Short Stories (by Raoul Beyderov)

You've always relished those cozy little short stories that take you away into another world? Well, if that is so, then snuggle right down into your cushions on your favorite armchair - maybe holding onto a cup of hot chocolate - and enjoy:

Mahmood - A Fairytale

(By Raoul Beyderov)

He was at home in a country that in its beauty surpassed everything.

For many generations already his family had lived there and his ancestors, as well as the ancestors of his ancestors. He didn't know anything else, neither did he desire anything else. He loved this country, it was his own country. He felt connected to it. It offered everything to him that he needed and much more beyond that, which made his life even richer.

At one time someone traveling through, a wanderer, had told him that only about 900 people were living in the country and that the country was huge, much too big for the few people living in it. In response he'd had a rather puzzled look on his face. He was not very good at math. He couldn't imagine big numbers very well. He just couldn't keep track of them. The cattle which he had himself ..., well, he knew that their head count was 12.

The first time, however, he had thought about this, was when approx. 5 years ago a government edict had been issued that cattle owners of 50 or more beasts were entitled to a subsidy. Now, back at that time he could not apply for one, but he didn't mind either.

Now, don't think he couldn't count, he could, but he simply wasn't interested very much in counting. To him the objects and living creatures around him were not numbers, he paid no mind to numbers.

Whenever he went to get water, e.g., there were - always in the same spot - left from the entrance to his house, in a small depression, the inside of which he had once plastered with clay so that passing dogs could lap up any spillages of water, three leather buckets, which he then took along to the water hole to fill them with water. On his way home then he carried two in his hands, one on his head. Never, though, did it occur to him to count them or to be aware of the fact that they amounted to 3 in number.

He was a happy man; although some people might have called him pitiable, since he did not possess certain things that may be indispensable to others. He could not see; which he did not mind however. To the contrary, he felt capable of seeing. Oftentimes he even had the feeling, yes the certainty he could see better than others.

What's more, he was the owner of very little; he possessed almost nothing. His 12 head of cattle he could only be called to possess because he had accidentally found two very weak animals on his wanderings. They could not get up anymore and were all skin and bone. He had spent four nights and days with them, applied a root juice to their mouths, made a fire for them, had huddled up to them to give them warmth and new life-force.

He kept talking to them almost all the time, gave them bark of the tamarisk tree mixed with wild honey to stimulate their vital energies.

Four days later they got up, that is first the cow and then she helped get the bull on his feet by constantly nudging his sides, even snapping at them. It worked, he got up. Mahmood brimmed with happiness. For all the nursing, however, he had almost forgotten to get something to eat for himself. It was only now that he became aware of that.

He therefore drove the two animals which were barely able to walk and still wobbly on their legs down to his little village. When he came, everybody was surprised and wanted to know where he had gotten the beasts from. Having explained everything, Mahmood wanted to go and feed the animals.

At that very moment a little boy approached - it was Chael, the son of his neighbor Ibnach; he was all smiles, flashing a little golden tooth - with an enormous amount of hay on his little arms.

They showed the boy to Mahmood who was about to leave by patting him on his shoulder. At first he hesitated, then there was enormous laughter all around with lots of gold teeth flashing. In this way Ali and Sayyida - the names the two animals were called by - came to have their first decent meal in a long time.

What happened then was a great joy for Mahmood.

It so happened that occasionally as time passed someone came to him and said: 'Look, Mahmood, my Anissa doesn't seem to eat the way she used to. She's got this dull, glassy look in her eyes. Perhaps you can do something for her.' - 'Well, let me see,' Mahmood said and took the beast home.

On the first day, he put clay around her chest and covered her with furs. On the second day, he very slowly infused a concoction of bitter herbs into her, but gave her nothing to eat. On the third day, he applied self-made ointment to her whole body, part of it consisting of a kind of dilution of the slime of a toad which normally is poisonous, even deadly.

In this case, however, the combination of these things worked wonderfully and the cow recovered, she even gave birth, about two weeks later, to a healthy little calf, astounding everyone who knew about it.

Nabil, the owner of the animal, gratefully received back the calf's mother; the calf itself, however, he gave to Mahmood to thank him.

In this and other ways he came to have as time went on twelve head of cattle. Otherwise he did not really possess anything, at least not much. He used the leather buckets which always stood beside his door to get water or in case he wanted to carry several things at the same time and his hands were not enough to accomplish the task, e.g. when he had baked loaves of coriander bread and wanted to distribute them to some of his friends to show his gratitude for services rendered or as a gift.

He then wrapped up the loaves in linen cloth, put them into the buckets and carried them to the respective homes.

To whom these buckets really belonged he did not know. Before, they had, quite some years ago, belonged to his wife, at least she had always used them. His wife had died long ago. Children he did not have.

His household consisted of just a table on short legs - the others in the village did not even have that -, a few bowls, metal plates and two or three pitchers. . Besides he had a wooden box in which most of the time, however, there was nothing to be found, except for one time - it was toward the end of spring - when an entire flock of little chicks sat in it. One of the hens had chosen the box as a hatching place. Obviously this use of his box was only of short duration, the chicks hopping out soon after and scurrying away.

He had gained knowledge of this little episode only after his return from his spring wanderings that year. The idea, however, that his humble wooden box had served as a home for little chicks - new life - gave him joy and satisfaction.

Mahmood had grown old; how old exactly he did not know. Maybe it was eighty or a hundred years, which was of little importance to him however.

This year's spring wanderings had not been easy for him. He was not able to climb the Tabib entirely anymore. At the point where the mountain becomes more jagged and the Ibla lichens grow in the little cracks of the rock he had to turn around.

He was concerned, too, whether all was well in the village and whether perhaps the animals had to be taken care of. His feeling told him that he had to be there. He'd never had these strong feelings before. So he finished collecting the necessary herbs and fruits and turned to going home.

Like every year, so also this time he did not forget to stop by his cherished little secret spot, which nobody knew but himself. That is where he said his prayers. This time they were his farewell prayers. One more time he wanted to return to his village to see the animals and to say good-bye to his friends.

When he arrived at the village, spirits were low. Everyone could see that Mahmood had returned home to say his good-byes. Everybody was waiting.

One last time he went to Chael to give him the new herbs. 'Chael, you're going to take care of the animals now. Will you do that for me?' said Mahmood. - 'Yes, I will,' said Chael. In the background his father could be seen who nodded quietly.

In the evening everybody was gathered around the fire, discussing the events of the last few months. The women cried; Chael too cried.

Everyone sat there with glistening eyes watching the fire. No one mentioned Mahmood's departure.

Late at night Mahmood went. He took nothing along except a staff and a shoulder bag made of coarse fabric. In the bag there was nothing.

It was out of pure habit that he'd taken it along. It was into this bag he used to gather his herbs.

He went to his well-known spot up in the Tabib mountains. It was his last wandering.

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(©Beyderov, 2009)