“You see, Salman. I expected
that you would parry some of my questions. But here you’ve answered them all!
You have now retrieved yourself. I’m sure you’ll make a great teacher!”
“That’s what I want, sir. This
is the fruit of your work. I thank God for having led me into your hands.”
“God is great, you know. My
mind is now at ease. Although you will go and I’ll miss you–”
“Go? Me? Go where?”
Assem sighed and said:
“You can’t stay here any
longer. Hassan won’t let you. You will take your wife and go wherever you
choose. God’s land is immense and wherever you go there’s God.”
The Poet was too moved and
confused to speak. Both he and Assem fell silent. Boutros’ house was then a
little way off. Boutros himself seemed to be awaiting them. He received them
with a cheerful smile and conducted them into the best room in his house.
Sawsan joined them soon afterwards. Boutros served his guests tea and bread
soaked in olive-oil…
“I am deeply affected by what
has happened to you,” he said in Arabic, looking once at Sawsan and then at the
Poet.
Sawsan glanced at the Priest,
then at the Poet. The Poet looked at her dreamily. Assem spoke next.
“I wish they could stay longer
with us. But, unfortunately, no one can do with my insolent son.”
“So they will go?” Boutros
asked in a low voice.
“Yes. Salman will take his wife
and go.”
Boutros turned to the Poet and
said in a worried tone:
“Have you any idea where you
could go?”
“God’s land is immense, sir,”
replied the Poet in a hushed voice.
Boutros looked at the Poet with
a disapproving frown and turned to Assem and said:
“Do you think he can protect
his wife whatever the way?”
Assem smiled, glanced at Sawsan
and replied:
“Salman loves his wife. He can
fight for her, if need be. He has already proved it, hasn’t he?”
The Poet looked at Sawsan to
see how she would react. She just cast an arrogant look at him, and looked
away, into space.
“Then,” said the Priest, “I can
but pray for them. May God be with them and endow them with strength and mutual
love. Amen.”
Everybody else repeated:
“Amen.”
After tea, Boutros went out and returned with a small silver cross that
he handed to Sawsan, saying:
“This is my gift to you. Please
have it for a keepsake.”
“Thank you, Reverend,” replied
Sawsan smilingly.
Sawsan looked delighted with
the gift. But the Poet was not. Nevertheless, he quickly overcame his disgust
and smiled slyly.
As they left Boutros’ house,
Assem said to his friend:
“Sir Boutros, please bear
witness that I now give these two what they owe me. They are now free, like you
and me.”
The Poet and Boutros smiled.
Sawsan looked unmoved.
“Now, let’s go,” said Assem.
The Poet looked movingly at
Boutros, who instantly took him in his arms. Tears rushed to the Poet’s eyes.
“Say a prayer for me, sir, and
forgive me,” he said.
“O God give him and his wife
good health and happiness! Amen.”
“Amen,” echoed the Poet
tearfully.
“Take care of your wife.”
“I shall. I shall.”
Boutros prayed for Sawsan too
and commanded her to God’s protection.
On the way back to Assem’s
compound, Assem said to the Poet:
“You will leave us tonight. I
will lend you two mules: one for you, the other for your wife. You’ll ride to
where you can take a boat, if you are going northwards. I’ll show you where to
leave the mules. Now, let me say a few words to your wife. Sawsan, are you listening
to me?”
“Yes sir, of course!”
“Then listen, may God bless
you. I could well have married you to my son Hassan. But, believe me, daughter:
this man, Salman –your husband– is ten thousand times better than my own son.”
Sawsan smiled as Assem went on, “And I’m sure if you tried to understand your
husband and side with him through all hardships you’d be ten thousand times
better than the best of my son’s wives and maids.”
“I will do what I can, sir. I
only hope he won’t lead me to death…in the desert.”
“No!” Assem laughed. “Don’t
worry! He’s not a fool!”
Night fell and with it came the
hour of farewells. The mules were ready, and by them stood the Poet, Sawsan and
Sufyan. The Poet and Sawsan were carrying a bag each. As they waited for Assem
to join them, the Poet contemplated the charming place around him and the moon
watching from above, which brought tears to his eyes. Sufyan looked up at him
and said:
“I will miss you, Salman.”
The Poet sobbed:
“I too will miss you all, Sufyan.”
“I’m sorry for what happened.” Sufyan
dissolved into tears.
Sawsan turned her face away,
probably to hide her tears. Assem came out and joined them.
“You are lamenting!” he said as
he faced the Poet.
The Poet now sobbed freely.
Assem himself could hardly hold back his tears.
“Come on! Come on!” he said as
he opened his arms to embrace the Poet. Both shed hot tears. “You know,
Salman,” said Assem in a broken voice, “I don’t blame you for anything. You did
nothing wrong. I am proud of you.”
Then Assem let go of the Poet
and turned to Sawsan and said:
“Sawsan, you are now free.”
Sawsan wiped her face and turned toward him as he added, “I am proud of you
too.”
He took from his pocket a gold
necklace and handed it to Sawsan. She hesitated but finally took it with
slightly trembling hands. Her eyes closed for a moment and then her cheeks were
wet with tears. Assem smiled at her and said gently:
“Now, mount your mules!”
The Poet embraced Sufyan, who
wept movingly, and then embraced Assem once more and took his bag and mounted
the mule. Sawsan smiled at Sufyan, bowed to Assem and mounted her mule. Assem
drew close to the Poet and stood between him and Sawsan and said soberly:
“Salman, if you see Sultana
again –who knows? – please do greet her for me and tell her I wish I had the
honour to see her. And if Hassan pursues you, please try not to kill him. And
take care of your princess Sawsan and of yourself!”
“Insha Allah. Insha Allah.”
Salman smiled, dry-eyed.
“And now take this.” Assem took
from his pocket a purse and gave it to the Poet.
“Oh, thank you very, very much,
Sir Assem! I’m infinitely grateful to you, sir. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Try to write to me if you can.
Now, you can move. God be with you. Go in peace!”
“Insha Allah. Insha Allah.”
The mules moved. The Poet and
Sawsan bade farewell to Assem and the boy. And the journey began.
As they had gone a good way from Assem’s abode, Sawsan turned to the
Poet and asked:
“Who is Sultana?”
“My first wife,” the Poet
replied laconically.
Sawsan said no more.
An hour later the Poet was
thinking about one particular thing. He still marveled at the liveliness with which Sawsan had mounted her mule and,
before that, worn the sword which Assem had given her to defend herself! (The
Poet too had been given a sword.) The Poet thought deeply about this and
compared it with Sawsan’s reaction when Hassan had dashed after him, and found
it hard to understand her attitude. An hour later he decided to ask her.
“Tell me, Sawsan?” he said,
without looking at her.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever ridden a horse
before?”
Sawsan laughed and answered
haughtily:
“I was taken captive in battle,
not in my mother’s kitchen!”
These words filled the Poet’s
heart with an amalgam of fear and pride. These words left him speechless. He
could do no more than think deeply about this fair-skinned woman riding
alongside him. His thoughts led him to compare Sawsan with Sultana. Soon he
almost forgot all about Sawsan. He thought, among other things, of the way back
to Lehreem…
“Are you in a hurry?” Sawsan
said suddenly in an agreeable voice.
“No, not at all.”
“So let’s have a rest.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“As you wish, darling!”
The Poet and his wife alighted
from the mules and sat side by side on a low-lying rock facing a great lake.
“It’s a wonderful sight, isn’t
it?” the Poet said with a beautiful smile. “The moon, the breeze, the lake…and
you!”
“I see!”
From his bag the Poet took his
flute and began to play on it. Immediately after, memories of his homeland
rushed into his mind– clear and vivid and lively. Sultana smiled at him and he
sang a lively tune to her…
“What are you thinking about?” Sawsan
said suddenly.
“Eh?”
“I said, what were you thinking
of?”
The Poet smiled and said:
“Of you, of course.”
“Ah, I see!”
The Poet reverted to his
tunes…
THE END
