Eyes of the beholders

Enough with opera! Back to business!

An embarrassment of missing eyes now engulfs us. The three one-eyed dervishes rolled up at the home of the three beautiful girls (you haven’t forgotten them, have you?). The first and second dervishes have fully recounted the misadventures that led to the disappearance of their precious orbs. Ajib ibn Khadib, however, has not yet explained exactly how, when it comes to the loss of his eye, he is not the innocent victim of fate like his fellow dervishes.

He is too busy telling us how he is the blameless victim of fate, cast by the unfeeling stars as the unwilling murderer of innocent youth.

But this painful saga is not what he set out to tell us about – it is merely the preamble, the aperitif. The main course must be truly amazing then, you’d think. But in fact it’s a bit of a let down after the thrilling combination of astrology and accidental assassination to which we have just been treated.

The most curious thing about it is the number of right eyes involved. Ten, to be precise, each eye belonging to a different man, and all lost! Isn’t that astonishing?

The ten guys who’ve lost their right eyes are understandably not very happy about it and have a nightly ritual of grief that serves the dual purpose of expressing their feelings and warning off anyone who might be tempted to visit the scene of their disorbment to ‘see for themselves’.

Although they are not a pretty sight, and are at pains (for over a month!) to tell Ajib that it was their unrestrained inquisitiveness that led to their plight, he can no more restrain his own curiosity than they and in a flash we are back in the arena of ‘prohibition’ where everything is marvellous and you can have the best sex ever with the most beautiful women in the world for a whole year but don’t ask questions and don’t visit the forbidden room.

The storyteller wheedles us along with elaborate descriptions of the attractions of the forty (forty!) beauties and what fun they are to sleep with. I do wonder what the three ladies of the house who are listening with us to this concoction make of that. Is not their beauty far above that of any foreign hussy? And when the beauties (all princesses, naturally) depart and leave Ajib to his own devices, we get further extravagant descriptions of the thirty-nine fantastic treasure rooms he is free to roam. And the fortieth room.

I found a fragrance the like of which I had never smelt before. It overcame my senses and I fell down in a faint, which lasted for an hour. Then I […] went further into the room, whose floor I found spread with saffron. Light was given by lamps of gold and candles from which was diffused the scent of musk and ambergris, and I saw two huge censers, each filled with aloes wood, ambergris and honeyed perfume whose scent filled the room. I saw a horse, black as darkest night, in front of which was a manger of clear crystal, filled with husked sesame, together with a similar manger filled with rosewater scented with musk. The horse was harnessed and bridled and its saddle was of red gold.

Quite hard to breathe after reading that.

Tribal Winged Horse Tat Design by Tarotshama

He should not have gone in. He should not have climbed upon that horse.

Interestingly, he has stopped blaming God. Now it is all down to Satan.

As a nit-picking 21st century reader, I can tell you that the storyteller falls into a contradiction here, because we are specifically told at the beginning that all three dervishes are minus their left eyes. But Ajib assures us that it is his right eye that gets whisked out of its socket and rolls down his cheek.

And now, at last, we’re going to find out (we hope) what all that carry on with the black dogs and the self flagellation is about…

Read Full Post »

Thou shalt not

Is the challenge of prohibition the oldest narrative device after And then… And then… And then…?

The Tree of Knowledge by Robert Fathauer

One of the very oldest stories we know (which has plenty of And thens…) turns on a prohibition.

And the LORD God commanded the man, You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat of it you will surely die.
Genesis, Ch. 2. 16,17 (NIV) (my emphasis)

Everything has been hunky dory in Eden up to that point, and the LORD God has pronounced it very good. But as soon as you hear those words “you must not…”, you just know in your heart there’s trouble ahead.

Or what about Bluebeard?

Illustration for 'Bluebeard' by Arthur Rackham

“Here,” said he, “are the keys of the two great wardrobes, wherein I have my best furniture; these are of my silver and gold plate, which is not every day in use; these open my strong boxes, which hold my money, both gold and silver; these my caskets of jewels; and this is the master-key to all my apartments. But for this little one here, it is the key of the closet at the end of the great gallery on the ground floor. Open them all; go into all and every one of them, except that little closet, which I forbid you, and forbid it in such a manner that, if you happen to open it, there’s nothing but what you may expect from my just anger and resentment.”
‘Bluebeard’, by Charles Perrault
from The Blue Fairy Book edited by Andrew Lang (my emphasis)

What a set up! He actually gives her the key! It can only end in tears.

[I was delighted to come across this illustration by Arthur Rackham – it’s clear he had been reading The Arabian Nights, probably Andrew Lang’s version, still being published.]

What does the promulgator (fictional or factual) of a prohibition seek from their edict?

In Bluebeard’s case, we are never left in much doubt that he actively desires a breach, and puts the prohibition in place precisely so as to incite that breach and thus provide justification for the actions that he has intended to carry out all along.

And the LORD God? Tomes have been devoted to examining his motives in forbidding Adam to “eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil” and what, precisely, that phrase might mean. Did the LORD God really wish to protect Adam from the dangers of knowing about the possibility of evil and to keep him in eternal blissful ignorance? Or did he hope that Adam would be curious enough and brave enough to go for the breach?

Quickly stepping back from that particular theological quicksand, let us return to our three lovely ladies and the porter, as their day of delights draws to a close.

We get the prohibition three times, to make sure we don’t miss it.

Whoever talks about what does not concern him will hear what will not please him.

Written up above the door in gold leaf, no less.

And like Adam, like Bluebeard’s wife, the porter and the three one-eyed dervishes and the Caliph, his vizier and his executioner (the latter trio in disguise) – who have all turned up as evening comes on – all solemnly agree to be bound by this prohibition and ask no questions, in return for a bed for the night.

Oh dear.

The frolics are over, now something much stranger and darker is afoot. There is bizarre cruelty to animals, and many tears, and rending of garments, and tragic lovelorn poetry (a lot).

The amazed visitors are no longer enjoying themselves. But the Caliph cannot restrain his curiosity to know what on earth these women are up to. The hapless porter is unwillingly detailed to ask the dangerous question.

In a trice the penalty falls and the visitors who had been so generously offered a free bed are imprisoned and imperiled.

Is this what the housekeeper, the doorkeeper and the lady of the house intended all along?

Read Full Post »