The Wedding of Zein Read Online Free

moment that every one of them was a bastard, that would not have angered them more than this remark of his. They rose up as one man, bore down upon him, and would certainly have killed him if I had not intervened and snatched him from their clutches. I then put him on a donkey and told him to make good his escape.
    And so it was that the steamer still does not stop here and that we still ride off on our donkeys for a whole morning and take the steamer from the neighbouring village when circumstances require us to travel. We content ourselves with the thought that we visit the tomb of Wad Hamid with our women and children and that we make offerings there every Wednesday as our fathers and fathers’ fathers did before us.
    Excuse me, my son, while I perform the sunset prayer — it is said that the sunset prayer is ‘strange’: if you don’t catch it in time it eludes you.
God’s pious servants — I declare that there is no god but God and I declare that Mohamed is His Servant and His Prophet — Peace be upon you and the mercy of God!
    Ah, ah. For a week this back of mine has been giving me pain. What do you think it is, my son? I know, though — it’s just old age. Oh to be young! In my young days I would breakfast off half a sheep, drink the milk of five cows for supper, and be able to lift a sack of dates with one hand. He lies who says he ever beat me at wrestling. They used to call me ‘the crocodile’. Once I swam the river, using my chest to push a boat loaded with wheat to the other shore — at night! On the shore were some men at work at their water-wheels, who threw down their clothes in terror and fled when they saw me pushing the boat towards them.
    â€˜Oh people,’ I shouted at them, ‘what’s wrong, shame upon you! Don’t you know me? I’m “the crocodile”. By God, the devils themselves would be scared off by your ugly faces.’
    My son, have you asked me what we do when we’re ill?
    I laugh because I know what’s going on in your head. You townsfolk hurry to the hospital on the slightest pretext. If one of you hurts his finger you dash off to the doctor who puts a bandage on and you carry it in a sling for days; and even then it doesn’t get better. Once I was working in the fields and something bit my finger — this little finger of mine. I jumped to my feet and looked around in the grass where I found a snake lurking. I swear to you it was longer than my arm. I took hold of it by the head and crushed it between two fingers, then bit into my finger, sucked out the blood, and took up a handful of dust and rubbed it on the bite.
    But that was only a little thing. What do we do when faced with real illness?
    This neighbour of ours, now. One day her neck swelled up and she was confined to bed for two months. One night she had a heavy fever, so at first dawn she rose from her bed and dragged herself along till she came — yes, my son, till she came to the doum tree of Wad Hamid. The woman told us what happened.
    â€˜I was under the doum tree,’ she said, ‘with hardly sufficient strength to stand up, and called out at the top of my voice: “O Wad Hamid, I have come to you to seek refuge and protection — I shall sleep here at your tomb and under your doum tree. Either you let me die or you restore me to life; I shall not leave here until one of these two things happens.”
    â€˜And so I curled myself up in fear,’ the woman continued with her story, ‘and was soon overcome by sleep. While midway between wakefulness and sleep I suddenly heard sounds of recitation from the Koran and a bright light, as sharp as a knife-edge, radiated out, joining up the two river banks, and I saw the doum tree prostrating itself in worship. My heart throbbed so violently that I thought it would leap up through my mouth. I saw a venerable old man with a white beard and wearing a spotless white robe come