While civil war raged in Lebanon, Najla Khoury traveled with a theater troupe, putting on shows in marginal areas where electricity was a luxury, in air raid shelters, Palestinian refugee camps, and isolated villages. Their plays were largely based on oral tales, and she combed the country in search of stories. Many years later, she chose one hundred stories from among the most popular and published them in Arabic in 2014, exactly as she received them, from the mouths of the storytellers who told them as they had heard them when they were children from their parents and grandparents. Out of the hundred stories published in Arabic, Inea Bushnaq and Najla Khoury chose thirty for this book.
While civil war raged in Lebanon, Najla Khoury traveled with a theater troupe, putting on shows in marginal areas where electricity was a luxury, in air raid shelters, Palestinian refugee camps, and isolated villages. Their plays were largely based on oral tales, and she combed the country in search of stories. Many years later, she chose one hundred stories from among the most popular and published them in Arabic in 2014, exactly as she received them, from the mouths of the storytellers who told them as they had heard them when they were children from their parents and grandparents. Out of the hundred stories published in Arabic, Inea Bushnaq and Najla Khoury chose thirty for this book.
Pearls on a Branch: Oral Tales
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Pearls on a Branch: Oral Tales
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Overview
While civil war raged in Lebanon, Najla Khoury traveled with a theater troupe, putting on shows in marginal areas where electricity was a luxury, in air raid shelters, Palestinian refugee camps, and isolated villages. Their plays were largely based on oral tales, and she combed the country in search of stories. Many years later, she chose one hundred stories from among the most popular and published them in Arabic in 2014, exactly as she received them, from the mouths of the storytellers who told them as they had heard them when they were children from their parents and grandparents. Out of the hundred stories published in Arabic, Inea Bushnaq and Najla Khoury chose thirty for this book.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780914671893 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Steerforth Press |
| Publication date: | 03/06/2018 |
| Sold by: | Penguin Random House Publisher Services |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 270 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
THE FARSHEH
An old woman,
HE went to his storehouse and put up for sale all the goods he owned. When the store was empty, with nothing left to sell, his purse was filled with one thousand, one hundred dinars of gold. So the young man went to the cloth merchant:
"O Hajj, do you sell cashmere?" he asked.
"Yes," said the merchant, unrolling the cloth along his arm. One arm's length then another, the merchant began to measure and the youth to wind until they had a turban fit for a sheikh.
Next the youth went to visit a man who owned a horse.
"O Hajj, will you lend me your horse for an hour or so?" he asked.
"Anything you want, dear fellow, take it and welcome!" said the man. This was the pedigree horse. The young man jumped into saddle, put the turban on his head, and went to his friend old Hajj Hassan.
"O Hajj," he said, "Will you let me borrow your shawl for an hour or so?"
"Gladly," said Hajj Hassan, "Take it."
It was a mohair shawl that people wore in bygone days and used as a cloak. The young man threw it round his shoulders and rode to the place the old woman described.
He arrived where three mansions stood,
SHE OFFERED him coffee and he drank it. When he put back the cup, she said:
"Now lay your purse, one thousand, one hundred dinars of gold, on the tray and stay. Sit here and wait, we'll not be late."
"Your wish, my command," said the youth.
She took the gold and he sat down. One hour, two hours passed. Waiting is hard and he was bored. He looked out the window. There, as far as the eye could see, was a garden and in it grew all that lip or tongue might crave: every kind of fruit and plant.
"I need some air," he thought. "I'll take a turn outside."
As he paced the garden he saw a henna shrub, tall and luxuriant - exalted be the Creator! From here to there, its scent hung heavy on the air. The young man found it pleasing.
"By God, I'll pick me a flower and sniff it as I go," he said. He reached up to snatch the bloom but the plant rebuked him: "Hands off, or I will call a curse on you!
My mistress mocks: she neither loves nor likes you."
"O God's wonder, you can talk?" he asked.
"I am Henna," said the plant,
"I can speak and also sing,
I'm a guest at all weddings.
My deep red henna dye
Adorns each and every bride."
The young man left and continued walking. On his path there was an apple tree its branches bending, weighed down with fruit. From each stem hung two apples - one red, one green - praised be the Creator!
"I think I'll pick me an apple," said the youth. But as he stretched his hand towards the tree it said: "Hands off, or I will call a curse on you!
My mistress mocks: she neither loves nor likes you."
"O God's wonder, you can talk?" asked the young man.
The tree said:
"Of course I have the gift of speech!
I am the one whose fruit tastes best,
I keep my apples out of reach
For he who picks one knows no rest."
The young man left. Around him grew fruits and flowers of every kind that he dared not touch. Then he glimpsed a shimmer far ahead. He ran to see and found a pavilion - a glittering wonder to behold! Four gold pillars were the base; the walls inlaid with pearls and gems; diamonds and rubies, faceted in varying ways. He saw a young woman walking towards him with roses preceding her and jasmine following as she came. Beautiful she was as the old woman had said. One look and the young man fell apart! Every bone in his spine was loosened and all his strength deserted him. He sank to the ground unable to move either arm or leg.
"Get up!" the young woman said, giving him a push with her foot. "He who seeks women that are fair, must not groan and cry despair. Get yourself up!"
She pushed and pulled and made the young man sit upright. "O Taktakan," she said, "Will you let me rest on your knee a while?"
She placed her head upon his lap and closed those gazelle eyes. In her sleep, now she blushed and then was pale. O Lord, the tints in her face! Roses and lilies! They maddened the young man till he began to sob. One hot tear fell on the young woman's cheek. She awoke and said:
"What is this, O Taktakan, burning coal or a tear of woe?" "A tear, dear Lady," said the youth.
"What makes you cry?" she asked.
"I lament love unrequited," he said.
"Love unrequited?" She screamed. "What did you hope for, Cur? What more, Son of a Cur?"
She slapped him once on this side of his head and once on that. Suddenly, without knowing how it happened, there he was, back in his grocer's store, buying and selling as before!
CHAPTER 2
AAHA
There was this Bedouin. He met a young woman. He was thirsty. She was carrying a sheepskin full of milk.
He said, "Will you let me have a sip?" "Be my guest," she said and offered him the leather sack.
When he was done, she said:
"If I knew your name I would wish you good health!" "My name is hidden in your face," he said.
"It must be Hassan, as in beautiful?" she asked. "Good health to you, O Hassan!"
"Had I known your name," he said, "I would have said, 'Thank you!'"
"You can find my name in your amulet."
"My amulet contains a charm so you must be Fitna," he cried, "Your beauty, O charming Fitna, holds Hassan captive!"
There was or there was not, in a former time, in an age long past, an Emir, a prince of the Arab tribes.
Every year he would travel through the villages of his territory to collect taxes and rent. One day, while he was on his rounds, he felt thirsty, very thirsty. So he headed to the nearest spring. From a distance he could see someone standing by the water, a figure slender as a poplar: a tree with a trunk straight as a column, topped by a full crown of leaves. It was a young woman filling her water jar. Her waist was like the waist of a gazelle. He went up to her and said:
"Will you let me drink from the mouth of your jar?"
She lifted the jar onto her shoulder and leaned towards him. He went up close and drank.
"Honey!" he said.
The girl smiled. He asked her what she was called and who was her father.
"Aaha," was all she said.
He thought she was sighing. He promised himself that he would find her the following year. He would be ready then to ask for her hand in marriage.
One day goes and another comes. Day in, day out, the prince kept thinking about the girl by the water. When a year had passed he mounted his horse and rode back to that same village. He could see that the place was preparing for a wedding: there was finery and music and a feast spread out. When he reached the village spring he found an old woman getting water. So he asked her about the celebration.
"Today is the wedding of the most beautiful of all the girls in the village," she said. "She is marrying her uncle's son, her first cousin. You are welcome, if you would like to come."
He asked the name of the bride.
"Aaha," she said.
He realized that Aaha was her name and this was her wedding day. So how could he ask for her hand in marriage? He sat by the side of the spring with his head in his hands. The old woman could see that he was distressed. She asked him what the matter was.
"Can you keep a secret, Granny?" he asked. "Can you hold a confidence?"
"Like a bottomless well," she said.
So he told her what had happened the year before: how he had felt a great love for Aaha and that, night and day, he could think only of her.
"How can I help you?" she asked, "Today is her wedding, they are celebrating even now."
He asked the old woman to empty the water out of her jar - which she did. Then he filled it with honey. The old woman placed the jar on her shoulder and joined the revelers. People ran to help her with the heavy load but she refused. She circled round the wedding party three times, then she stopped in front of Aaha. Everyone present looked on, curious about her strange behavior.
The old woman tilted the jar so that Aaha could have a taste of the honey. Then she spoke in a voice loud enough for all to hear:
"Aaha,
Now the bridegroom, who was her cousin, her uncle's son, was standing close by. He saw the look in Aaha's eyes. He saw how she was transformed once she tasted the honey and heard the old woman's words. So he said to his uncle, Aaha's father:
"O my Uncle,
So, in the midst of the wedding, the bridegroom gave up his right to his first cousin so that she might live and be happy with the one she preferred.
She had chosen the Emir of the Arabs and the Emir of the Arabs had chosen her.
The wedding guests dispersed to hill and dale And I traveled here to tell you the tale.
CHAPTER 3
ABU ALI THE FOX
There was or maybe there was not, But listen to this tale that I have got ...
THERE WAS A FOX. His name was Abu Ali al-Wawi, Abu Ali the Fox. He loved to eat red meat and chicken too. And, of course, he loved his wife and his two young cubs. But he felt hungry, hungry all the time.
One day, Abu Ali the Fox went out of his den, leaving his wife behind with his son Daybess and his daughter Daybessa. He had decided that he would become a devout ascetic and abstain from eating all flesh whether meat or chicken. He gathered some olive pits that he strung together like prayer beads and hung them from his neck. Then he wrapped a turban round his head. In short, he turned himself into a Dervish.
With shoulders bent and head bowed to the ground, he shuffled along slowly, praising God and mumbling prayers. Only his eyes were quick, glancing right and left, taking note of everything in sight.
Ha! Out of the corner of one eye he saw a hen and heard her calling:
"O Abu Ali the Fox!"
He made no reply and did not turn his head but continued on his way pretending he did not see or hear. The hen darted after him as fast as she was able and shrilled:
"What's up with you, Abu Ali the Fox? Why don't you look round when I call? Where are you off to?"
The fox stopped. Without turning, he said in a husky whisper:
"I am renouncing the world, dear Sister. I have foresworn the consumption of chicken. From now on my diet will consist of nothing but plants and herbs."
The hen was astounded. She said:
"Are you calling me Sister? Why, you are my worst enemy!"
"We are all brothers and sisters. We are one family." said the fox. "What I wish for now is to live in peace and quiet. I am going on the pilgrimage, on the Hajj, Sister. But don't tell anyone."
The hen said:
"Going on the Hajj? I beg you, take me with you. I won't tell a soul."
He said:
"I'll take you with me on one condition: that you keep your distance. Don't walk too close to me. I don't want anyone who sees us to think I am planning to eat you up."
The hen thanked him and obediently followed, walking a few steps behind him.
The fox continued on his way walking slowly, praising God and muttering prayers. But his eyes were alert. They surveyed everything around him.
Ha! From the corner of his eye he glimpsed a rooster and heard him calling:
"Hey! Abu Ali the Fox!"
But he pretended he hadn't seen or heard him. So the rooster ran up to him and squawked at the top of his voice:
"Where are you going, Abu Ali? What is the matter with you today? Didn't you see me?"
Abu Ali the Fox stopped. Without looking round he replied, with a voice low and hoarse:
"I have renounced the world. I have made a vow. Never again will I eat roosters. From now on I will eat only fruit and vegetables."
The rooster said:
"But you have been feeding off my fathers and forefathers for as long as anyone can remember."
"The past is past. It's history," replied the fox. "Today I want to make my peace with everyone before I go on the Hajj."
"The Hajj?" cried the rooster, "I beg you, take me with you."
"I'll take you with me," said the fox. "But kindly walk behind me a little way. I don't want those who see us to think that I want you for my dinner."
The rooster thanked him and, doing as he was told, walked along beside the hen.
The fox went on walking, walking slowly, until he met a partridge who asked him:
"Where are you going, Abu Ali the Fox?"
"Haven't you heard?" said the fox. "I have renounced the world and have vowed to eat no birds or fowl anymore. I am on my way to the Hajj with the rooster and the hen. Look, there they are."
"But you are a born swindler, O Abu Ali the Fox. And you are not about to change your ways," said the partridge. "How am I to believe that you have decided to atone for your sins?"
The fox shook his head and softly said:
"I have taken an oath, Sister. I have sworn."
"In that case," said the bird, "please take me on the Hajj with the others."
"Come with us then," said the fox. "But walk at some distance behind me and without talking."
So the partridge walked behind the fox along with the rooster and the hen, all of them humbly muttering prayers as they went. They walked and walked until they were tired and hungry and parched with thirst. The sun had set. Abu Ali the Fox said:
"Night has darkened, O my brothers. Let us rest here before continuing on our way. We can feast on grasses and seeds. By the grace of God, they are abundant at our feet."
The birds pecked here and there and then went to roost. All were fast asleep except for Abu Ali the Fox's stomach. For a week now he had subsisted on nothing more than bread and olives and all night long his stomach growled and rumbled. He was very, very hungry.
Next morning they all woke up. The birds foraged for their breakfast, picking up a seed here and a blade of grass there. As for Abu Ali the Fox, he sat watching them, thinking about the juicy flesh under their feathers and wondering which one of them to choose for his meal.
"O my brothers," he said. "It is true that I have taken a vow to be vegetarian. However, I am going to make an exception: I will abstain from all meat except for the flesh of sinners. And you, O Hen, have sinned grievously."
"Me?" shrieked the hen. "What have I done wrong?"
"All mothers," said the fox, "call their young to nurse them. But with you, O Hen, it is a lot of cackle and no milk."
"But ..." began the hen.
"No ifs, ands, or buts," interrupted the fox and, with that, he pounced on the hen and ate her up.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Pearls On A Branch"
by .
Copyright © 2013 Najla Jraissaty Khoury.
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