The Journeyer - Jennings Gary - Страница 99

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There was nothing to prevent our eating the various foods of other nationalities and religions, and we frequently did. In the lesser outbuildings of the karwansarai, and in tents all around it, were camped the people of many karwan trains, and they were people of many different countries and customs and languages. There were Persian and Arab merchants and Pakhtuni horse traders who had come, like us, from the west, and big blond Russniaks from the far north, and shaggy, burly Tazhiks from the nearer north, and flat-faced Bho from the easterly land called the High Place of the Bho, or To-Bhot in their language, and dark-skinned little Hindus and Tamil Cholas from southern India, and gray-eyed, sandy-haired people called Hunzukut and Kalash from the nearer south, and some Jews of indeterminate origin, and numerous others. This was the commingled population which made of Buzai Gumbad a town-sized community—in the wintertime, anyway—and they all exerted themselves to make it a well-run and livable town. Indeed, it was a much more neighborly and friendly community than many settled and permanent ones I have been in.

At any mealtime, anybody could sit down at any family’s cook fire and be made welcome—even if he and they could not speak a mutually comprehensible language—the understanding being that his next cook fire would be equally hospitable to any comer. By the end of that winter, I think we Polos had sampled every kind of food that was served in Buzai Gumbad, and, since we did there no cooking of our own, had treated as many strangers to meals in Iqbal’s dining hall. Besides offering a variety of eating experiences—some memorable for their deliciousness, a few memorable for their awfulness—the community provided other diversions. Almost every day was a festa day for some group of people, and they were pleased to have everybody else in the encampment come and watch or join in their music making and singing and dancing and games of sport. All the doings in Buzai Gumbad were not festive, of course, but the diversity of people managed to unite in more solemn matters, too. Because they observed among them so many different codes of law, they had elected one man of every color, tongue and religion gathered there, to sit together as a court for hearing complaints of pilferage and trespass and other disturbances of the peace.

I have mentioned the law court and the festivities in the same breath, as it were, because they figured together in one incident I found amusing. The handsome people called the Kalash were a quarrelsome sort, but only among themselves, and not ferociously so; their quarrels usually ended in laughter all around. They were also a merry and musical and graceful sort; they had any number of different Kalash dances, with names like the kikli and the dhamal, and they danced them almost every day. But one of their dances, called the luddi, remains unique in my experience of dances.

I saw it performed first by a Kalash man who had been hailed before the motley court of Buzai Gumbad, accused of having stolen a set of camel bells from a Kalash neighbor. When the court acquitted him, for lack of evidence, the entire contingent of Kalash folk—including his accuser—set up a squalling and clattering music of flutes and chimta tongs and hand drums, and the man began to dance the flailing, flinging luddi dance, and eventually his whole family joined him in it. I saw the luddi performed next by the other Kalash man, the one who had lost the camel bells. When the court was unable to produce either the bells or a punishable culprit, it ordered that a collection be taken up from every head of household in the encampment to recompense the victim. This meant only a few coppers from every contributor, but the total was probably more than the purloined bells had been worth. And when the man was handed the money, the entire contingent of Kalash folk—including the accused but acquitted thief—again set up a screechy, rackety music of flutes and tongs and hand drums, and that man began to dance the flailing, flinging luddi dance, and eventually his whole family joined him in it. The luddi, I learned, is a Kalash dance which the happily quarrelsome Kalash dance only and specifically to celebrate a victory in litigation. I wish I could introduce to litigious Venice something of the sort.

I thought the composite court had judged wisely in that case, as I thought they did in most cases, considering what a touchy job they had. Of all the peoples gathered in Buzai Gumbad, probably no two were accustomed to abiding by (or disobeying) the same set of laws. Drunken rape seemed to be a commonplace among the Nestorian Russniaks, as Sodomite sex was among the Muslim Arabs, while both those practices were regarded with horror by the pagan and irreligious Kalash. Petty thievery was a way of life for the Hindus, and that was tolerantly condoned by the Bho, who regarded anything not tied down as ownerless, but theft was condemned as criminal by the dirty but honest Tazhiks. So the members of the court had to tread a narrow course, trying to dispense acceptable justice while not insulting any group’s accepted customs. And not every case brought to trial was as trivial as the affair of the stolen camel bells.

One that had come to court before we Polos arrived was still being recounted and discussed and argued over. An elderly Arab merchant had charged the youngest and comeliest of his four wives with having abandoned him and eloped to the tent of a young and good-looking Russniak. The outraged husband did not want her back; he wanted her and her lover condemned to death. The Russniak contended that under the law of his homeland a woman was as fair game as any forest animal, and belonged to the taker. Besides, he said, he truly loved her. The errant wife, a woman of the Kirghiz people, pleaded that she had found her lawful husband repugnant, in that he never entered her except in the foul Arab manner, by the rear entrance, and she felt entitled to a change of partners, if only to get a change of position. But besides that, she said, she truly loved the Russniak. I asked our landlord Iqbal how the trial had come out. (Iqbal, being one of the few permanent inhabitants of Buzai Gumbad, hence a leading citizen, was naturally elected to every winter’s new court.)

He shrugged and said, “Marriage is marriage in any land, and a man’s wife is his property. We had to find for the cuckolded husband in that aspect of the case. He was given permission to put his faithless wife to death. But we denied him any part in deciding the fate of her lover.”

“What was his punishment?”

“He was only made to stop loving her.”

“But she was dead. What use—?”

“We decreed that his love for her must die, too.”

“I—I do not quite understand. How could that be done?”

“The woman’s dead body was laid naked on a hillside. The convicted adulterer was chained and staked just out of reach of her. They were left that way.”

“For him to starve to death beside her?”

“Oh, no. He was fed and watered and kept quite comfortable until he was released. He is free now, and he still lives, but he no longer loves her.”

I shook my head. “Forgive me, Mirza Iqbal, but I really do not understand.”

“A dead body, lying unburied, does not just lie there. It changes, day by day. On the first day, only some discoloration, wherever there was last a pressure on the skin. In the woman’s case, some mottling about the throat, where her husband’s fingers had strangled her. The lover had to sit and see those blotches appearing on her flesh. Perhaps they were not too gruesome to look at. But a day or so later, a cadaver’s abdomen begins to swell. In another little while, a dead body begins to belch and otherwise expel its inner pressures in manners most unmannerly. Later, there come flies—”

“Thank you. I begin to understand.”

“Yes, and he had to watch it all. In the cold here, the process is slowed somewhat, but the decay is inexorable. And as the corpse putrefies, the vultures and the kites descend, and the shaqal dogs come boldly closer, and—”

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