Sheikh of the Caravan

"Abu Salman" gripped the tail of his beast, "al-Ghabra," and cried, "Easy now, bride!" Then he shook the snow from his sheepskin coat and heaved a sigh whose vapor froze before his eyes in that bitter, freezing night, and breathed, "Praise God, we have arrived." Whoever heard him might well suppose that this Abu Salman had come to the threshold of his house, where a hot bath and a soft bed awaited him. But it was not so: the world was darkness and snow and cold and winds, and our friend, in the first hours of the night, was on the summit of Mount Barouk, with hours of hard travel over snow and ice between him and the nearest house, and no companion but his beast al-Ghabra, and a Mauser rifle holding in its belly five mute words — eloquent, though, in battle.

As for Abu Salman, he felt no loneliness. Here he was on the summit, having climbed the flank of Mount "Barouk" from the "Bekaa" side; and there was "Ain al-Lajja," its waters frozen, at his side; and here he was, beginning the descent toward the village of "Barouk"; and there stood the "Abhal" cedars turbaned in snow; and there lay "the Shouf country," spread beneath Abu Salman's eyes, wrapped in darkness. And Abu Salman was a son of "the Shouf" — nay, he was sheikh of the caravan of "Baakline," princess of "the Shouf." "Ain al-Lajja" might be, in the winter of that year — 1917 — a den of vagabonds and a stage for highwaymen, but it looks down on "the Shouf" — and so Abu Salman sighed, tied his rifle onto his donkey's pack-saddle, and cried out joyfully, "Praise God, we have arrived." And he set off down the mountain on his way to "Baakline."

And who could blame that sheikh for rejoicing? The Great War, which starved the sons of Lebanon, had made an exception of Abu Salman, and his family, and his people. Here he was, having left "Baakline" in a caravan of thirty armed men — they had left the villages of the Shouf with empty grain bins, gaunt — and now they were returning from "Hauran," their beasts loaded with wheat. And Abu Salman was sheikh of the caravan: if it failed in smuggling the grain, his was the blame; if strife broke out among the caravan's young men, he was the judge; and if a man of it perished, his was the responsibility. And here they were, by God's help, returning to the Shouf safe and sound — all but one of them, Shahin Qasim Abu Ali, in whose upper arm a bullet had come to rest. No harm will come to him, God willing. The fault is Shahin's. Why did he not listen to his uncle Abu Salman in the battle?!

Abu Salman remembered the battle, and his eyes shone. "I told the rascal: don't shoot standing — kneel and shoot. Glory be to God, how foolish the young men of these days are; the moment they hear the whine of bullets they go mad. What shall I tell Shahin's mother about her boy's wound? God forgive you, Shahin. No harm will come to him, God willing." And Abu Salman went on calling: "Ho, Ghabra — easy now, bride!"

Abu Salman spoke these words to himself out loud, for he who grows used to solitude discovers in himself the best of companions.

And tonight Abu Salman was stirred by the intoxication of triumph, and he fell to hauling up his past joys. Forty years of his life slipped away, and he saw himself, his mustache barely sprouted, emigrating from Lebanon with his father to earn a living in Hauran. "Mamdouh Pasha" invades the mountain of Hauran with the Turkish armies, and our young man takes part in its battles and witnesses his father's death there. Strife breaks out between the Druze of Hauran and "the Dahham tribe," and our young man plunges into its melees. He returns to his Lebanon to plow and to sow. Then he enters the ranks of the Ajaweed — the initiated among the Druze — donning the turban and shaving his head. Until the great catastrophe descends with the World War, and the grain is cut off from Lebanon, and its people go hungry. And the Turkish army stands with its weapons between mountainous Hauran with its grain and hungry Lebanon. Then Abu Salman turns his eyes upon those around him, shakes his head, and threatens. Then he speaks to his kinsmen: "God is great and almighty — glory, glory be to Him. We have denied His blessings, and so He has sent down upon us hunger and disease. Here are our retreats emptying of worshippers. And these young men of today — their whole care is drinking arak and going to law. In Hauran there is grain, and we have weapons and mules — but where are the men to break through the ranks of the soldiers, where?" The young men of these days heard Abu Salman's talk, and they respected him and loved him. He might accuse them of laziness and drunkenness, and they held their peace. He might forbid them blasphemy and smoking, and they bore it. But that he should accuse them of cowardice — this was too much. So a delegation of them came, saying: what would it cost Abu Salman — since he is certain there are weapons and mules in the Shouf — what would it cost him to head a caravan that would attempt the march to "Hauran" and the return from it with grain, and let him find out whether there are men in the Shouf.

And the caravan was formed and marched, and its fame marched among the people, and its battles became history; indeed, "the caravan of Baakline" won such a name for prowess that the Bedouin bands and the soldiers steered clear of it, and — after being a chain of battles — it became as safe as a school outing.

This time, however, the journey had been no school outing. For the officer of the post at "Tell Abu Shajara" — "Sherif Effendi" by name, a soldier of mettle — could not stomach being bested by a caravan of plowmen. So he went down to "Damascus" and sought the help of his superior, who reinforced him with a cannon and fifty seasoned soldiers, and they surprised the caravan at "Tell Abu Shajara." And Abu Salman remembered

the cannon and Sherif Effendi and the ambush, and he laughed and guffawed, and lifted his voice in the chant:

"'Sherif' marshaled the troops on the day of the ambush —
neither his cannon, nor fate, nor the soldiery availed him.
Your Lord decreed for the Shouf that its lions should guard it,
and here are the young men of the Shouf, marching with a caravan."

Yes — the sheikh of the caravan was its poet too. He gave the chant again in a voice that overcame the wind, till a listener would wonder how such a speaking-trumpet lay hidden in so lean a body. He remembered "Sherif Effendi" once more and guffawed a second time. For Sherif Effendi's horse, "al-Azraq," was now being ridden by Shahin Qasim Abu Ali. God keep you, Shahin. But for his wound the journey would have been a complete success. And "Abu Salman" consoled himself, saying: God decreed the wound for Shahin, and who has power to turn back what is decreed? When the bullet was poured in the factory, Shahin's name was upon it. And when Shahin was born, there was a hidden mark upon his arm where the bullet now rests. What is decreed steers people in their affairs, and God has foreordained their paths, and the servant's part is only obedience and thanks.

And the sixty-year-old sheikh felt hungry — he had given away his provisions in alms to a poor man at the khan. Walking and cold and emotion had worn him out, and the chanting had strung his feelings taut. The beast sensed the nearness of shelter and quickened her pace, slithering over the ice, checked only by her plowman's arm — and had that arm been an automobile's brakes, it would have tired. The sheikh passed his other hand over his beard and said: Praise God, the house of "Abu Hamad" is near. Yes indeed, the house of Abu Hamad had come near, and there was the lamplight winking on the edge of "Barouk." So Abu Salman fell silent from his chanting and began to guess what savory dish Umm Hamad had cooked tonight. For it was Abu Salman's custom to be the guest of his friend Abu Hamad on his return from Hauran, and of course Abu Hamad knows his friend returns tonight, so he has made ready and multiplied the kinds of dishes and dried fruits. His picture of the food increased his longing for it, and imagination sharpened his hunger; and the beast, feeling how near she was to her night's lodging, hurried on, and the plowman hurried behind her.

Suddenly the beast stopped, as though an anchor had been made fast in every hoof, and her ears stiffened; and Abu Salman knew that he was in the neighborhood of an enemy, beast or man. He leaped to seize his rifle, but was halted by a guffaw from behind a bramble, and a voice calling:

"Abu Salman?!"

"Abu Hamad?!"

And the two friends embraced, their fingers interlocking.

For Abu Hamad, in his house standing apart from the village of "Barouk," had seen a shape descending the mountainside, and it made him uneasy. Then he said to himself: if that shape is of "the caravan of Baakline," then likely it is Abu Salman — the sheikh of the caravan is always in the vanguard; and if it is an enemy, wisdom says we breakfast on him before he sups on us.

And the two sheikhs walked toward the house of "Abu Hamad,"

Abu Salman teasing his friend: "At this great age, still lying in wait on the mountain, Abu Hamad?!" Then he recounted to him the news of the caravan, and the battle of "Tell Abu Shajara," and Sherif Effendi's horse — a blessed journey, praise God, but for what befell Shahin Qasim Abu Ali. God forgive you, Shahin — but so it was decreed: his name was on the bullet in the factory where it was poured.

As for Abu Hamad, there was no news in his pouch but tidings of the "typhus," that fever which laid low everyone it struck, and which — so the government doctor claimed — is caused by the bite of fleas. Glory be to God! Who can believe that a son of Adam is killed by the bite of a flea? God sent down the catastrophe of the war upon mankind only when their minds went crooked and they took to professing such superstitions as the flea and the "typhus."

Come in, brother "Abu Salman."

And the two entered the house, and the guest's eye was caught by the absence of two things — Umm Hamad, and the silver candlestick that was proverbial throughout "the Shouf"; for that candlestick was of pure silver, sent to his father from Mexico by "Hamad" the emigrant. More than that, he felt in the house a desolate air, obscure, laden with riddles. He took the load off the bride, "al-Ghabra," stripped her of her pack-saddle, made the nosebag fast on her head, and returned to the house — and there was Abu Hamad stammering, at a loss, pressing his invitation to eat. I beg you, Abu Salman, let me make some food. I shall open the "pantry" and bring a little laban, and olives, and a dish of "mujaddara." And Abu Salman knows that in "the Shouf," when they drag out the invitation to eat, they do not want you for their guest. What, then, had happened?! Abu Hamad does not invite to food; Abu Hamad does not "bid you to table"; Abu Hamad sets down the dish at once, then presses your shoulder gently — sit! — and apologizes for the meanness of his food, though it be savory and of many kinds. And Abu Hamad kept pressing the invitation, and Abu Salman heaped up excuses and explained the reasons that kept him from accepting.

— I ate not long ago. I have no appetite for food just now.

— Allow me to open the "pantry" and...

And had that "pantry" possessed a mouth to laugh, its guffaws would have shaken the house — for it was empty even of the smell of food.

— Your bounty is abundant, Abu Hamad.

— I beg you, Abu Salman...

And when the rituals of invitation and refusal were done, and no food had been brought nor any dish appeared, Abu Hamad took from a hole in the wall, concealed by a curtain, a religious manuscript; he kissed it and passed it over his brow, then opened it and laid it on the wooden stand made for it, and the two sat reading from the book of religion, intoning in a single deep-toned chant, swaying right and left to its melody: "Glory to Thee, glory to Thee — how mighty is Thy kingdom, and how great Thy estate!" And the two remained at a spiritual banquet that possessed all their powers, until midnight; then they took leave of each other, and each turned to his bed.

As for Abu Hamad, he broadcast, to whom it might concern, that he was asleep — with a snore to wake the dead. As for Abu Salman, he tossed upon his bed, keeping company with the fleas, which had leagued against him and held their banquets in every quarter of his body. Then his thoughts strayed into a tumult of reflection. God forgive you, Shahin — what is this "typhus," and these calamities that have descended upon mankind?! Where is Umm Hamad, and how did the silver candlestick disappear? Did Umm Hamad take the candlestick away to sell it? A whisper had already run among the people that Abu Hamad was in straits, but the man was forever praising God and saying, "All's well with the world." And suddenly Abu Salman rose from his bed and walked to the grain bins. He lifted the cover of the wheat bin and ran his hand through its corners — it was empty... and the lentil bin, likewise, and the flour bin... and all the bins. And likewise the pantry. Abu Salman's eyes brimmed over with tears, and he looked at his host in anger. Why had Abu Hamad hidden his misery from him?! And his thought leaped to his own house in "Baakline," and he praised God and thanked Him: his bins were full of every kind of grain, always enough for two weeks. For he was forever afraid that sickness, or something else, might keep him from a journey to Hauran, so he always laid in two weeks' provision, so that if he missed a journey there would remain enough to last him until the next. And he looked to where his beast stood, and around her were two sacks and half a sack of wheat and lentils. Why should I have two weeks' provision to spare while Abu Hamad is destitute? I shall leave this load here — we have what will suffice us until we travel to Hauran and come back with a new load, God willing. He listened: Abu Hamad was still sending forth his snores. So he rose and went to his beast and put the libban on her hooves — those "galoshes" the animal wore whenever they drew near a guard post. Then he led her outside, and when he had gone a little way from the house he mounted her back and rode for "Baakline."

And as though someone had seized Abu Hamad and shaken him and cried "Rise!" — he woke, and did not find his guest in his bed. He went to where the beast had been tethered, and there was nothing in the place but her load. Then the truth dawned upon Abu Hamad, and he rushed out of the house — dawn had begun to smile — and shouted: "Abu Salman, what have you done?! Come back and take the load — all is well!" And Abu Salman turned his face toward his host and answered in his thundering voice: "The world is loan and repayment." And the reaches of "Barouk" echoed it back: the world is loan and repayment.

When Abu Salman and al-Ghabra came in sight of "Baakline," most of the men of the town and its boys were waiting, chanting and firing shots into the air. And when the greetings and the talk were done, one of the boys leaped onto the back of (al-Ghabra) and went galloping off to meet the rest of the caravan; then some of the elders gathered around the sheikh of the caravan and fell to teasing him: "Where is al-Ghabra's load?" Some said that Abu Salman had gone to Hauran and it had slipped his mind to buy wheat. Others supposed that at (Ain al-Lajja) there was a nymph who traded wheat for smiles. Others related that a Bedouin had met Abu Salman and robbed him of the load of wheat. And still others asserted that al-Ghabra had a belly like a mill and had eaten the load in the night without Abu Salman's knowing. As for him, he kept smiling and made no answer to the banter. The cold was still biting, but Abu Salman did not feel it; he walked straight to his house, where his wife's welcome met him. And after the greetings and the talk he asked her the news, and Umm Salman said there was nothing new but the typhus — everyone who fell to that vile fever died. And she thought she had given him an exhaustive report of all the news; but then she caught herself and said:

Oh yes — Umm Hamad came to me yesterday from Barouk and told me in secret that they are in want. She had let her husband believe she was going to (Aley) to sell the silver candlestick and buy wheat, but in truth she came to me wanting to pawn it with me, for she is certain she can redeem it from me once the war is over and Hamad goes back to sending them money. As for me — you know, Abu Salman, that we have no money; but I was certain you were coming back with a new load, so I gave her all the provision in the bin and told her she should be ashamed to speak of pawning the candlestick. Glory be to God, how we have denied Him — man has come to neither give nor ask anything except against a pledge and a promissory note.

— And did you take the candlestick from her?

Umm Salman answered: Of course I did not take the candlestick — I gave her everything in the bin and said to her: Umm Hamad, a day will come, God willing, when you will return what you borrow. The world is loan and repayment — is it not so, Abu Salman?

— True, the world is loan and repayment, answered Abu Salman, as he hung his turban on a nail in the house-post, loosened his garments a little, rested his head on a cushion, stretched out on the carpet, and slept — burning with fever. With typhus!