“Consider the
spider, effenti” said the girl, the Grand Executioner’s hands wrapped around
her slender neck, his thumbs pressing on her windpipe with just enough force to
let her know he could break her neck with the minimum of pressure. There was sweat
trickling on his brow; the girl had given him quite the chase through the
palace gardens, as she was trying to escape him. The girl had given him a fight
too: scratched his hand with her hairpin, a little bone needle with such
ferocity that she drew blood.
“What of it?”
said the Grand Executioner, his turban bobbing on his great head, the emerald
at the center nodding in assent. His words sounded distant and distorted to the
girl’s ears, as if formed by the rustle of the palm tree leaves above.
“It dwells between
the earth and the sky, its home built from thin strands, lighter than air. It
walks among them with its eight legs, gently dancing above the world and below
the clouds with infinite grace. Its haven is built from its belly, woven like
an impossibly beautiful tapestry, a testament to Allah’s wisdom, but it is torn
apart by gusts of wind or the malicious grasp of man’s hand” she said and found
herself looking into the Grand Executioner’s great green eyes, noticing the
arch of his brow that signaled curiosity. Slowly, she realized that she could
now breathe unimpeded, though his fingers remained wrapped around her neck.
 |
| The Grand Executioner |
“But above all,
the spider is patient. It does not plead with Allah, nor does it curse at the
clumsiness of human hands. Whether its house is torn apart by accident or
intent, it merely weaves one anew, creating a pattern of even greater beauty
and complexity. Now consider the fly, effenti..”
The Grand
Executioner’s hands let go of the girl’s supple neck. The bruises on her skin
were like great blots of ink on virgin paper. The girl collapsed on the ground
and the Grand Executioner sat on the base of a palm tree, motioning for her to
continue.
“The fly is the complete
opposite of the spider. It dwells in the sky, touching land only when hunger
compels it to. It has no dwelling and no understanding of concepts like beauty
or patience. Its life goes by as quickly as a song; it knows only greed and lust
that make the entire world seem like a feast to its eyes, just waiting to be
devoured. Its only acknowledgement to Allah is the rubbing of its forelegs as
it prepares to dine, its only worry the propagation of its kind.”
The Grand
Executioner smiled and weaved his hands together. The girl was a storyteller,
employed by the Sultan himself, her tales for the great man’s ears only. But
she had fallen out of favor, given him too many sad tales that had brought him
in a foul mood. Eventually, he had the Grand Executioner kill her himself. And
now here he was, enjoying one of the Sultan’s delights for himself, the girl’s
very last story.
His profession
was a macabre one (not that he did not enjoy it), but it had its advantages.
The girl continued her tale:
“Once upon a
time, there was a spider. Among her kind, she was considered the greatest, for
her webs were like tapestries of great splendor and her faith was absolute and
unwavering. Such was her renown, that she was even known among men, who always
spoke her name with great reverence.
And it is said that even the Pasha of
Samarkand held her in such high esteem, that he had allowed her to spin her web
between the two spires of the greatest mosque in the city. And such was its
complexity and beauty that it is said that the winds never blew fiercely over
Samarkand, for not even the efreeti of the air dared disrupt such beauty.
“On that web,
the spider dwelt with her children, her grandsons and granddaughters and their
children as well. They were all as devout as her and each shared her passion and
her spirituality, though none of them were as faithful as her.
“On the other
side of Samarkand, there was a fly. And even among the flies, she was
considered the most foolhardy and arrogant. She had been born in the stables of
the muezzins and grown strong and fat from the excrement of their horses, and
had grown to consider herself the most favored creature in creation. Since a
very young age, she had been sitting on the backsides of warhorses and had even
sneaked and tasted the Pasha’s favorite dishes and always got away with a full
belly.
“As the fly grew
older, she realized that not even the delights of the Pasha’s table excited her
anymore. So the fly decided to attempt her greatest and vainest feat yet:
“ ‘I shall go to
the spider’s web’ she told her brethren one day. ‘And there, I shall lay my
eggs on top of the hairy belly of the spider. When they hatch, they will have
grown on the killer’s back and be even greater than even me!’ in vain, the
other flies tried to dissuade her. They called her quest an obscenity, tried to
reason with her, then pleaded with her, and finally they cursed at her. For the
spider would catch her and devour her in an instant. But her mind had been
made.”
The Grand
Executioner slapped his hand on his thigh and let out a loud bark of a laugh.
“What madness! How would she go about her business, then? Or did she trust
Allah to save her on this one?”
“Surely not. The
fly might have been arrogant, but she was no fool. She knew that Allah does no
favors for any living being, especially to those that defy death. Instead, she
flew around the web and watched the spider from afar for a week, to find out
her habits. She discovered that the spider was truly devout and that she prayed
at the appointed times. She also found out that the spider hardly slept, being
as old as she was, but for the hours between the midnight and first light. This
would give her ample time to fly over her, lay her eggs on her belly and fly
away as fast as possible.
“And thus the
fly waited for midnight, until the spider walked to the very center of her
great web and curled herself into a ball and closed every eye on her great head.
However, the fly had forgotten that that night was the first night of the month
Ramadan and on that night, the spider shut every eye but one, in reverence. She flew over to her and was about to perform
her feat, when the spider shot up and the fly fell wings-first on the web, all
tangled. She spun and beats her wings and moved her legs, but the more the fly
fought, the worse she found herself trapped.
“The spider saw
the fool hardy fly fighting against her invincible web and smiled at her
pathetic pleas for help. Had it been any other night, the spider would have
killed the fly and devoured her on the spot, but that night marked the
beginning of Sawm, the great fasting and the sun was dawning. The spider
decided to wait until Iftar, when the sun set, to taste the sweet flesh of her
prey, knowing that its fear would make it taste all the sweeter.”
The Grand
Executioner leaned closer, intrigued by the girl’s story. He felt a fierce itch
rising from the scratch on the back of his hand where the girl had drawn blood,
but ignored it. “What then?” he asked.
“The spider went
about her business that day and read the Qur’an with her family. When the sun
set and the muezzins announced the beginning of Iftar, the spider went to get
the fly and found out something shocking: where the fly had been spinning and
struggling in the web, a familiar pattern had emerged. The spider looked at it
and rubbed each of its eyes; it looked at it from up close, then from far away
and knew that there was no mistaking it.
“The fly’s thrashing
had formed the first verse of Qu’ran on her web. This troubled the spider
greatly. What was the meaning behind this? Was this fly somehow chosen by
Allah? Was this a message? Was to eat her sacrilege? She summoned her wisest
and most devout child to her side and showed him the pattern. He clicked his
mandibles and shook his head in confusion and immediately set out to seek an
answer to his mother’s trouble.
“He left the web
and went into Samarkand’s mosque, seeking the advice of the moths that nested
in the roof and hovered around the lanterns under which the faithful studied
the holy texts. He told them of the strange happening on his mother’s web and
the moths went into a heated discussion that ended in a maelstrom of mandible,
wing and leg, but found no answer.
“The spider did
not, however, lose hope. She turned to her most learned grandson instead, who
had spent months inside the university of Samarkand and told him of her
predicament. Her grandson ran four of his eight legs over his head and ruffled
the hairs of his belly and set for the University, where he conversed with the
bookworms that lived off the tomes written by the brightest theologians. The
worms listened closely to his grandmother’s predicament, argued with each
other, devoured a few pages off a tome dealing with the lives of insects,
briefly feasted on a book on proper etiquette and told the spider’s grandson
that unfortunately, they could not help him. Crestfallen, he told his grandmother
the news and she despaired. Her great-grandchildren, who by then had heard the
news, gathered around and tried their best to console her.
“‘What if he is
making this up?’ asked the youngest of her great-grandchildren, a small thing
that had not yet grown even a hair on its belly. But the youngling’s advice was
not only unheeded, it also angered its elders. For its trouble, it only
received a sound thrashing and was sent to the farthest corner of the web, to
brood on its thoughtlessness.”
“Hah! The young
one seems to have been the wisest among them!” exclaimed the Grand Executioner,
removing his turban (which suddenly felt heavy and unbalanced on his head).
“The spider’s faith had blinded her to her own folly and her children and
grandchildren are swept along by the spider’s despair.” the Grand Executioner
struggled to find the proper word. His thoughts seemed muddled and he felt a
terrible weight on his chest. He blamed last night’s fierce lovemaking with his
favored wife, feigned sobriety and said: “Why, had I been a member of her
family, I would have seen through the bluff in an instant!”
“You would, but
then again, you are not a spider. You are the Grand Executioner and your
prowess and wits are renowned throughout the Empire. How, pray tell, could any
living being match your exceptional faculties?” the girl flattered the Grand
Executioner, but her words barely registered. There was a terrible sound in his
ears, a ringing sound that reverberated across the walls of his skull and sent
tremors through his eyes.
“Go on, what
happened next?” asked the Grand Executioner, leaning against the palm tree,
desperately trying to ignore the numbness that spread upward from the tips of
his fingers.
“The spider ordered her family to leave her
alone in the center with the fly, to decide its fate. As she looked upon her,
she saw that the fly had weaved two whole pages of the Qur’an now and was hard
at work on the opening passages of the third. Feeling awed and choked by this
display, the spider moved quickly and undid the strands that bound the fly
together, releasing it. She wept greatly, feeling the weight lifted from her
belly at last.
“But that night,
as the spider slept, the fly landed on her bristles and lay her eggs and they
hatched on her back and her sons grew from the back of the most skilled hunter
among its kind. The spider was washed with great shame at this turn of events.
She hung her head, crossed her forelegs over her eyes and wept and wept until
she died of a broken heart.
“Because the
fly, who had grown among the muezzins, had used her faith against her. He wove
a deception for her that tugged at her heartstrings and allowed him to trick
her and sire his spawn, using beauty to mask his true intentions. As did I,
when I scratched you with this little bone needle as you were strangling me. I
had it dipped in poison first. You would have noticed the ploy for what it was,
of course, had you not been so preoccupied with my story.”
The Grand
Executioner said nothing. The numbness had swept all over him and had gone,
along with all feeling.
“Your momentary
carelessness gave me another chance at life, Grand Executioner. And for that, I
thank you.” Said the girl and kissed the dead man on his cheek. She walked away
then, past the palace gates, into the streets and mingled with the crowd, never
to be seen again.
