys’.”
“Donkey ears?”
She retreated, and Tamuli stepped forward to continue: “And their noses are birds’ beaks.”