Maghreb

6p.m. It would soon be sunset. If he hurried he would be able to listen to the calls to prayers from the mosques, before going on to the beach. He broke into a leisurely trot, soon becoming a part of the matrix of drawn out shadows and shimmering surfaces that intertwined as the sun slowly brought the day of heat to an end.

      -Al-lah-oooh ak-bar! The first mosque. The frail voice of an old man. Long quavering notes and a guttural sound that implied closed nostrils. The distortions of the megaphone that was inevitably tied to the railings of the minaret, to look down, peering into the streets before making its next announcement across the rooftops.
      -Al-mo-st ther'-now! The first lines were always repeated four times over, half-said, half-sung, during which time the other mosques in the town would, one by one, follow in taking up the cry, calling the faithful to prayer; so that within the space of a few minutes an intricate system of inter-echoing cries would fill the town with a vibrancy, perfectly matched by the light from the setting sun.
      In the shade now, walking along the empty market street. The sand-yellow slabs of paving stone being bespeckled with the remnants of rotting vegetables that would, in the course of the next days, be trodden down and dry out to become a black cakey substance, building up around the gaps between the stones in gentle undulations before petering out to leave a patch of polished basalt. Above, through the gaps in the erratic patchwork of canvas awnings and corrugated iron roofs that hung over the street, he could see the minaret of the mosque from which the cries came. Turning into an alleyway that led in this direction, he followed its zigzag course, an archway bringing him out at the corner of a small square.
      Across the square, rising up behind the seclusion of its enclosing walls, he could see the mosque, a flurry of arches, domes and buttresses, rising up, up and away from him, up to God. The minaret he had glimpsed through the awnings of the market was in the corner opposite him; a part of the enclosing wall, it stood prophet-like between the sacred ground of the mosque and the profane enclosure of the square. Beside him, on his left, arose another wall of sanctuary, behind which stood a second mosque; this one being, however, much smaller than its counterpart on the other side of the square, for it was in fact, a "djemaa", the equivalent of a chapel. Nevertheless it too had a minaret that reached up behind him. Below this minaret, the archway through which he had just come, joining the walls of the djemaa with those of a metal workshop, whose premises extended as far as the enclosing walls of the mosque across the way. The corner with the mosque was host to the workshop's scrap heap. Pipes, rods and bars of different dimensions and cross-sections were leaned up against the wall, while on the ground lay the discarded off-cuts and cut-offs of the workshop's production. Positive and negative shapes of sheet metal, bits of wire and old paint cans, intersected with one another, to reveal a rich tapestry of planes, surfaces and textures; their recipe of invention being the blue-print for a thousand cubist sculptures ...
      Scattered about more freely, the inevitable assortment of soft drink cans and stray cats. Of the cats, some sat contentedly while others eyed each other suspiciously, nervously shifting their positions amongst the rubbish (the advance of the tabby from Cola to Fanta incurring the ginger tom's retreat from 7-Up to Coke, while blissfully oblivious, the grey she-cat blinks lazily in the last rays of the sun at Sprite-by-Swarf.)
      Facing the workshop, loomed a large, dilapidated, old town house, the sutters hanging crookedly from single hinges or missing altogether, exposing the broken windows and testifying mutely to better times since gone by. Parallel with the front of the house ran a narrow street, wide enough for a car to pass along, that provided the access for the two cars that were parked in the square. In one direction the street ran down to the harbour, while in the other it led into the centre of the town, to the city gates and inland. The workshop was closed and apart from the cars and the congress of cats, the square was empty, dominated by the sad features of the abandoned house and the detached pride of the minarets.
      As if announcing his arrival to the larger mosque, a series of shrill cries, issuing from the minaret of the djemaa, proceeded to pierce the evening air:
      -God is the most powerful! God is the most powerful! Reassuringly, in a deeper and more full-bodied tone, the voice of the muzzein in the mosque answered back, attesting to God's uniqueness and to Mohammid's being his only prophet.
      The Englishman's circumspection of the square thus became the product of witnessing a transformation, T1, of articles of the Islamic faith (, , , , , , ) from one minaret, situated at the corner "a" of the square, onto another minaret at corner "c" diagonally opposite; and of the transformation, T2, of the same articles of faith, from the minaret at "c" back onto the minaret at "a". For, from observing at any given moment, t, the respective minaret, at "a" or "c", from which eminated (through a megaphone) tenet f(t); his gaze would then follow an arc from "a" to "c" via corner "b" on the square, and then from "c" to "a" via corner "d", in such a manner that the arrival of his glance at "a" or "c" was simultaneous with the emition of tenet f(t+1) of the series, from the minaret from whence his gaze had just come, this causing his attention to return to the aforesaid minaret.
      These oscillations of attention between the points "a" and "c" were reflected in his mind's eye; the houses undulating across the sky, the cats and the Coke cans being for him nothing more than the visual resonances of the echoing cries that rebounded around the square. From the depths of his soul he felt a vortex spiral out into the infinite reaches of the void, a surging swirl that transcended the boundaries and limitations of the senses. He had broken the fetters of mortality. From the farthest reaches of space and from the deepest cavities of time, he could feel the vibrations of the cries that testified to his uniqueness:

The hashish had taken effect.

 

Le Théâtre de Séraphin
[Translation]

Qu'éprouve-t-on? que voit-on? des choses merveilleuses, n'est-ce pas? des spectacles extraordinaires? Est-ce bien beau? et bien terrible? et bien dangereux? - Telles sont les questions ordinaires qu'adressent, avec une curiosité mêlée de crainte, les ignorants aux adeptes. On dirait une enfantine impatience de savoir, comme celle des gens qui n'ont jamais quitté le coin de leur feu, quand ils se trouvent en face d'un homme qui revient de pays lointains et inconnus. Ils se figurent l'ivresse du haschisch comme un pays prodigieux, un vaste théâtre de prestidigitation et d'escamotage, où tout est miraculeux et imprévu. C'est là un préjugé, une méprise complète. Et, puisque pour le commun des lecteurs et des questionneurs le mot haschisch comporte l'idée d'un monde étrange et bouleversé, l'attente de rêves prodigieux (il serait mieux de dire hallucinations, lesquelles sont d'ailleurs moins fréquentes qu'on ne le suppose), je ferai tout de suite remarquer l'importante différence qui sépare les effets du haschisch des phénomènes du sommeil. Dans le sommeil, ce voyage aventureux de tous les soirs, il y a quelque chose de positivement miraculeux; c'est un miracle dont la ponctualité a émoussé le mystère. Les rêves de l'homme sont de deux classes. Les uns, plein de sa vie ordinaire, de ses préoccupations, de ses désirs, de ses vices, se combinent d'une façon plus ou moins bizarre avec les objets entrevus dans la journée, qui se sont indiscrètement fixés sur la vaste toile de sa mémoire. Voilà le rêve naturel; il est l'homme lui-même. Mais l'autre espèce de rêve! Le rêve absurde, imprévu, sans rapport ni connexion avec le caractère, la vie et les passions du dormeur! Ce rêve, que j'appellerai hiéroglyphique, représente évidemment le côté surnaturel de la vie, et c'est justement parce qu'il est absurde que les anciens l'ont cru divin. Comme il est inexplicable par les causes naturelles, ils lui ont attribué une cause extérieure à l'homme; et encore aujourd'hui, sans parler des onéiromanciens, il existe une école philosophique qui voit dans les rêves de ce genre tantôt un reproche, tantôt un conseil; en somme, un tableau symbolique et moral, engendré dans l'esprit même de l'homme qui sommeille. C'est un dictionnaire qu'il faut étudier, une langue dont les sages peuvent obtenir la clef.
      Dans l'ivresse du haschisch, rien de semblable. Nous ne sortirons pas de rêve naturel. L'ivresse, dans toute sa durée, ne sera, il est vrai, qu'un immense rêve, grâce à l'intensité des couleurs et à la rapidité des conceptions; mais elle gardera toujours la tonalité particulière de l'individu. L'homme a voulu rêver, le rêve gouvernera l'homme; mais ce rêve sera bien le fils de son père. L'oisif s'est ingénié pour introduire artificiellement le surnaturel dans sa vie et dans sa pensée; mais il n'est, après tout et malgré l'énergie accidentelle de ses sensations, que le même homme augmenté, le même nombre élevé à une très haute puissance. Il est subjugué; mais, pour son malheur, il ne l'est que par lui-même, c'est-à-dire par la partie déjà dominante de lui-même; il a voulu faire l'ange, il est devenu une bête, momentanément très puissante, si toutefois on peut appeler puissance une sensiblité excessive, sans gouvernement pour la modérer ou l'exploiter.
      Que les gens du monde et les ignorants, curieux de connaître des jouissances exceptionnelles, sachent donc bien qu'ils ne trouveront dans le haschisch rien de miraculeux, absolument rien que le naturel excessif. Le cerveau et l'organisme sur lesquels opère le haschisch, ne donneront que leurs phénomènes ordinaires, individuels, augmentés, il est vrai, quant au nombre et à l'énergie, mais toujours fidèles à leur origine. L'homme n'échappera pas à la fatalité de son tempérament physique et moral: le haschisch sera, pour les impressions et les pensée familières de l'homme, un miroir grossissant, mais un pur miroir.
      Voici la drogue sous vos yeux: un peu de confiture verte, grosse comme une noix, singulièrement odorante, à ce point qu'elle soulève une certaine répulsion et des velléités de nausée, comme le ferait, du reste, toute odeur fine et même agréable, portée à son maximum de force et pour ainsi dire de densité. Qu'il me soit permis de remarquer, en passant, que cette proposition peut être inversée, et que le parfum le plus répugnant, le plus révoltant, deviendrait peut-être un plaisir s'il était réduit à son minimum de quantité et d'expansion. -Voilà donc le bonheur! il remplit la capacité d'une petite cuiller! le bonheur avec toutes ses ivresses, toutes ses folies, tous ses enfantillages! Vous pouvez avaler sans crainte; on n'en meurt pas. Vos organes physiques n'en recevront aucune atteinte. Plus tard peut-être un trop fréquent appel au sortilège diminuera-t-il force de votre volonté, peut-être serez-vous moins homme que vous ne l'êtes aujourd'hui; mais le châtiment est si lointain, et le désastre futur d'une nature si difficile à définir! Que risquez-vous? demain un peu de fatigue nerveuse. Ne risquez-vous pas tous les jours de plus grands châtiments pour de moindres récompenses? Ainsi, c'est dit: vous avez même, pour lui donner plus de force et d'expansion, délayé votre dose d'extrait gras dans une tasse de café noir; vous avez pris soin d'avoir l'estomac libre, reculant vers neuf ou dix heures du soir le repas substantiel, pour livrer au poison toute liberté d'action; tout au plus dans une heure prendrez-vous une légère soupe. Vous êtes maintenant suffisamment lesté pour un long et singulier voyage. La vapeur a sifflé, la voilure est orientée, et vous avez sur les voyageurs ordinaires ce curieux privilége d'ignorer où vous allez. Vous l'avez voulu; vive la fatalité!
      Another way of deciphering the mysterious Orient, he thought, remembering how a universe had opened up, unlocked by a metaphor that chance had placed before him. A whole philosophy had flashed before his eyes, explaining everything by the power of that one analogy, that had spiralled out into the darkness of the night. God is the most powerful, God is the most powerful...
      After the square, he had made his way down to the harbour, observing how the masts and spires of the fishing boats had begun to shake and jitter against the sky. That had been the beginning of the hallucinatory phase. Among the sand dunes, the tufts of grass had loomed over him, defracted into strands of red, yellow, green, and indigo, that had swayed evasively in the evening light. In this secret garden of shimmering glazes and rainbow contours, everything had quivered in anticipation as he stepped among the blue and violet shadows...
      Mais le lendemain! le terrible lendemain! tous les organes relâches, fatigués, les nerfs détendus, les titillantes envies de pleurer, l'impossibilité de s'appliquer à un travail suivi, vous enseignent cruellement que vous avez joué un jeu défendu. La hideuse nature, dépouillée de son illumination de la veille, ressemble aux mélancoliques débris d'une fête. La volonté surtout est attaquée, de toutes les facultés la plus précieuse. On dit, et c'est presque vrai, que cette substance ne cause aucun mal physique, aucun mal grave, du moins. Mais peut-on affirmer qu'un homme incapable d'action, et propre seulement aux rêves, se porterait vraiment bien, quand même tous ses membres seraient en bon état? Or, nous connaissons assez la nature humaine pour savoir qu'un homme qui peut, avec une cuillerée de confiture, se procurer instantanément tous les biens du ciel et de la terre, n'en gagnera jamais la millième partie par le travail.
      Although the drug opens the eyes and enlarges an artist's vision, he knew that, taken regularly, it weakens the will and erodes commitment. The artist sinks into the security of his hallucinations; which being so perfect and self-contained, scorn any attempt to render or attain such visions through an artistic or intellectual endeavour. He remembered the kif-smokers in the bars, infused in their visions of the infinite. Was it not better to arrive at such visions through the use of the imagination and the struggle with an artistic medium? To praise open the Orient's secrets, without the merit of having worked or studied, was nothing short of corrupt, degrading the value of that which was so sacred. What use were art, philosophy, and science, if they could not realise what the hashish-eater experienced privately?
      "Ces infortunés qui n'ont ni jeûné, ni prié, et qui ont refusé la rédemption par le travail, demandent à la noire magie les moyens de s'élever, d'un seul coup, à l'existence surnaturelle. La magie les dupe et elle allume pour eux un faux bonheur et une fausse lumière; tandis que nous, poètes et philosophes, nous avons régénéré notre âme par le travail successif et la contemplation; par l'exercise assidu de la volonté et la noblesse permanente de l'intention, nous avons créé à notre usage un jardin de vraie beauté. Confiants dans la parole qui dit que la foi transporte les montagnes, nous avons accompli le seul miracle dont Dieu nous ait octroyé la licence!"

 

The Garden

As daies turned to months and month unto yeer
The counsailers became besete with feer,
Feer of lyggyng forgotten in hir sell
Oonly to be summoned bi deth-knell.

Thus they hadde begun to lose al hir hope
Wan, al of a sodeyn ther came a note,
Offrynge alegeaunce to wich thif agred
Wolde sothe haf hem from hire fetters frehed.

Youre sacrid kyngdom ye shal haf ageyn
And youre enemies to shal al be slayn,
For I mene to byld a gardyn moste fayr
The like of wich nonsuch canne comper.

      A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Sahir. She had never come to the hotel before. She slipped in, quickly shutting the door behind her.
      "I know what it is you are looking for," she said hurriedly, "You are looking for the place from whence all poetry springs and after which all men thirst. It's a land of beatiful flowers and exotic fruits, watered by running streams and filled with the song of birds. There, rivers run, not just with water but also with milk, wine and honey. Those who drink of the wine shall commit no sin; for it will not muddle their heads or confuse them. Likewise, men shall be wedded to dark-eyed virgins, who, although they satisfy every wish, remain as chaste as the sheltered eggs of ostriches. Everything which a man may desire is to be found there, even your lions and unicorns, griffins and chimeras. It was from this place that Adam was expelled, and to it the righteous shall return. It's called paradise and you can read about it in the Koran." She paused looking at him.
      "Muhammad thinks you are looking for something else though. You shouldn't stay here any longer, he'll get you into trouble. You must leave as soon as you can." She glanced at the book lying open on the desk. "And you should stop reading that. It will bring you no good. Believe me."

That the gardyn trewli shal feign in look
As unto that i-writ in the goode book,
Al fine thynges within the hewynely gate
We moste with spangled jewels ornamate.

Wo for this mi ryches will not suffyce
And so youre tresouris I name as pris,
Thene shal I for youre rancoun bountee pay
Thif to this request ye plight me but yea.

      Somehow the counsellors' letters had been intercepted and had fallen into the hands of one Catolonables, who, in return for paying their ransom, was proposing that they contribute their treasures to the building of a garden; a garden to which they would then invite impressionable young men.

Into the shade of this fayr paradys
Yong men we shal with semly sight entyse,
And with youre costy gold syluere plate
Comely maidens will with glew on hem wait.

Ther goodly thynges shal so freeli abounde
This gardyn with Hewyn they will confounde,
And for na-thynge more will they euer wysch
But to retorn vn to this Eden bliss.

Hir resoun blynded bi a poycioun
Neuer will they doubt of this mocioun,
But with parfite and servylle obydience
Shal rest and wait at oure expedience.

      The potion which was to give the garden its aura of supernatural authenticity, was to be of course hashish. Duped into thinking that they really had been taken to paradise, these youths would then be sent out on missions of assasination. Firm in the belief that, in dying for Catolonables, they would be returned to the garden he had shown them, they would have no fear of death and so would strike with unquestioning effeciency.

Wan we haf dempt the tyme to be a-ripe
We'll send hem oute oure enemies to stryke,
And feeryng a fayle more than honoured deth
For vs they will sacrifise hir laste breth.

      In this way, they would rid themselves of both Mamluk and Moghul enemies. The kingdoms thereby obtained were to be divided between them; Catolonables getting the Persian territories to the east, while the counsellors would get the Levantine acquisitions to the west.
      Catolonables though, had not kept the letters he had so cunningly intercepted. Instead, he had had them sent on to their original destination in Rhodes, substituting the directions to the castle where the counsellors were being held, with directions for his own. Once he had the knight for whom the letters were intended firmly in his clutches, he hoped, with the aid of hashish, to extract from him the secrets and plans alluded to by the counsellors.
      After his experience of the previous evening, the Englishman could easily imagine how young men, used only to the rough life of the desert, really could be fooled into believing they had been taken to paradise. He imagined a garden of delicate flowers and blossoming fruit trees, where Catolonables kept a harem of beautiful maidens, who he said, were the bashful, dark-eyed houris of the Koran. Beneath golden-roofed pavillons these women would dance and sing, while the adumbrations of their nubile forms played upon the silken cushions and anticipative limbs of the eager youths ...

Beforn hir quyk ehyen kene they shal daunce
The illumynaciouns to enhawnse,
And as mi wondirful gras taakes effect
They no longer will bethink to suspect.

Thareftir shal they be bidden to taste
The fruttès and waters of this sweyte place,
Fruttès they neuer before haf sewyne
And waters pure and fresshe as in a dreme.

      No. He could not imagine leaving. Not yet. But that was what she had said. You must leave as soon as you can. If only she would explain. If only they could spend an evening together in one of the pavillions of such a garden...

In the ambrum of alabaster lyghte
Preshous stoones glimer radyant and brihte,
Castyng vp hire hewes into the aire
Al hir manyfolde colours meetyng ther.

 

The Love that Leads to Death

That night he dreamt. He dreamt he was wandering amongst the endless dunes of a desert. He felt he had been wandering forever, when, suddenly, the high walls of an enclosure loomed up before him. A door opened and on entering, he found himself in a cloistered courtyard. Beneath the pointed arches on the opposite side sat a woman, absorbed in the contemplation of an ostrich egg which she held in cupped hands. He started to make his way towards her, setting out across the sandy square. Ominously, the air stirred against his cheeks and the grains of sand began to dance and skip over the surface, springing up, as if blown from underneath by hidden straws. At first, these puffs of sand hardly reached his ankles; but with each step he took, they were blown higher and higher, rapidly turning into a swarm that swirled about his knees; it was the beginnings of a sand storm. He pulled his hat down firmly onto his head and continued towards the woman. Ostrich eggs, he now remembered, were once hung over the graves of the dead and represented creation, life, resurrection and vigilance. The woman looked up; it was Sahir - but the large kohl-enhanced eyes that gazed at him, showed no signs of recognition. The first granules of sand beat against his face and he was reduced to peering through the lashes of his half-closed eyes, while Sahir remained seated where she was, staring past him into the distance, untroubled by the turmoil that was about to engulf them. Then the full force of the wind struck and he had to shut his eyes and look down. He knew that the only way to survive a sand storm was to keep moving until it was over - staying still would mean burial and suffocation. Blindly he struggled on, buffeted by the wind and sand that seemed to come at him from all directions, his hands shielding his face from the granules that lashed against him.

From wilde storms of ragyng sond assailed
To wher the letter sayd they were gayholed,
Euere on the messenger dyde stryve
As threw the trecherous sonds he dyde ryde.

From out of the wind's fury, a voice began to address him,
      "Advance towards her, she will not be there. All you can do is advance and keep moving, in the hope that the storm will abate. If it does, you will have survived; if not you will eventually succumb to exhaustion, collapse and be buried. Many have died this way. It is the frustration of their souls when they see one of the living approaching me, that agitates the sand. If their anger does abate and you survive, there will be no trace of the columns or of the courtyard. Whether they were buried by the sand, or existed only in your imagination, is a question you should not ask. If you see me again, you may not be so lucky. I am Huyem, the love that leads to death. Save yourself if you can."

 

Hymn to Beauty

As thogh assendide oute of the derke depths
Or hast thou descended hewynely steps?
Thy gaze attones eterneel and deuyne
Embraces bothe beneuolence and cryme.

As the dawènyng in thine ehye awakes
So doth ther a cry of moornyng oute-breke,
Thy kisses turn an innocent child boolde
While a conqueryng hero is mukly sowde.

Destynee doth lede yow wher e'er she will
As blyndly thou scatirest good and ill,
Is it from Hewyn thou cometh or Helle?
Thou gouernest al thogh neuere doth telle.

No merci gyven to hem that doth scorne
With Deth and Horror thou ert not for-lorne,
On thy stomack they amorously praunce
With Famyne and Pestelence in cruel daunce.

And shuld a mortal dair to come to neer
Thy beauty blyndyng hijs euery feer,
These complisses rub hir honds myrilie
Reioysyng at the nexte offrynge to be.

Wheither from on hye or law thou hast come
O Beauty thou ert a monstruos oone,
For at the meerest lookyng vpon thee
A world doth open I n'er knew to be.

Wheither from God or Sathen be yow sente
Siren or sweyte aungel of goode entente,
Al oonly to yow shal I now preisie
Thou al oon who is now mi longe daies ease.

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