A STORY OF STORIES
The Liman timed his arrival carefully and entered the court as the
Emir dismissed the last of his public duties and was turning to such
lesser matters as might, according to custom, be laid before him. A few
requests, of no great importance, were dealt with, and then the Liman
limped forward and demanded attention. “Lord, is it permitted that
again I speak of this infidel, this Son of Shaitan, Garram the hunter?”
Without waiting, he plunged into the detail of Garram’s crimes, that
he was an unbeliever, a consorter with dogs, and who knew what other
things unclean and held accursed in Islam. That he was sent by Shaitan
himself to harm the true faith and the true believers.
Patiently the Emir listened, though he had heard all this before. Then
his attention deepened. The Liman was recounting his adventures of
the night before. Five true believers had, it appeared, merely been
speaking of Garram and Shaitan--whose name be accursed--when a devil
had been conjured up, or down, he did not seem certain which. With
a wealth of detail, including the flames which Goshi had foreseen,
he pictured the scene. The number of devils had increased in the
telling, though they still remained black. Black indeed, and very big
and terrifying. How they could all get into the room together was the
greatest mystery of all. But the three other plotters, present, by
arrangement, among the audience, were appealed to for corroboration on
one point and another and were unanimous in confirming the truth of the
Liman’s account. On some points they enlarged.
A surprised and puzzled Emir tried by means of questions to find solid
ground in this fantastic story. The witnesses were men of considerable
religious standing, who would not, whatever their motives, conspire to
invent this adventure. Yet it was all very incredible. His bewilderment
was reflected in the faces of some of his courtiers. Though many
seemed laboring under some other emotion, breathing heavily, nudging
each other, even hiding their faces in their wide sleeves, while their
shoulders shook and heaved.
With swirling phrases and much learned quotation from the Koran and
the Traditions, the Liman demanded the death of the heretic Garram, he
who was so clearly in league with the Powers of Evil. Death, without
alternative, was the punishment enjoined by the Sharia--the Holy Law
of Islam--and this not even the Emir himself had power to vary.
Garram alone stood unmoved by the speech. His right hand, which had
swung to his knife hilt, was now gently scratching Kon’s ear. The
Liman’s harsh voice rose almost to a scream of hatred as he pressed the
charge. Then an interruption occurred in court.
It was Goshi, who with puffed out cheeks was trying to make his way to
the doorway before laughter should overcome him. But with a gurgle and
a pop it burst forth.
As one loose stone may start a hillside sliding, so his shout of
laughter let loose the pent-up mirth of those who had heard his version
of the Liman’s story and had been hugging the joke with ever increasing
strain. To be able to make devils and flames out of piglets and bumped
noses! Allah! What a salesman was lost in the Liman when he took to the
religious life!
Angered by the disrespectful hubbub, the Emir enjoined silence. “A
madman comes to me with stories of devils, yea, devils, in this our
city of Yelwa. Then greater madmen laugh in my face in full court!
Fools!” he stormed. “What is the meaning of this? Say, before I have
you beaten by the guard!”
Pushed forward by many hands, Goshi began to speak, his voice
quavering, his eyes damp with laughter. “Lord, what is my knowledge
compared with the wisdom of these holy men? But I was with them last
night when they planned the downfall of this young hunter. And indeed I
saw no devils and no flames. Their devil, perhaps, was the small piglet
with which they played. Their play was to me a surprise, but who was I
to know the customs of holy men?” The look of childlike innocence on
the stout trader’s face was the cause of some weakly silenced guffaws
among the crowd, and several figures made a bolt for the door. He
paused, as his voice was getting tremulous again, and Garram stepped
forward.
“That piglet was mine, which unfortunately fell through the roof as I
was bringing it home. It did no harm, and without doubt thought they
wished to play.” Garram, his ingenuous explanation ended, stood,
scratching one leg with the other foot.
“A piglet that wanted to play with the Liman, or a Liman that wanted
to play with a piglet?” The Emir’s look of anger gave way to one of
curiosity. He leaned forward as he spoke. “What talk is this? Do thou,
Goshi, tell me your story first; then perhaps will come some measure of
enlightenment!”
Willingly Goshi took up his story. No market was dull where Goshi was,
and this was a story of stories. Certainly it lost nothing in the
telling. Again and yet again the guard had to quiet the court so that
the Emir might not miss a point. By the time the trader had described
how the feet of the scurrying pig had tickled his ribs each time it
passed him, twisting in laughter on the floor, the Liman and his
witnesses had slunk from the court.
When he reached the description--purely imaginative, for it had been
too dark to see--of the expression on the holy faces, the thin shanks
waving in the air, as their owners were bowled over, picked themselves
up, and were bowled over again and again, noisy and uncontrolled
merriment drowned the rest of the story for anyone but the Emir. Which
was a pity, for probably his best bit was his picture of the man
hanging--according to Goshi--by his feet from the roofing, invoking,
“Shehu! Shehu!” in a thin batlike squeak before he let go his hold and
plunged headforemost into the Liman’s meager center section.
The story at last ended (and with what wealth of embroidery!), the
Emir turned weakly to Garram. “Though the humiliation of those men was
well deserved, take heed! Only two men do as you have done safely, a
Waziri or a Wawa. Because of your wisdom I might make you my Waziri--my
Vizier--or for your jokes I might make you the Wawa--the Court Jester.
The one has power and the other license, so both are safe.”
At the sound of the Emir’s voice silence fell again upon the Assembly.
“But,”--the Emir emphasized the word--“because of your jokes you cannot
be Vizier, and because of your wisdom you cannot be Jester. Now for
your services choose some requital, ask some gift that I may bestow,
some favor that I may grant!”
Garram transferred his weight to the other leg and with the toe of the
disengaged foot scratched himself and sought for words. Then: “Freely
I came to your city of Yelwa, O Father of the Plainlands, and freely I
would return to my Hills with my dog, my weapons, and my new piglet.”
He had not the gift of words, and more scratching of his leg seemed
needed before he went on. Something in his manner made a hush fall upon
the people, who had begun to whisper comment. “Though no message has
come to me, all to-day I have known that I must go back to my Hills.
This I cannot explain, but I think it is my father who is in danger and
whose spirit is calling to mine.”
“Boy in years and man in ways, I think I understand you.” The Emir’s
voice had in it sadness, disappointment, and Goshi and others nodded in
sympathy. Many would be sorry at his departure. “If your father is in
danger I would offer you armed men to assist, but I fear they would
only hinder.” Garram nodded in reply. “I would offer you rule over a
province if it would make you stay--but I know that it would not.” The
Emir rose to his full height to signify that the audience was ended.
“If some day you need riches, armed force, or power, remember that I,
the Emir of the Plains, am your friend. Remember further that I am a
just man who would pay his debts to you for your many services. In the
name of Allah the Compassionate, the Merciful, the audience is ended.
Go in peace!”
A GHOST LEOPARD
[Illustration]