Act Two / Scene Two
[THIS SCENE IS TAKEN PLACE
IN THE FIRST MINISTER’S PRIVATE COURT. IT IS A PARTY OF SORTS, THERE IS MUSIC
INVOLVED, CONCUBINES, YOUNG MALE SERVANTS, GUEST, AND ABÛ QÂSIM]
The First Minister: (addressing his guests)
Believe me my friends,
believe me when I tell you that I spend my days, counting, actually counting the hours and
minutes, waiting for the damn sun to set so that those boring and meaningless encounters
should come to an end and our joyful gatherings could be held.
Our friend Abû Waraqâ here
had the dubious honor today of attending this morning session. Tell them, dear friend,
give them an idea of the type of hell we had to go through this morning, and that I have
to go through every morning. And pray, friends, listen to Abû Waraqâ now, and as
attentively as you possibly can, for he has very important things to tell you, oh, very
important things. I assure you.
[the First Minister motions Abû Waraqâ to speak, and the
latter addresses the gathering in a rather theatrical manner, stressing every syllable and
every word]
Abû Waraqâ: The session, dear friends…and colleagues,
began with a lecture, a rather long lecture I might say, but very duly so, a lecture by
the eminent scholar and doctor Abû ‘Allâk bin Salatah al-Suhrawardî. The lecture
lasted for about an entire hour, and dealt with the ever-so-important subject of…humors.
Or, to be more specific, and God knows we just can’t live without being specific,
with the different types of imbalance that can occur between the various types of humors
inside the human body; how these types of imbalance are basically responsible for all the
known diseases that can afflict the human body; how herbs and certain animal products can
help to correct the imbalance; how best we can avoid the aforementioned imbalance; how the
Greeks had been, oh so very wrong in their understanding of the concept of humor
imbalance; how previous Muslim scholars have been unable to discern and correct all the
mistakes committed by the Greeks; how lucky our world is that a man like Abû ‘Allâk
was born into it to set the record straight on this most important of all issues; and
finally, finally, gentlemen, how fucked up we all could have been had God Almighty, in His
Infinite Wisdom, had seen it fit for someone like him not to be born at all. And may peace
descend upon the fucked-up believers.
[the people in the gathering, who had been giggling all
along, begin to laugh uproariously and drunkenly, joined by the First Minister, of course.
Abû Qâsim, though, retains a somber disposition]
Abû Waraqâ: The second lecture of the day gentlemen, and yes of
course there was a second lecture, for someone on high must have thought that one lecture
was not enough to make us hate the very day we were born. The second lecture, about which
I am sure you are all dying just to find out all that could possibly be found out, was
presented by the equally eminent scholar, although he might have a different opinion in
this regard, Muhammad ibn Bassâr al-‘Uyûb the astronomer. It dealt very expansively
with the all-too- important issue of the sources of stellar luminosity. That is, for those
of us who are as scholarly disadvantaged as I, the sources of star light. The gist of the
matter, you see, and I do have to get straight to the gist of the matter, for whatever
sobriety is left in us is not going to stay with us long enough for us to get into any
sort of details. The gist of the matter, then gentlemen, is that the stars are nothing but
tiny holes in the dark canopy engulfing the hapless sphere we call Earth. Through these
holes, or rather, through the various lenses covering these holes, the light from the
eternally luminous Ether, which represent nothing but the Divine Breath itself by the way,
and we should be grateful to God it is not as foul as mine at this stage, pour in into our
continuously light-seeking world, being refracted at different angles by the God-damned
lenses, thus allowing the stars to shimmer and glitter like pearls, or the teeth of a
young and luscious nymph. And speaking of nymphs. Come here my beauty.
[Abû Waraqâ tackles the maiden who sat near him
giggling as he spoke, the maiden gasps and laughs]
The First Minister:
And thus does all the remaining moments of sobriety of today come to a most enchanting
end. I’ve just told you to give them an idea, Abû Waraqâ, an idea of what
took place this morning, not to make me relive the whole fucked up thing you old fart.
And speaking of old farts, I
have an announcement, a very important announcement to make. Today, gentlemen, is a very special day for my most favorite consort
of all time, yes, the man with the most carefully and delicately looked-after shoes in the
known world, shoes which could rival in their make the shoes of the Ruler himself, and in
their shine the luminosity of the Divine Breath itself, hâjjî Abû Qâsim al-Tanbûrî
himself. For today is the old fart’s birthday, oh, yes his birthday, for today he
finally and most deservedly becomes
eighty-one years of a most meaningless and unadventurous age, or so he says. But if you
ask me, I don’t think he looks a day over seventy-nine, and a half, and a quarter,
and one-eighth…(HE LAUGHS, AND IS JOINED BY HIS GUESTS). And as a birthday gift for
our dear and special friend, I decided to grant him another reprieve in Paradise, where, I
might add, he had already performed many wonders, oh yes wonders, wonders, wonders which
are still remembered and talked about by the countless hûrîs he had so laboriously,
courageously and generously deflowered.
Oh yes, gentlemen, this
eight-one year old man can put us all to shame when it comes to sexual potency, oh yes.
Provided, of course, he is under the illusion that he is in Paradise. Isn’t it so old
man? Well, isn’t it? You know, it’s amazing how you can be so silent and so
amusing at the same time, you really have to teach these retched companions of mine how to
do that one day. But don’t you dare teach them anything else, understand?
Don’t you go and screw them up for me now.
For while the Sufis think of
Paradise as a state of fusion with the Divine Spirit toward which we are constantly
progressing, and you, you old donkey-loving nincompoop, think of it as a marketplace for
carnal pleasures, a marketplace that we have to gain entrance into by constantly
propitiating God, I believe, and want my friends to share in this belief with me,
that Paradise is something you build now in this worldly life, and you can
enjoy now in this worldly life.
This is Paradise, you old
fart. You’ve been in Paradise for the last six months or so of your miserable life,
and you still behave like you are in Hell. You stupid silly old man. How can anyone be so
oblivious to all this? How? How? But there is hope for you yet, as long that you
are alive, as long as I keep you by my side, there is hope for you yet. Oh yes. You shall
see the light, old man. I shall make you see the light.
[A MUSICAL INTERVAL MIXED IN
WITH CRIES OF PEOPLE DEMANDING MORE WINE, AND MORE KISSES]
The First Minister:
Come now Abû Nawwâz, we still haven’t heard your loud voice this blessed evening.
Now that cannot be, that will not do, that simply will not do. Come, come recite for us a
new love poem of yours in honor of this fabulous nymph pouring her breasts out for you and
straight into your gaping…cup.
[the people of the gathering laugh, as Abû Nawwâz begins
his impromptu recitation]
Abû Nawwâz:
I am smitten with lustful desire.
I have been but a walking corpse before I met her,
but now, I am truly alive,
I
am resurrected.
Now I stand in front of her,
all filled with awe,
all
numbed to everything
but her all-too-devouring presence,
all-too consuming gaze,
as
if I am standing in the presence of God Himself,
on the Day of the final Judgment.
I bow.
I kneel.
I
kiss the ground between her feet,
I wet her all-too-beautiful toes
with my tears.
“Forgive me”, I say, “forgive me,
I have been but a fool, but an idiot,
for not having loved you all my life,
for not having grown oblivious to everything but your
presence,
for not having groveled at your feet
ever since the day I was reborn a man
out of the warm and
loving womb of my
boyhood.
I should have known that such a beauty existed in the world,
I should have worshipped you from the start,
I should have become a disbeliever in everything but you,
I should have made you my idol
and worshipped you together with God.
The First Minister:
(PRETENDING TO SOB)
[the people in the gathering fall into laughter, joined by
Abû Nawwâz himself]
Abû Nawwâz: I hereby do gladly admit my paedophilial
tendencies, your Grace, may God bring you nothing but happiness. But I do also wish to
draw the attention of my all-too-gracious host that God Almighty Himself in the blessed
pages of the Holy Qur’an has promised people like me their fill of boys once in
Paradise.
The First Minister:
Paradise. Again Paradise. Everybody wants to go to Paradise. Everybody is so fucking eager
to go to Paradise, they forget that they can make a Paradise for themselves here. You
haven’t been paying much attention to what I was saying a while ago, have you, you
old fuck? Have you? Well, I see. I see.
Abû Waraqâ, my dear
fellow, this little nymph is yours, take her behind that curtain, and…make us hear
the sounds of Paradise. Perhaps this more practical demonstration can drive the idea
home much more efficiently, for some old dunce.
[Abû Waraqâ immediately rushes to fulfill the First
Minister’s order and he carries the kicking, screaming and giggling maiden to where
he was told. soon the obviously exaggerated sounds of their intercourse begin to be heard.
the people in the gathering listen, whisper, giggle and sip on their wine cups and murmur
to the sounds of the music, both instrumental and Abû-Waraqâ-made]
The First Minister:
No song in the world, no music, no rhythm, can move a man, can enthrall, enchant,
bedevil a man, as these maniacal cries of lust. If being in positions of power and
authority cannot afford us to enjoy such carnal pleasures, then what good is it, tell me?
What good is it? Oh cry on nymph, cry on. Let all the nymphs cry on. Fill my palace with
your cries. Help them gentlemen, by all means, help these nymphs obey their one true
master.
[THE GUESTS RUSH EAGERLY TO
FULFILL THE FIRST MINISTER’S COMMAND, AND SOON THE PALACE IS FILLED WITH THE CRIES OF
LUST]
The First Minister:
Strange, don’t you think? We, men, fight, we fight, we kill, and we die. We build
empires, rule empires, and work so hard to stratify each other into categories and classes
and sects and nations. We men do all this, but this most basic of all human sounds can
still enslave all of us whenever it is heard, be it a slavery of rejection, as is the case
with my idiot of a companion over there, with this stubborn Abû Qâsim of ours, or total indulgence, it does not matter, it
enslaves us nonetheless. It enslaves us all. All.
Cry nymph, cry. Fill the
world with your cries of serfdom, and release my soul. Into such serfdom release my soul.
[AT THIS STAGE, THE FIRST
MINISTER JOINS IN THE ORGY, AND ONLY ABÛ QÂSIM IS LEFT OUT FO THE WHOLE THING]
Abû Qâsim: Paradise. It’s all about Paradise, isn’t
it? We live, we continue to live, despite all the difficulties and the cruelty of life,
because we dream of Paradise, we think of Paradise, we worship the idea of Paradise, we
hope that someday we can find, or build, or earn Paradise. It’s all about Paradise.
Our entire retched life is all about Paradise. My life has always been about Paradise, my
longing for Paradise, my dreams of Paradise, my daily prayers begging for entrance into
Paradise. Paradise. Paradise.
But what about life?
somewhere, we seem to have forgotten about life. I seem to have forgotten about
life, and this while life could not, should not be forgotten or neglected. Life has
to be taken as it is, and the good in it, the bad in it, they have to be taken as they
are. We have no right to separate the two from each other, to glorify one and demonize the
other, we have no right. We have no right. We have to embrace life as a whole
and as it is, and deal with it in such a manner as not to defile it with our
foolishness. We can never alter the nature of life. There will always be pain in her,
there will always be happiness. And there will always be awe.
But I am now awed. No, I am
not awed. I am still too stupefied, by these ideas that I am having, to be awed. They are
too fresh, really, just too fresh for an eighty-one year old mind.
[At this moment, and while the orgy proceeds, a plethora
of soldiers pour into the hall, carrying torches in their hands, and drawing their swords,
and shouting the usual “allahu akbar.” they begin to push, and shove and kick
the protesting people on the ground, including the First Minister]
The First Minister:
Hey, who are you? How dare you? don’t know who I…
[the
first minister, however, get gagged. a soldier proceeds to read the following official announcement]
The Soldier: In the
Name of God, the Beneficent, the Merciful. The Wise Ruler of this great land has decreed
the following: “As a lesson to all who think that power means indulgence, we hereby
order the immediate beheading of the mismanaging, office-abusing First Minister along with
all his companions, friends and accomplices. Their heads to be exhibited on the morrow in
the public square next to the Great Mosque. The orders are to be carried out immediately
and on the spot.” Glory be to the Ruler. Long live the Ruler.
[the soldiers begin to execute the command of the Ruler
over the cries of protest of their victims. but amidst all this…]
The Soldier: Are you
the one called Abû Qâsim al-Tanbûrî?
Abû Qâsim: Yes, I am.
The Soldier: Get
ready, old man. The Ruler wants to see you immediately.
Abû Qâsim: The…the…the Ruler wants to see me?
[HÂFÎ BRAYS]
The Shoes
|
 |
|
|
|
|
lust for salvation, Brother, as though it were a woman, and I - a man.
|
