Speak Bird Speak Again (3 page)

In
this collection we have included only the type of tale known in the
Palestinian dialect as hikaye or xurrafiyye - that is, "folktale"
proper. With such terms as Marchen, wonder tale, and fairy tale all
used to designate the kind of narrative under discussion here, the
word folktale almost defies definition. The Arabic terms, however,
provide us with helpful clues. The first, hikaye (which, correctly
translated, means "tale"), is derived from a root that
means not only "to narrate" but also "to imitate
(artistically)." Hence the designation hikaye puts the emphasis
on the mimetic, or artistic, aspect of narration, whereas xurrafiyye
(properly translated, "fabula") is derived from a root
stressing its "fabulous," or "fictitious,"
aspect. (The term xurrafiyye, we must note, is the more inclusive of
the two, for it is also used to refer not only to folktales but to
other types of fictional oral narrative as well.)

This
"fabulous" element in folktales has doubtless led the
community to consider them a form of kizib or "fantasy" or
"fiction" (literally, "telling lies"). And in
fact it was by recourse to such a label as "a tale that is all
lies from beginning to end" (as in the last episode of Tale 37)
that we most frequently elicited the type of material we sought. The
other designation used to obtain them, hikayat 'ajayiz ("old
women's tales"), has major implications for our understanding of
this genre, for it dearly indicates that society considers the
telling of these tales to be a woman's art form. Of the seventeen
tellers included here, only three are men.

In all
likelihood there is a direct relationship between the first label
("all lies") and the second ("old wives' tales").
To the extent that the tales are thought to consist of lies, adult
men tend to shun them, even though the vast majority of these men
were exposed to them repeatedly as children. And to the extent that
they are "old wives' tales," folktales are perceived by men
as being somehow silly, their telling an activity fit only for women
and children. The fabulous element in folktales lends them an air of
improbability and unreality. A man who likes to listen to and tell
folktales (in other words, an active male carrier) is considered to
be a niswanji, or one who prefers the company of women to that of
men. In their gatherings (diwan), men prefer to listen to epic
stories (sira), like that of Abu Zed il-Hilali, which is frequently
sung to the accompaniment of the rababa (single-stringed instrument
with a flat sound box made of wood and goat skin). They also like to
hear tales of Bedouin raids (gazw) and adventure (mugamarat). These,
collectively, are known as qissa (stories). Their content appears
more realistic. It is not necessarily thought that the events
described in them actually happened, only that they could have
happened. The heroes of these stories, especially if they have a
historical basis, are thought to have lived just yesterday and their
conduct is considered exemplary.

Another
major difference between folktales (hikaye) and stories (qissa) that
hinges on the gender of the narrator lies in the manner of delivery.
Because most folktale tellers are women, their narration involves
little gesticulation or physical movement. The performance aspect of
telling tales is minimized, with the tellers relying on their voices
and the power of the colloquial language to evoke a response. The
tales told in the diwan, in contrast, may involve a considerable
amount of physical movement and acting out of the narrative. The
distinction is especially apparent in cases where one person tells
both types of story. For example, Safi', one of our best tellers (see
"The Tellers," below), in performing to a male audience in
the diwan, would often jump up from his chair and try to act out the
narrative, whereas in telling folktales he remained seated and hardly
moved at all. Folktales thus offer their tellers a greater potential
for linguistic expression than do epic stories. They are told from
memory, and their language, though poetic in itself, is still the
language of prose and the speaking voice. The tellers are free to
give linguistic shape to the tale, to tell it in their own way, even
though they cannot change its form. The stories narrated in the
diwan, unlike folktales, are frequently in the measured language of
poetry, which must be recited rather than spoken, sometimes even with
the aid of a printed text.

The
Palestinian folktale is a highly developed art form. Its style,
though not artificial, follows linguistic and literary conventions
that set it apart from other folk narrative genres. It relies on
verbal mannerisms and language flourishes not used in ordinary
conversation, especially by men. Women were largely responsible for
developing this style, and they carry on the tradition. To sound
credible, men who tell these tales must adopt the narrative style of
women. Safi, for example, was reluctant at first to admit that he
knew folktales. He wanted to narrate the tales of romance and
adventure preferred by men at the diwan . We therefore had to tape
several hours of these romantic tales before he consented to tell
folktales. The art of the narrators consists in their ability to use
creatively the narrative style received from tradition. Folktale
style matures with age, and it is not surprising that the majority of
tellers represented here were over sixty years of age when the tales
were recorded (a fact also perhaps indicating that the Palestinian
folktale tradition is dying out; more on this below). The cultural
significance of old women's dominant role in folk-tale narration is
not to be underestimated. As we shall see, women in their maturity
are at the apogee of their authority in the society.

Folktales,
moreover, are told in a special setting that distinguishes them not
only from the stories recited in the men's diwan but also from other
types of folk narrative current in the society. Among these are tales
illustrating proverbs (matal), describing a rare event (nahfe,
nadre), or recreating a past occurrence (salfe); animal fables
(hikayet hayawan); jinn tales (hikayet jan), saints' legends (hikayet
wili); myths (ustura); and memorates (mugamara). A good illustration
of the last category occurs at the end of Tale 42, where the men are
sitting around on their side of the tent exchanging stories. These
forms of narrative do not require a special setting for their
telling. They are occasional and come up by chance in the course of
ordinary conversation, when someone might say, "This reminds me
of ...," and then proceed to tell the appropriate story. The
narration over, normal conversation resumes. These stories are rarely
told for their own sake, as folktales are, but are usually used to
illustrate a point, offer subtle recommendation concerning behavior,
or volunteer a different perspective on a subject.

The
settings in which the folktales presented here were recorded
generally resembled the authentic folktale settings of the past,
except for the presence of the tape recorder. The tales were all
recorded at the homes of the tellers in the presence of a small
audience, usually consisting of the collector and members of the
teller's family. Occasionally children would be present, influencing
thereby the course of the narration. Other than providing
appreciative responses and asking the occasional question about
unfamiliar words or expressions, the collector played a largely
neutral role. Once a session began, tellers usually volunteered tales
of their own accord. At the end of each telling, the collector
thanked the teller, saying, "God save your tongue!"
Although it was not difficult to locate tellers, it was not always
easy to get the material we were seeking (as in the case of Safi).

In the
past, folktales were told for entertainment, usually after supper
during winter evenings, when work in the fields was at a minimum and
people were indoors with time on their hands. During the summer there
were likely to be other forms of entertainment or subjects for
conversation, such as weddings and festive occasions, and folktales
were not told. The most common setting for taletelling was the small
family gathering, consisting of two or three mothers from a single
extended family and their children, combined perhaps with a neighbor
or two and their children. Although men were occasionally present at
these sessions, they preferred to spend their time in the company of
other men at the diwan . Large gatherings and formal visits are not
appropriate settings for the telling of tales, which requires a
relaxed and spontaneous atmosphere, free from the constraints imposed
by the rules of hospitality.

Telling
these folktales, then, is a social activity, part of a culture that
puts heavy emphasis on the oral tradition and verbal ability and
where conversation is valued for its own sake. People do not go
visiting expressly to hear folktales, but rather because they enjoy
each other's company and like to sit around in the evening chatting
(sahra). They go where conversation is good, and the evenings
entertaining. (The house of Safi is popular because both he and his
wife are good conversationalists and storytellers.) At these small,
intimate, family gatherings people casually drift into telling
folktales. Someone might say, "Tell us a tale!" and if the
mood is right a session begins. Usually the oldest woman present is
deferred to. If she knows a tale and wishes to tell it, she will
proceed with an opening formula such as "Testify there is no god
but God!" When she finishes, she pronounces a closing formula,
and someone else will take a turn. (Not all the tales in this
collection, it should be noted, begin with an opening formula or end
with a closing one. The closer a recording session came to
duplicating an actual folktale setting, the more likely the tellers
were to pronounce the formulas.)

The
opening formula creates an air of expectation as the session unfolds.
A casual evening's visit turns into an esthetic occasion for the
duration of the telling. The atmosphere is aided by the dim light of
an oil lamp or a kerosene lantern and by the attitude of the
audience, who huddle around a day brazier (kanun) warming their hands
over the embers. In modern times the experience of a folktale session
would be equivalent to going to the cinema. The introductory formula
ushers the audience into a space radically different from the space
outside. Darkness, light, and shadow help shape the experience, as
does the modulation in the teller's voice. Once begun, the tale is
narrated straight through to the end. Long interruptions are not
appreciated, nor would it be permissible for someone else to start
another tale. The continuity of narrative time is essential, allowing
the element of fantasy in the tales to take over the listeners'
imaginations and help them break from ordinary experience. The
audience are encouraged to suspend their disbelief until the dosing
formula brings them back to the world of everyday reality.

For
such a setting, a special style and narrative attitude are necessary.
The style imitates the speech patterns of ordinary conversation (we
recall the root meaning of hikaye, "tale," as "to
speak"), and the narrative attitude reflects beliefs about magic
and the supernatural that Palestinian society attributes more readily
to women than to men. For men in general, not only is the fictional
world of the tales something of a lie, but the manner of speech
required to bring it into being sounds artificial as well. Folktale
style depends on a variety of devices to put the action into the
realm of fiction, whereas the story style preferred by men tends to
emphasize historicity. The fact that the most common opening formula
(wahdu l-lah, "Testify that God is One!") is a kind of
invocation to dispel the influence of jinn and ghouls would seem to
indicate that the telling of folktales is a magical process involving
the aid of powers whose influence must be neutralized before the
narrative even begins. It would, for example, be totally
inappropriate for someone to interrupt an ordinary conversation with
an opening formula and then proceed to tell a folktale. The gap
between the domains of life and fiction must remain absolute.

Among
other devices of style that help to maintain this distance - and
which audiences expect in a successful narration - are the frequent
threefold repetitions, a passive manner of delivery, and a reliance
on verbal mannerisms and flourishes that are more characteristic of
women's speech than of men's. Threefold repetition (which is
certainly not unique to the Palestinian folktale) lends an air of
unreality to the events, as though an action were not valid until
ritualistically repeated three times. Three is a magic number in many
cultures, and in the tales its power works at the level not only of
action but also of sentence structure. The most frequent syntactic
pattern in all the tales is the parallel sentence with three verbs
("She reached out her hand, took the ring, and bolted the door
again"), reflecting the paratactic pattern of narration in the
tale as a whole. Absence of gesture removes visual stimulus, throwing
listeners back on the expressive power of language. Finally, the
verbal flourishes and mannerisms derived from women's speech give the
tales their particular character and are to be found in every tale
without exception, even in those narrated by men. Those encountered
most frequently in this volume include exclamatory interjections of
all sorts (e.g., "Far be it from the listeners!" - bid an
is-samin - when a socially odious subject is mentioned) and the
forms of address used by women among each other ("O you whose
face has been smeared with soot!" - ya msahhara).