He left at night, taking with him a changeof clothes, a blanket, and a
small bag of money which he found in his father's room. He travelled
until dawn and then all of the next day and well into the following
night, pursued by thoughts of his angry and vengeful father. His route
led south towards the holy city, following the roads he knew from the
yearly pilgrimage his family were rich enough to make. The land rose
around him in broken shadows, ragged heights of limestone, sparse
ground, uncultivated andsporadically populated, the occasional
shepherds'village buried in the valleys where goats roamed the scrub.
On the evening of the third day, exhausted and hungry, he stood
watching the sun slip beyond the horizon, casting its last rays over
the broad expanse of a lake. His sense of guilt had not left him but
thoughts of his angry father had ceased to torment him, diminishingin
intensity as the distance from home increased. A mist was rising off
the lake. Grass tufts, long and heavy with seeds, stood dry
andyellow-silvery in the fading light. Autumn flowers thrust their
crowns above the grass, including one of which he did not know the
name, a head of pale trumpets spread out on along stalk, its white
petals glowing faintly in the dusk. A tent flap clattered in the
rising wind and sand drifted across the clearing, driven in little
runs and gusts. He drew the edge of his cloak tighter acrosshis mouth.
The sounds of the caravan he had joined earlier that afternoon were to
his back. He could hear the mutter of conversation. Blue smoke coiled
away from a fire of camel dung. Some of the women were tending a stew
of meat and vegetables.
The sound of feet approaching awakened him. One of the men had
come over to ask if he would like some food. Hefollowed to where a
group of travellers sat in a circle around the fire and ate
gratefully. It was his first meal since leaving home. He watched the
others, theirfaces mostly in shadow, wondering what they thought of
him, a stranger who had come amongst them from the hills. Had they
believed his story about a religious obligation, a prayer answered?
They had accepted him easily enough. They could know nothing for
certain.
< 2 >
On the eighth day the caravan approached the walls of the city,
climbingthe steep slopes through small peasant fields and olive
groves, past square,flat-roofed, mud houses, the hills stretching away
into the distance. His firstthought on entering the gate was to find a
room. He approached a small inn in one of the unpaved lanes off the
main thoroughfare. The room he was offered wassmall, but he had little
money and did not yet know where more wouldcome from. He planned to
look for work, to live quietly for a while, until he had thought out
whatto do. The woman of the inn regarded him out of her round, black
eyes, her grey hair tied back from her darkly freckled face. He felt
suddenly fearful of her. It was almost as though she knew his reason
for being there, knew the whole story of how he came to be standing
before her with his cloak and few bundled possessions. Worse still,
she seemed complicit in his secret. He had thought to pass as a simple
traveller but suddenly confronting thiswoman's mocking gaze he knew he
was marked. A feeling of dread possessed him. He made an excuse about
having to change money and went out. She made no reply.
The shadows of the northern wall engulfed him, its bleak
battlementstowering above him. The memory of the old woman clung to
him like a horrible dream. It was agood hour before he could shake off
the sense of panic and fear. He wandered, drifting aboutthe city,
until tiredness overcame him. Now he rested on his haunches, his back
against a wall in a small street of fruit and vegetable stalls. Out of
the passing multitude appeared a dishevelled youth, a dirty blanket
around his shoulders. Theyouth sat beside him and they exchanged
hesitant greetings. The other had been longer on the road and his face
was thin andlined. They spent the night in a field on the outskirts of
the city, the earth uncultivated and full of weeds. His new companion
was to show him much in those first few days, opening to himthe
streets and alleys of the city.
< 3 >
That night he had the first of the dreams which for months
plagued his sleep; dreams filled with violent and erotic images. In
this first dream he was trying to save a child from a life of
prostitution and shame. He rode away with her on a mule but then lost
her in the darkness only to find her mutilated body lying naked in the
road. Many of these dreams were populated with dead women as wellas
with swords, snakes and flight; ciphers of his guilt. Because the
presence of these imageswas so shocking, he imagined that his secret
must be transparent to everyone around him. At night he slept lightly,
part of him always mindful lest he should give something away in his
mutterings, or wake screaming.
But at first the effect of these dreams was nothing compared to
the poverty. Destitution camehard to him having known only luxury all
his life. The small amount of money he had brought with him soon ran
out and he was forced to begin order to feed himself. Then one day he
found himself a party to theft. Standing by a butcher's stall, his
companion suddenly said to him, 'Quick, run'. Looking up he saw that
the boy had seized a chicken from beside the stall. He felt his
stomach tense as he broke into a run. They dived into the first
alleyway to the right, descending into the shadows, turning right
again through a low arch, across a courtyard and over a low wall.
Thenthey ran on down the adjoining lane. His companion must have
thought the route out beforehand. They kept running until they were
sure they were not beingfollowed. There had beenshouts and a
half-heartedattempt at pursuit but that seemed all.
When they eventually stopped it was because they could not run
any further. His side was doubled with a stitch, his lungs bursting,
his heart swelling as though it would explode. He felt sick and
vomited while his chest continued to heave painfully. His companion
lay sprawled in a doorway holding his sides. He was laughing and
pointing at the pool of vomit. 'Hell, what wereyou running from?' he
asked.
< 4 >
After this he stole regularly. Though he ate infrequently it was
enough. He slept rough in abandoned houses, in the street, sometimes
outin the fields. His poverty depressed him and the dreams became more
frequent and intense. He began drinking wine of the cheapest and
roughest sort. He was now submerged in the underworld of the city.
Most of the people he spent time with were drunkards like himself,
living by stealing, the women by hustling. Each had his or her story,
elaborated and embellished over so many years the teller no longer
knew where the truth ended and the lies began. Though they banded
together out of need for each other, few confided the true reason for
his being there. Amongst this shifting group of outcasts he had no
real friends. He spent a lot of time on his own. Even when with others
he was withdrawn, alonein their midst, quietly brooding.
One particular eveninghe sat with a group under a tree drinking.
Hereached out for a jar of wine which stood to his right. His hand
found the earthenware jar and he dragged it towards him across the
ground. As he did so one of the girls leaned over him.
'No more,' she said. He tried to fend her off with his arm but
found he didn't have the strength. 'You've had enough, you'll be sick
again.' She took hold of the neck of the jar as he tried to raiseit to
his mouth. She was too strong for him and he lay back against the
stony earth, the girl's face appearing above him. She was young but
little of youthfulness remained to her. He closed his eyes, feeling
the tears wanting to come. He lay still, wishingthat she might release
him from the prison of his silence. If only she would ask him what the
matter was, and persist in asking until she had got an answer. But she
simply sat there watchinghim, perhaps angry at hisfoolishness, or
indifferent, not wanting to burden herself with his problems.
Thus he went on from day to day, finding ways to occupy himself
for hours at a stretch. He walked for miles around the city with his
head bowed, or simply sat, staring into the dust at his feet. Need of
money forced him to beg and to steal. If he was lucky someone would
take pityon him and buy him wine. His once smooth and youthful face
became sunken and dark,and his eyes, often jaundiced and
bloodshot,bulged in their sockets. His clothes were torn andstained,
his body thin and bruised.
< 5 >
The Feast of Passover came and thousands of pilgrims gathered,
filling the inns and camping in the environs of the city. He stayed
away from them, knowing his familywould be somewhere amidst the
throng. For safety he moved outside of the ritually clean areas. His
family could not wander here withoutrendering themselves unclean for
the ceremonies and this they would not do. He was secure in his own
uncleanness. On the few occasions when he did venture into the city it
was never to a place where someone might know him. He did not liketo
go into the busy thoroughfares. Most of the day he lay in the fields
watching. In the distance he could see the steady column of smoke
rising from the Temple area. White and blue figures moved in the haze,
the sun reflecting from whitewashed walls, the grey smoke rising and
dispersing in the clear sky. The noise of thegreat crowd carried
across to him, the sound of voices, of bells and cymbals, and
sometimes of chanting.
He was cut off from it all and the sense of dispossession
oppressed him. It was not that he was particularly religious. He had
never been fervent in his observance, or strong in his beliefs. What
troubledhim was not spiritual pain, but simply a sense of no longer
belonging. He left the fields and wandered for an hour through the
back streets and alleyways where he came on an itinerant preacher
proclaiming to anyone who would listen. The holy man was in his
mid-twenties, bearded and simply dressed. His face had a severe,
ascetic angularity,but his hands were long and slender and he gestured
as he spoke with great gentleness. 'A father always has room in his
heart to forgive a son who repents,' the preacher was saying. It was a
phrase caught in passing and barely registering in his mind. But the
words had found a place in his thoughts, like seeds in the crevice of
a wall. The encounter lasted a few minutes onlyand was soon forgotten.
In the following days his mental condition worsened. Secrets
contained for so long were now demanding audience. He had eaten
practically nothing for a week and had little appetite. Wine eased his
hunger. He had grown thinner, more lethargic, and found it
increasingly difficult to concentrate. On the last night of the Feast
he had the first of many visions. He was sitting in the corner of
aninn completely drunk. A woman he knew came over towards him, her
eyes heavily darkened with makeup. He smelled the sweetness of her
unwashed body as she placed the palm of her hand against his face.
< 6 >
'Why don't you stop drinking?' she asked. He heard someone
laughing,he felt nauseous. The woman stroked his cheek, and then his
hair, looking into his face. He bowed his head and moved slightly
aside. A triangle of light fell from a gap between the curtain and the
doorframe, highlighting the head and shoulders of a man across the
room. The man was laughing, his mouth wideopen and the lips drawn back
to reveal an irregular set of decaying teeth. As he tried to focushe
saw that there was noflesh on the head at all. The teeth jutted
straight out of bone, the lower jaw hanging slack, the eyes empty
sockets beneath the shadow of the brow.
The skull turned towards him grinning with the fixed expressionof
a mask. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the image, but when he
opened them again the skull was still there, staring at him. Then the
skull spoke: 'I could tell her all about you,' it said.'I could tell
her everything.' He closed hiseyes again and pressed his hands to his
ears and this time when he lookedagain the skull was gone.He rose
unsteadily, pushing the girl aside. People watched him uncertainly.
When he gotoutside he was shaking and was violently sick.
The effect of the visionon his subsequent conduct was marked. He
tried over the next few weeks to stay sober, wrestling with the
agonising need for drink.He tried to eat though it made him ill. Then
by a piece of sheer chance he was offered a job on a farm north of the
city. He worked in the dusty fields pruning vines and olive trees, the
rough branches cutting his hands. He earned enoughfor his keep, living
on vegetables and bread, which were cooked and served collectively to
the labourers.
He had now stopped drinking but his mental condition continued to
deteriorate. He had visions regularly. Often the birds would talk to
him, or devils in the form of birds, taunting him with their
accusations. On one occasion the roots of an olive tree he was tending
became a nest of vipers writhing around his feet. In the midst of the
snakes was awoman's brooch. He reached down to pick it up but as he
touched the glinting object it turned into a stone and the snakes
vanished. After a month of labouring in the fields he was moved to the
position of swineherd. He fed the pigs, cleaned out their enclosure
and herded them up the hillside where they rooted in the shade of the
olive groves.At night he slept with them for warmth.
< 7 >
One evening late that summer, at the time of the evening meal, he
wassitting apart from the other labourers, absorbed as usual in his
own thoughts. The men were huddled on the other side of the courtyard,
talking quietly. Suddenly his attention was arrested bythe hand
gestures of one of them. The man turned towards him and he recognised
the preacher he had stopped to listen to months before. The tallfigure
moved towards him and he heard the words 'the father always has room
in his heart.' The preacher's lips did not move. It was as though the
words had been spoken directly intohis mind. A shadow fell across him
and there wasthe man standing before him, his hands hanging loosely at
his sides, the sun behind giving him a kind of aura. The idea of
repentance which had lain dormant so long began to shoulder its way
into the light of consciousness. When at last the presence faded he
wept.
At the height of the summer, sickness broke out in the community.
It struck quickly. Within a week two of the labourers lay dead, their
bodies swollen and blotchy. A third man died a day later, and then a
child. A grave was dug beyond the farm and fires burned all day. The
community was in turmoil. The women wept and prayed for hours
together, and there was talk of divine punishment. The priest came
several times with incense and there were offerings in an attempt to
placate the evil. Seeingand hearing all this filled him with terror.
He began to talk to himself, though no one could make out exactly what
hewas saying. It seemed that he had convinced himself he was the cause
of the plague, that he carried the evil now venting itself on those
around him. Many thought he was possessed by a devil and wanted to
turn him out. There was talk and speculation about his past. It was
with some relief that the communityawoke one morning to find he had
gone.
It was the child's deaththat drove him away. Shewas nine years
old. He was present when the father carried the body wrapped in an old
cloak from the house. The child's arm had fallen loose from the
makeshift shroud and had seemed to point at him. Whichever way the
body was turned the arm followed him. The women were keening and
hugging each other while the men stood greyfaced and upright watching
the solemn procession. The father placed the body on top of the fire,
while other men threw on more brushwood. The flames leapt, eating at
the dry cloth. Some of the wood slipped and the body rolled slightly
so that the arm, which had been folded back across the girl's chest,
slipped free and lay pointing accusingly at him again. He half
expected the child to get up and denounce him. He watched transfixed
as the fire enveloped the frail human form. When the fire burned down
he helped to shovel the ash into the grave.
< 8 >
He left that night, taking some food in a leather satchel and his
master's donkey. By the time the sun had begun to rise over the
eastern hills he was already descending from the highlands and was
miles away from possible pursuers. He rode for several days, drinking
from wells and skirting the tiny villages on his route. The sparse
terrain had been seared by the long hours of oppressive heat. Only
near water didanything green flourish. Everywhere else the vegetation
was dry and yellowed. At night he slept dreamlessly.
All day the sun blazed down on him out of a cloudless sky as he
trudged into the evaporating distance of the plains. The road was
thick with dust, in places so deep the donkey had difficulty walking
and they had to leave the track and go onto the rougher, stonier
ground to the side. But it was an interior world which occupied all of
his attention. Memories fromthe past wove themselvesinto an intricate
tapestry in which images of sin and repentance were dominant. He
thought once more of the inn keeper's wife and of howhis guilt had
plunged himinto this purgatory. He saw visions repeatedly, of the
preacher, of his father, of the dead child.
He had ridden for five days without eating. His body ached and he
was covered with dirt and sweat. The donkey was tired and walked
slowly while he rolled in the saddle, slipping at times into a state
of semi-consciousness. Partsof the dream of his first night in the
city flooded his mind. The girl was with him now, sitting behind on
the donkey and he was taking her back home. But they seemed to be
going slower and slower. She was complaining that he did not love her,
that if he did love her they would be able to go faster. He tried to
nudge the donkey into a trot but they seemed to be sinking into the
road. Then he felt the girl slip from behind him. By the time he was
able to turn round she had fallen unconscious on the ground, her arm
pointingaccusingly in his direction. She was burning, flames spreading
around her. Then the preacher appeared above the fire saying: 'the
father alwayshas room in his heart.'
< 9 >
He woke suddenly andfound that they had stopped in the shadow ofa
large rock. He pressed the donkey to walk on but the animal refused
tomove. In the distance he could see a group of low buildings. It was
well intothe afternoon now and he dismounted and began to stumble
towards the village. His eyes stung in the heat and he felt dizzy from
lack of food. His lean facelooked sickly under its coat of grime as he
staggered along the stony track in his ragged tunic. He was mumbling
incoherently to himself, and at one point thoughthe saw the preacher
waiting for him by the distant buildings. Then he fell unconscious in
themiddle of the path.
The dogs found him four hours later, swollen with plague. The
villagerswere terrified and left him where he was until they could get
a priest. The following morning the holy man approachedcautiously, the
people of the village a few paces behind. The stranger lay gaunt and
grey in the dust. His clothes were nothing but soiled rags, his eyes
wide open and staring.
'' Our Lord ! grant us good in this world and good in the hereafter and save us from the torment of the Fire '' [Ameen]
-
{in Arab} :->
Rabbanaa aatinaa fid-dunyaa hasanatan wafil aakhirati hasanatan waqinaa 'athaaban-naar/-
(Surah Al-Baqarah ,verse 201)
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