18.
Lolabe[1]
TELLER: Testify that God is One!
AUDIENCE: There is no god but God.
Once there was a king who had a son—an only son and no other. He made a vow.[2] If his son survived and grew up, he would run two channels
[1] The name "Lolabe" is not ordinarily used for girls; it means "spiral," and its applicability to the tale is obscure.
[2] The making of a vow (nidir ), usually in connection with something or someone precious and in danger of being lost or harmed, such as a stray animal or a sick child, is a popular practice in the Arab world. The individual making the vow states it as a condition: if A , then B. B is supposed to be an act favored by the Deity and may include any of the following propitiatory acts: animal sacrifice for the sake of Allah or for the poor (dbiha la-wajh il-lah, !a-l-fuqara ); fasting (syam ) for a certain number of days; going on the hajj; performing a certain number of prostrations (rak`at ) in prayer; lighting candles in a saint's shrine (maqam ) or a church (knise ), or buying articles that may be useful in these holy places; giving alms to the poor (sadaqa ); and so forth. One or more of these acts are performed after the desired result has occurred, among which may be: the return of an absent one (yrawwih i!-gayib ); the healing of a sick person (ytib il-imriz ); a woman's pregnancy (tihbal il-mara ); the birth of a boy (tjib sabi ); or the release of someone from prison (yitla` flan rain is-sijin ).
The vow is believed to bring good results; the Deity seems to favor such "deals" and so fulfills His part of the agreement. Most Palestinian adults can recount tens, if not hundreds, of cases where the vow worked. Yet a vow is also a serious and dangerous affair, for it is always possible that the person making it may not be able to fulfill his side. Such nonfulfillment may anger the Deity, causing Him to inflict a revenge that may be worse than the original condition—in which case it would have been better not to have made the vow in the first place.
In the tale, the listener is made to appreciate the father's anxiety over the boy's life, and hence the need for the vow. We are told that the king "had a son—an only son and no other." The implication here is that other siblings had died young because the mother is unable to bear children who can survive (bi`išilhaš wlad ), and thus he is liable to die young too. A related concern of the father is not having an heir should his remaining child die.
into the city for the benefit of the poor and the destitute. One channel would be filled with honey, and the other with ghee.[3]
One day the boy grew up and started school, and an old crone began annoying him. Every day she would meet him and say, "Tell your mother to fulfill the vow, or I'll cut short your life!" But when he reached home, he forgot. The next day, she would wait for him on his way to school and say, "Tell your mother to fulfill the vow, or I'll cut short your life!" And he would answer, "But, grandmother, I keep forgetting."
"You forget," she said one day. Gathering some pebbles from the road, she put them in his pocket and said, "These stones are to remind you. The moment you put your hand in your pocket, you'll remember."[4]
"Very well," he said. But when he came home from school he changed clothes without putting his hand in his pocket. When they washed his clothes, his mother found the pebbles in his pocket. "Yee!" she thought to herself. "Allah forgive me! A king's son with a craving. O my little baby! It looks like he wanted to put candy in his pocket, but look, he put in pebbles." The moment he came home, she asked him, "Son, why did you put these pebbles in your pocket? My darling boy, if you've been craving something, tell me and I'll give you the money to buy it."[5]
"Ah yes, mother," he recalled. "No, I don't crave anything. Rather there's an old woman who meets me every day and says, 'Tell your mother to fulfill the vow, or I'll cut short your life.'"
"Yes, all right," she said.
The mother went up to see the king, and he gave orders, "Dig two channels, clean them well and paint them, and run honey in one and ghee in the other!" Now there was one who had news of the channels and who also knew the old woman. He was (Save your honors!) mean, a rascal.[6] He went to the old woman and called out, "Hey! Old lady! The sultan
[3] Honey and ghee are worthy of a vow because both are highly desired and expensive. See Tale 1, n. 5.
[4] The putting of stones or other heavy objects in one's pocket as a reminder of something is actually practiced.
[5] The oversolicitous attitude of the mother, who invents a candy craving on the part of her son, is a realistic portrayal. The audience would appreciate this concern, however, because he is an only son.
[6] The Arabic word for "rascal" here is manjus , from the root najusa , "to be [ritually] impure or unclean." Hence, the narrator's interjection heša s-sam`in , translated here as "Save your honors!"; but see Tale 15, n. 8.
has declared he will cut off the heads of all the old women." She locked herself in and hid.
Meanwhile, the king had the channels built, one for honey and the other for ghee. People scooped the honey and ghee up until there was no more. The old woman's neighbor came to her, saying, "Hey, neighbor! What's the matter? Why do you have yourself locked in?"
"O, dear neighbor," she answered, "so and so told me such and such."
"Yee! God help you!" exclaimed the other. "He's tricked you. Didn't you know the king was today fulfilling the vow he'd made for his son? He's had a channel dug for honey and another for ghee. You'd better hurry."
Taking with her a piece of cotton, two small pots, and a little glass, she set out. She sat under the king's palace by the channels and started soaking her piece of cotton and squeezing it into the glass. The few drops of honey she poured into one pot, and the few drops of ghee into the other. Now the son of the king looked over and found it was the old crone who used to pester him every day, and she was letting [whatever she could get] soak into the cotton. She was too late to get much. Waiting until she had filled her glass, he brought a pebble and threw it out the window fight down at her glass, and lo! he spilled it. Looking up like so, she exclaimed, "Yee! So it's you, the son of the king! For over an hour I've been trying to fill this glass, and you've spilled it for me just like that! May Allah afflict you with Lolabe, daughter of Lolabe!"[7]
"Don't worry, old woman," said the boy. "Come around this way, and I'll replace it for you."
She brought the two pots with her, and he filled them up and said, "Go your way!"
Afterwards, he went to his mother and said, "Mother, prepare food and provisions for me. I want to go searching for Lolabe."
"O my son, my darling! Son of worthy people! Where are you going to search?"
"No use," he insisted. "I'm going to search for her."
His horse having been prepared, he took the provisions and set out
[7] 'Alia yiblik ib-lolabe . Although falling in love is not considered to be bad or harmful for a boy, the old woman phrases her wish in the form of a curse (da`we ; see Tale 24, n. 3), using the word afflict . We may thus conclude that the vow was not fulfilled properly or that it came too late, and that punishment for the boy had to follow.
with the crowing of the cock.[8] He traveled and traveled, moving from place to place, until he reached a castle on a hill in the wilderness. He must have been tired, for he lay down to rest by the wall of the castle. Looking out, Lolabe saw him at the foot of the castle.
"Who are you?" she asked. "Are you Clever Hasan?" (I don't know his name.)[9]
"Yes," he answered.
"My mother's coming any moment, and she'll gobble you up. You'd better come up?
And (if the story is to be trusted) she let down her hair, he hung on to it, and she pulled him up into the castle with her. Her mother arrived.
"Lolabe! Lolabe!" she called out. "Let your hair down for your mother! Your sad, miserable, and tired mother, who's eaten a hundred trees and a hundred cows and still hasn't had enough."
Lolabe let down her hair and pulled her mother up. It is said, however, that as soon as she heard her mother's voice she blew on Hasan and changed him into a pin, which she stuck in her headband.
"You reek of human, human," said the mother when she came in. "Not for a little while, or since yesterday, but as of right now, even before sunrise!"[10]
"O mother!" replied Lolabe. "It's you who goes running into all sorts of things! It's you who leaves early. As for me, I'm here in the castle. How could a human being possibly reach me?"
"I don't know," said the mother. "But you do smell of human."
"There is no human here," insisted Lolabe.
Looking about, the mother noticed the pin in Lolabe's headband.
"Lend me that pin so I can remove a thorn from my foot," she said.
"All day long you're wandering around running into things and knocking trees down under your feet," answered Lolabe. "And if there were a thorn in your foot, it would've fallen out."
"No, daughter," groaned the mother. "This is a big thorn. Give me the pin so I can remove it."
[8] Palestinian villagers used to—and some still do—depend on the cock's crow to signal morning and time to get up and go to work. Cocks are supposed to crow three times, punctuating the time from dawn to sunrise.
[9] This curious interjection by the teller is as if to say that the hero should have his own name, not just the generic "Clever Hasan." See, however, n. 14, below; cf. Tale 5, n. 4.
[10] Rihtik ins, ins, la min issa wala min ams; 'illa 'issa, qabl itlu` iš-šams is an unusual variation on the formula usually uttered by ghouls in this situation, which is simply "You smell of human" (rihtik ins ). Note the three-part rhyming pattern: ins, ams, šams .
Removing the pin, Lolabe turned it into a watermelon, which she hid among their store of watermelons, and she gave her another pin to remove the thorn. Her mother passed it this way and that over her foot and gave it back. (Could it be true that a ghouleh would really want to remove a thorn?) She looked around again and said, "Give me that watermelon to eat."
"All day long you're running around in the wild to fill your belly," complained Lolabe. "And now you've come to eat what I have in the house."
"By Allah," said the mother. "I'm really tired" (and I don't know what else), "go bring me a watermelon to eat."
Lolabe went and rolled a watermelon over to her mother, who said, "Not this one! That one!" "Not this one! That one!" and so on, insisting so much that Lolabe took hold of the watermelon and dashed it to the floor, spilling seeds all over. Now Lolabe (if the teller is not lying) covered one of the seeds with her foot, while her mother set about licking up the watermelon—seeds, find, and all—and started on her way out.
"Let me down," she said.
Lolabe let her down, and the ghouleh went her way. She then took the watermelon seed and blew on it, bringing the boy back as he had been.
"Let's hurry out of here!" she urged. "If my mother came back now, she'd kill us both and devour you." She then brought henna and spread it over all the articles of everyday use in the house—the kneading bowl, the plate, the cooking pot. She did not forget anything, they say, except the mortar and pestle.
Taking the comb, the mirror, and the kohl jar with her, she came down with him. They gathered themselves together and traveled, traveled.
"O Lolabe!" her mother called out when she came back. "Let your hair down for your sad and tired mother."
There was no answer. "She's kneading [the dough]," said the kneading bowl. "She's sifting [the flour]," said the sieve. "She's doing the laundry," said the washtub. The mortar and pestle was left, and it rang out, "Rinn! Rinn!" The human took her and ran away!"
[11] "Rinn! Rinn!" renders onomatopoeically the sound of a ringing bell. The behavior of the mortar and pestle is an apt metaphor for the spreading of rumor about a love relationship in a Palestinian village community.
She went running after them, following in their tracks. When Lolabe looked back, she spied the ghouleh and her bitch behind them.
"My mother's following us," she said. "In a moment, she'll devour us."
Taking hold of her comb, she cast it behind her. It turned into a fence of thorns, and they moved on, running away from there.
"Chop, chop, my little bitch!" said the ghouleh, "and I'll chop with you till we open a path and follow him."
They chopped and chopped until they cleared a path and then followed in pursuit.
When she looked back, Lolabe saw the ghouleh still behind them.
"She's catching up with us," said Lolabe, and she threw the kohl jar behind her. It turned into a wall of fire.
"Pee, pee, my little bitch!" said the ghouleh, "and I'll pee too, till we clear a path and follow them."
They pissed and pissed till they made a path, then followed in pursuit.
When Lolabe looked behind her, the ghouleh was still following.
"My mother's still on our heels," she said. "Now she'll devour us. We have only this mirror left."
Taking hold of the mirror, she tossed it behind her, and it turned into a pool that blocked the way for the ghouleh and her bitch.
"Lap it up, lap it up, my little bitch!" said the ghouleh to her helper, "and I'll lap it up too. If you burst, I'll sew you up; and if I burst, you'll sew me up again."
But how much water were they going to lap from this pool? They licked and licked until they both burst and died.
When Lolabe looked back, she found them dead.
"It's all over," she said. "They're gone. Now we're free."
Pulling themselves together, they traveled and traveled. If their village was 'Arrabe, they came, you might say, to the famous oak tree by Maslaxit.[12] Leaving her there (he didn't think it proper to bring her home like that), he said, "Wait for me here till I go tell my family and come back for you with a proper wedding procession and the sultan's royal band." After he had gone, Lolabe climbed into the tree and sat down.
[12] This ancient tree in the plain of Battov (upper Galilee) is used by the local people as a landmark. Cf. Tale 5, n. 5; Tale 30, n. 11.
Underneath the tree there was a well. The slavegirl of the king's household came to fill her jar from the well. Looking over into the water, she saw Lolabe's reflection there.
"Alas!" she cried out. "Me with all this beauty in the well, and I'm a slave to a household of blacksmiths!"[13]
Smash! She hurled the water jug to the ground and went home, got another jar, and came back. Again looking into the water, she saw Lolabe's reflection. She thought her reflection beautiful.
"What!" she exclaimed. "Me with all this beauty in the well, and I'm a slave to a household of blacksmiths!" Hurling her water jug to the ground, she was set to leave, when Lolabe laughed from the tree. Looking up, the slavegirl saw her.
"So," she said. "It's you who's sitting up there, and I've been breaking my master's jars for nothing. Now they'll kill me. You'd better come down!"
Lolabe climbed down.
The slavegirl, it turned out, was a witch. Holding the bride in front of her, she stuck her full of pins. When she stuck a pin in her head, it would turn into a dove's head, and her arms into dove's wings. She stuck and stuck her with pins until she had changed Lolabe completely into a dove. She threw Lolabe into the air, put on her clothes, and sat in the tree waiting for the son of the king. Arriving with the sultan's band, the son of the king passed under the tree and prepared to bring her down. And how did he find her, but sitting there [like a princess]? "Climb down!" he said, and he brought her down from the tree.
"Are you Lolabe?" he asked when she came down.
"Yes."
"Why are your eyes like that?"
"Because I've been crying for you so much."
"Why are your nostrils like that?"
"Because I've been blowing my nose from crying so much."
"And why is your face like that?"
"Because I was slapping it so much, lamenting your absence."
[13] This reference, `abdit dar haddadin (which could also mean, "a slave to a family named Haddadin"), is obscure, for we have just been told that she is a "slave of the king's household." Practitioners of all crafts, however, and blacksmiths in particular (perhaps because they were most often gypsies), were generally looked down upon, especially by the Bedouins.
"She is my portion and my fate," he said to himself, covering her face before anybody could see her. He sat her on a horse, and the procession started for home. As soon as they arrived at the palace, he took her inside and lived with her. "It's settled!" he convinced himself. "She must be Lolabe." She herself kept insisting she was Lolabe.
From that time the real Lolabe started coming to their house, the palace of the king. She would fly to the kitchen and perch on the wall.
"Cook! O cook!" she would cry. "The son of the king, your master— is he happy or sad? Is lie in the company of whites or blacks? Come, let us cry together tears of coral and pearl!" Perching on the wall, she would then weep, and pearls and coral would pour from her eyes. The cook would rush out to pick them up, and the food would burn. The first day, the food burned; the second day also. On the third day, the son of the sultan said [to his servants], "Tell the cook to come see me! I want to see what's the matter with him, why for the past two or three days the food's been burned so badly we haven't been able to eat it." They sent for him, and he came.
"Come here!" said the son of the sultan. "Why for the past two or three days have you been doing that to the food? Are you new at this trade?"
"Master, let me explain!" replied the cook. "Every day a dove comes, perches on the wall, and cries out, 'Cook, O cook! The son of the sultan, your master—is he happy or sad? Is he in the company of whites or blacks? Come, let us cry together tears of coral and pearl!' She stands on the edge of the wall and weeps and weeps, and coral and pearls pour down. Look how much I've already collected from what she's left behind? "When does she usually come?"
"She comes when I start to cook," he answered. "I go out to collect the coral and pearls. I get distracted, and the food burns."
"All right, this time you're forgiven. Tomorrow, take good care of the food!"
Going up to the roof, the son of the king lay in wait for her. When the dove came, she landed on the wall. "Cook, O cook!" she called out. "The son of the king, your master—is he happy or sad? Is he in the company of whites or blacks? Come, let us cry together tears of coral and pearl!" She was distracted, crying, when he crept up from behind, reached out his hand, and caught her. Taking her inside, he put her in his lap. As he stroked her, he found the pins planted in her body. Pull, pull! The first
pin—her arm came back as it was. The second pin and the third—he kept feeling around, removing pins from her body, until Lolabe appeared again.
"What's going on?" he asked. "Who did this to you?"
"A slavegirl came upon me," she answered. "Such and such happened to me, and she was the one who did this."
Now the other (she was a witch after all!) outwitted him. She caught him, changed him into a dove, and made him fly away. She then started to lord it over Lolabe, making her sleep on a straw mat. He, too, would come flying around her window, land on the sill, and cry out, "O Lolabe, Lolabe! How are you faring in my father's house?"
"Mats under me and mats over me," she would answer. "It is the sleep of hardship, O my Yusuf!"
Perched on her window, he would weep and weep till his eyes went blind, and then he would fly away. Coming back the next day, he cried out, "Lolabe, O Lolabe! How are you faring in my father's house?"
"Bedding under me and bedding over me," she answered. "It is the sleep of comfort, O my Yusuf!"
Standing there, he cried, and she cried with him. When his eyes went nearly blind, he gathered himself and flew away. On the third day he came back, calling, "Lolabe, O Lolabe! How are you faring in my father's house?"
"Silk under me and silk over me," she answered. "It is the sleep of a vizier, O my Yusuf!"[14]
Standing in the window, he cried and cried. Meanwhile, she had been waiting behind the window, and, reaching out her hand, she caught hold of him and removed the pins from his body.
They began their wedding celebrations all over again, holding a feast and making merry for many an evening. He married her. It was then announced in the city, "He who loves the sultan must bring a load of wood and some burning coals!" They burned the witch and scattered her ashes to the wind.
This is my tale, I've told it, and in your hands I leave it.
[14] The first-person possessive of the name Yusuf (Yusufi) in Lolabe's answer (tihti harir, foqi harir; nom il-wazir, ya Yusufi ) is used as a connecting rhyme, or near rhyme (-bi with -fi ), with the question (ya Lolabi, wiš halik fi dar abi ?). The question itself and all three answers form rhyming ditties that are apparently independent of the rest of the tale—which may explain why the teller was confused earlier (see n. 9, above) about the name of the hero.