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32
ibrahim al-koni
chapter vii - wantahet
It is related that the hero—
once he was liberated from
possession by the jinn—
retreated to a corner of his
house and wept for his dead
slave there for days. The
herbalist came to treat his
bloody eyes, which he had
almost plucked out during his
temporary insanity on that
ill-omened day. He found his
patient swaying side to side
like a person in an ecstatic
trance. His veil was dangling
down, revealing the lower
half of his face. From his
chest rose a muffled, painful
wail, and with his fist he was
pounding a monotonous beat
on the house floor—which
was covered with skins—as if
keeping time to an unknown
tune no one else could hear.
The herbalist hovered around
him for a time and then knelt
nearby. He flung his supplies
on the mat and stretched
out a lean, dark hand marked
with veins, creases, and old
scratches, to examine the
bloody eyes—even though
his feverish patient never
stopped pounding the hide
with his mysterious beats,
which he paired with a vague
dance and an inaudible tune.
When he loosened the
bandage wrapping the eyes,
he found that the linen had
adhered to the eyelids as the
blood dried. Then he, too,
began to sway back and forth,
as if mimicking the hero,
and released a long, barely
audible moan. He plunged his
fingers into a container filled
with a dark, viscous liquid and
began to anoint his patient’s
eyes. He continued to moan
his mysterious song till he