The Wanderer (11 page)

These patrons were the idle sons of rich merchants and shipowners, whose forebears had built up their fortunes by piracy. But since Selim ben-Hafs, through fear of the great Sultan, had allied himself with the Spaniards, piracy had ceased, and so these young men were without an occupation. They passed their days at the baths and their nights in secret wine drinking in company with dancing girls. They sought to stimulate their jaded senses by patronizing this sport. Many of the wrestlers were rough fellows who had chosen this way of life from laziness. At times, when they found themselves outmatched, they were apt to sink their teeth in an opponent’s ear and tear it off. Therefore Andy had to be on his guard, and despite his lamentations and references to Samson’s disastrous fate, Abu shaved his head so that no adversary could grasp him by the hair.

When first I went with Andy and Abu el-Kasim to the market place I was horrified at the sight of these fearful wrestlers, half naked and gleaming with sweat, as they made themselves supple by trying holds on one another, and forcing one another to the ground. They were big, fat men with bulging muscles, and I fancy any one of them could have cracked my ribs with a poke of his forefinger.

But Abu el-Kasim made a great commotion, chattering like a monkey and screaming, “Is there anyone here who dares wrestle with the invincible Antar? His knees are as the pillars in the mosque and his trunk is a very tower. He was bred among idolaters in a land far to the north, and is hardened by the snow and ice that covers the country all the year round—ice, which you idlers know only as fragments in your sherbet.”

After continuing thus for some time he climbed down from Andy’s shoulders, spread a piece of cloth upon the ground and threw a square silver coin upon it as a reward to the winner, crying aloud to Allah to witness his liberality. This provoked a roar of laughter which brought others running to the scene, while the wealthy patrons held their sides and cried, “You seem to have little faith in your Antar—and no wonder. He looks as lumbering as an ox.”

But the curious began throwing coins onto the cloth until a little heap of silver lay there, and even a small gold coin or two. The wrestlers looked critically from the pile of money to Andy and back again, gathered in a ring with their hands on one another’s shoulders and chattered, until one of them undertook a “good” bout with Andy. In “good” wrestling, the opponents were not to inflict willful and lasting injury on one another, whereas in “hard” wrestling everything was allowed. In “hard” bouts men were apt to lose an eye or an ear, and professional wrestlers did not willingly engage in them.

Andy and his adversary now tackled one another, and Andy, putting into practice the holds that Mussuf the Negro had taught him, flung his man over his shoulder to the ground with a resounding thud. To encourage the victim the bystanders flung more money onto the cloth, but Andy succeeded in throwing three men in succession—no mean feat for a beginner. But with the fourth he had the worst of it, for after a prolonged struggle his foot slipped and he fell, so that his opponent could get an arm under his shoulder and over the back of his neck and force him down.

Abu el-Kasim uttered shrieks of anguish and wept as if he had lost a great sum of money instead of the one silver coin he had thrown onto the cloth. But Andy rubbed his aching neck and said, “I only hope Mussuf taught me right; I can’t stand up to these slippery fellows, though I’m certainly stronger than they are.”

He sat with a colored cloth over his shoulders, carefully observing the matches that followed. I believe he learned a great deal from them, for encouraged by the considerable sum now amassed on the cloth the wrestlers fought their best. The final victor was one Iskender, who looked no more formidable than the rest, though his shoulders were as broad as a bread oven, and a lighter man could not move him from the spot. Andy surveyed him wide eyed, and said, “That Iskender’s no fool, and he’ll be an opponent after my own heart when I get so far. But I’ve seen enough today to know that I’ve much to learn.”

He did not let his first defeat discourage him, and indeed it proved an advantage, for the other
gureshes
were all the readier to accept him as one of themselves. Iskender gave him four silver pieces from the heap he had won and declared that Andy had fully earned them; for custom required the victor to share his winnings with the other competitors.
 

The stake money was however the least of the sums to change hands on such occasions, for large amounts were wagered among the onlookers, whether on individual bouts or on the final result; this last was by no means a foregone conclusion. Even the most eminent wrestler, having come triumphantly through ten or fifteen successive encounters with powerful adversaries, could never be confident of wresting the final victory from perhaps a weaker man who came fresh to the attack. Wrestlers and their patrons followed a set system for determining the order of competitors on different days, which evened out the chances and made the final result very uncertain. If therefore a novice wagered solely on the appearance of the men without knowing anything of the order in which they were to fight, he might make very bad mistakes.

Spectators and patrons began to pay greater attention to Andy, and soon it was his turn to gather up the pile of money. On that day Abu el-Kasim’s joy knew no bounds. He jumped up and down, then flew open armed at Andy and planted a smacking kiss on his mouth, so that Andy yelled, spat, and hurled him back among the onlookers who, in an ecstasy of mirth, caught him on their outstretched arms. Abu el-Kasim at once bestowed the prescribed proportion of his winnings in alms, displaying deep emotion at his own munificence. But the rest of the money he quickly knotted into a bundle and clasped to his breast, wondering aloud where he could lay hands on an iron chest in which to secure it.

The sum was negligible in comparison with his real fortune, but he liked to feign poverty and entertain the public with his dread of the taxgatherer. And indeed, it was not long before a fat, breathless man arrived at our dwelling. He leaned on his staff of office and looked about him greedily from under a big, bulging turban, and at the sight of him Abu el-Kasim cringed, wrung his hands and said, “O tax- gatherer Ali ben-Ismail, why do you persecute me? Not three moons have passed since your last visit, and I’m a poor man.”

He hastened forward to support Ali ben-Ismail; I took the visitor’s other arm and between us we helped him to a seat on the broadest cushion in the house. When he had settled himself and got his breath back, he smiled sadly and said, “Abu el-Kasim! The ruler of Algiers and of the sea, king of countless Berber tribes, Allah’s representative and commander in this city—in short, Sultan Selim ben-Hafs—has been pleased to turn his eyes upon you. You’ve become rich; you’ve brought water to your courtyard and refurnished your rooms. Costly rugs have been seen here and even silver cups, which are forbidden by the Koran. You have bought three new slaves: one brings you in enormous sums as a wrestler, another is an indescribably lovely woman with eyes of different colors, who sees strange things in sand, so that even the women of the harem have taken to visiting the public bathhouse to hear her foretell the future. The third earns substantial sums for you as a quacksalver—he’s no doubt this goatlike man beside you, who now stands and goggles at me. I’m also told that people come to you from remote villages to bring something which you call ‘cheap ambergris.’ By such false terminology do you swindle your customers.”

Abu el-Kasim warmly denied the charge, but the taxgatherer smote him on the head with his staff and said irascibly, “That’s what I’m told, and I should pay little attention if the matter had reached no other ears than mine. I’m a good-natured man and because of my bulk I dislike trudging the streets. But Sultan Selim ben-Hafs has also heard of it, which has put me in a questionable light. I’m vexed with you, Abu el-Kasim; hitherto I’ve been content with ten gold pieces a year and you’ve vilely cheated me, setting at nought my friendship and protection. Now we’re both in trouble, for the Sultan has laid an extra tax upon you of a thousand gold pieces.”

“A thousand!” yelped Abu el-Kasim. Throwing off turban and cloak he began to jump about half-naked, knocking over jars and baskets in his frenzy. “A thousand! The whole street isn’t worth that sum, and Allah has plainly deprived Selim ben-Hafs of the remainder of his wits. By the time I’d collected even the tenth part of it I should be toothless with age.”

“Did you say the tenth part?” exclaimed the taxgatherer in amazement. “A hundred gold pieces? Then Allah is indeed great and I’ve found for my lord a goose that lays golden eggs all unsuspected. You astonish me; for I was only joking, being inquisitive about your growing fortunes.”

Abu el-Kasim had abrupdy ceased his capering, and now said with a malicious glint in his eye, “So. You were making game of me. Then

I’ll give your wife such an ointment of paradise that after embracing her you’ll die in agony, foaming at the mouth.”

Taxgatherer Ali ben-Ismail sweated slightly, and his eyes were cold as he said in a harsh tone, “Don’t take the jest to heart, my dear Abu. It’s all part of my duty. I’ve been ordered to make closer scrutiny of your household because Selim ben-Hafs, blessed be his name, needs money to buy another couple of boys. So let us come to some friendly arrangement, as usual. You’d gain nothing if I were dismissed and replaced by a leaner, hungrier man whom you would have to make fat.”

Abu felt grave misgivings on hearing that his fortune was the talk of the town. But all he said was, “Cursed be Selim ben-Hafs. He has already thirty young boys in his harem and at least as many women. Am I, poor wretch, to pay for his lascivious amusements? Hear now a remarkable dream that I’ve had. A Deliverer came from the sea, and at his coming the taxgatherers were led in bonds through the city and flogged at every street corner.”

The fat official sweated more than ever, and raised a finger to silence Abu.

“Such dreams are dangerous,” he said, “and I cannot think how it is that so many others have been plagued with them. In the name of the Compassionate, dear Abu, refrain from trumpeting your dreams abroad! Remember that even we, the taxgatherers, are poor men.”

After prolonged haggling Ali ben-Ismail agreed to take fifty pieces of gold, and said, “I know that you’ll feel the loss of this great sum, and I advise you to make up its value in silver coins and cups, and in your slave woman’s bracelets. Carry all this to the treasury to be weighed, so that everyone may see how I’ve denuded you.”

No suggestion could have been more welcome to Abu. He gathered up vessels and coins to the value of fifty pieces of gold and having helped Ali to his feet they set off. The taxgatherer walked first, leaning on his staff and panting, while sweat poured down his fat cheeks. After him scuttled Abu el-Kasim wearing only a dirty turban and a loincloth, with the bundle on his back. As he went he shrieked, lamented, and uttered heart-rending appeals to Allah, so that even the neighbors were moved. For once his tears were genuine, for fifty gold pieces was a great deal of money, even for him.

However, before the hour of evening prayer, Abu el-Kasim returned well satisfied from the treasury. He washed, put on clean clothes, performed his devotions, and said, “The money fell in good soil, for even the clerks pitied me when they saw me compelled to surrender my slave woman’s bangles, and this evening the whole city’s in an uproar over Selim’s rapacity. Lamps will burn late tonight in all wealthy houses while the owners bury their treasure beneath the flagstones.”

Nevertheless the treasury had wrought a marvel in extorting fifty gold pieces from Abu el-Kasim, and not many days later my white- bearded teacher said to me,

“I have praised your aptitude for learning, and the Faqih himself wishes to behold your face.”

This was the greatest honor that could have been done me, for the Faqih was the most learned man in the school, and deeply versed in the branches of
fiqh,
or jurisprudence. As mufti he was competent, in all matters relating to the law in which there was uncertainty or ambiguity, to issue a decree called a
fatwa.
He stood in high favor with the ruler, for he had profited by his knowledge of the Koran, Sunna, and
fiqh
to make pronouncements favorable to the Sultan in troublesome affairs. Compared with him my teacher was but a poor man whose only merit was to know the Koran by heart and be competent to instruct the newly converted.
 

I was alarmed at the thought of meeting this great man, for only gradually had I come to appreciate the wealth of the Arabic language and to learn how many ways there were of reading the Koran, how many words could be made to express one idea and how many interpretations could be put upon one word. My teacher counted fifty words for “camel” and as many as a hundred for “sword,” to denote all the varieties of that weapon.

The Faqih was sitting with his writing materials before him, in a room containing many books and reading desks. He had a jar of dates by him and from time to time he took one out, sucked it, and spat the stone onto the floor before me, then licked his fingers and took a sip of water from a goblet. Seeing that he was enjoying a period of rest and refreshment, I took courage and greeted him reverently.

“I have heard,” said he gently, “that you’re a skilled physician from the Frankish countries, and are zealously striving to become a good Moslem. Tell me, therefore, of your Lord, your Prophet, and your rule.”

These things were well known to me and I answered, “Allah the one God is my Lord and Mohammed is his Prophet, blessed be his name. The Koran is my rule, virtue the way of my spirit, Sunna my path.”

He nodded in approval, and stroking the beard which reached to his belt he asked, “What is the key to prayer?”

This question too was easy, and I answered readily, “The key to prayer is devout purification; the key to purification is the profession of the name of God; the key to profession is steadfast faith; the key to faith is trust; the key to trust is hope; the key to hope is obedience; and the key to obedience is:
Allah most high is the one God and him do I profess.”