From Iraq

The good neigbbors

Long ago there lived a sheikh of the Aneza who was so hospitable that they called him Essaffah, or the Welcomer. One day a stranger raised his tent pole not far from the camp of Essaffah, near enough to become his neighbor. The man was poor, but since it was the sheikh’s custom to provide for all who lived in his vicinity food and drink and clothing from his own stores, the stranger lacked nothing.

For seven years the two men lived as neighbors, and to mark each year of their friendship the sheikh gave him a present of a pure-blooded mare. Whenever a raid was successful, the sheikh would give the neighbor and his sons a share of the spoils. In short, under Essaffah’s protection the humble wanderer increased his possessions until he owned threee herds of one hundred camels each. He was now a man of wealth.

Issaffah had one small daughter, and during these seven years she had grown to womanhood. Slim as a poplar, graceful as the deer which leads the herd, she caught the eye of one of the neighbor’s sons. How eagerly he courted her, stalking her on the way to the wellhead and passing the nights outside her tent! But the girl refused him. The boy was stubborn, however, and at last the girl went to her father, asking what she should do. "One night more and I shall find a way to rescue you and save your name," he told her.

That night when the neighbor’s son whispered to her outside her tent, the girl said, "Wait but one night more." Before the next day’s dawn, Essaffah had given the shout to break camp, and by sunrise the animals were laden and men and cattle were on the move.

Now, whenever Essaffah pitched his tent in a new camp, the neighbor had always set his own quarters a short distance to the left. Over the years the spot had come to be accepted as the neighbor’s tent site. On this occation when suitable pasture was found and the new camp site chosen, Essaffah paced the ground until he spotted a swarming anthill. Then he pitched his tentcloths in the usual place, but before raising the center poles he noticed the ants. "O sheikh," he said, "there is an anthill on my site." "So there is brother," said the sheikh, "and God’s earth is wide."

The neighbor said no further word. He packed his household and left the place, traveling far with his family and his camels to find new grazing grounds. But all the while he could not rest. Again and again he asked himself what lay behind the words of his friend. For seven years they had lived like brothers and uttered not a word that was out of place. His heart was troubled and he found no peace.

At last a thought came to him that he hoped might solve the riddle. While hunting with his oldest son one day, he said, "What a shame about Essaffah’s bright-eyed daughter. We are but inferiors under his protection and cannot look for his kinship or for marriage ties between us. Still, she was a fine-grained creature; what a shame to let her go!" "Are you not ashamed, Father?" cried the son. "Why? Were I not an old man with white hair in my beard, I would have found a way!" the father said. The boy replied,"Was she not our sister? Did we not eat from the same store for seven years? Only bastards and sons of shame can speak as you do." The father said, "I thought you had grown to be men, but I find that your hearts are soft like women’s. Let us go home."

Next he spoke to his middle youngest child aside, the boy cried out, "One night more, father, and she would have been mine!" "Bravo, my son," said the father. And as he spoke the words, he drew his sword and cut the boy’s head from his shoulders.

Then he took from his wife’s stores her new-spun wool and wound it round and round the dead boy’s head so that it was like a spool of homespun yarn. He waited until a traveler passed who was going toward Essaffah’s camp, and he said, "Will you carry this present to my friend?"

Essaffah was sitting among his guests when the traveler set the spool of wool before him. "Who sends this?" he asked. "A man who says he was your friend and brother," said the traveler. "It is to weave new bridles for your horses." There and then the shjjeikh called some of his slaves to begin the work. While the sheikh and his guests conversed, the servants slowly unwound the wool. When the boy’s head was uncovered, the sheikh gave a shout of lament. He struck hand against hand in remorse, understanding that his friend of seven years was truer than a brother and as jealous of his name. He turned to the guests, who stood in amazement demanding his tale. When he had told it, they said with one voice, "Make him your brother by sending your daughter for one of his sons."

So it was that two men, one a sheikh and protector, the other a poor subject and neighbor, but equals in honor and pride, were tied by bonds of marriage and lived to take pleasure in their children.