Читать книгу Heirs of ancient manuscripts - Максим Удовиченко - Страница 3

Meanwhile, al-Majnun had been already hanging around the city market for some time, walking between the noisy rows of merchant stalls, who insistently and interrupting each other, suggested buying their commodities. To draw away the merchant’s attention, he ostentatiously demonstrated his deep indifference to the goods laid on the stalls. Walking along the rows, every now and again throwing lecherously furtive glances at the girls and women, he surreptitiously grabbed a cluster of bananas quickly hiding it in his habit.

Despite the master’s order, he could not resist the temptation and hanged bumbling behind a Berber-woman, in a flashy desert gown, tight in the waist, which emphasized her broad magnificently voluptuous curves. Following the beautiful Berber-woman, al-Majnun did not notice that he crossed the noisy market area and came to the edge of the date palm tree groves.

In the middle of the Woods, there was a small sunburned grass meadow, where, on the braided sacks, the pieces of salt[12] of different sizes were gently lying. Each piece has been carefully set up opposite the gold bars and gold dust[13] bags. Without a moment of hesitation, with the words “the master has many of that stuff, and I don’t have a bit of it?!” – al-Majnun deftly threw a couple of pieces of salt and a couple of bars of gold into one of his bags.

Despite the heavy burden on his shoulders, a sudden joy filled the soul of al-Majnun as well as an inexplicable ease filled his feet. Sandals with curved tops rapidly carried him back to the market, barely touching the ground.

Climbing the high wall separating the market from the rest of the town, al-Majnun suddenly heard loud screams behind him.

“Stop, stop the thief?! He has stolen my salt?!” – shouted the black Messufa, dressed in a long brown coat, trying to choose a good position for throwing the javelin on the run.

“That scoundrel stole my gold?!” – shouted the berber-sanhaja, wearing a blue turban and bright orange brocade pants, waving a curved bedouin sword and furiously striving to get ahead and to be the first to overtake the robber.

Marvelously dodging the javelin, which, with a cracking sound, smashed against the wall next to his foot, al-Majnun jumped on the ground and disappeared in the noisy market crowd.

On the rush, he knocked down passers-by, but when he rolled over a cart loaded with watermelons and melons, he unexpectedly felt that he was flying. Having made a dizzying somersault, he suddenly landed by the door of a familiar shop. It was the shop of an old acquaintance of al-Majnun – the local brocade seller, who was fortunately sitting next to his shop.

Instinctively thrusting a small bag of gold dust, that he had hidden in the pocket of his robe in advance into the hand of the merchant, al-Majnun disappeared behind the door of the shop.

At the market. Al-Majnun is going about his business as usual: chasing girls and stealing dates and bananas from the sacks of gaping merchants

“Mustafa?! Quickly bring me Indigo[14] and noble Soninke clothes?!” – said al-Majnun, gasping for new air almost before the phrase was finished.

“Al-Majnun?! But the golden dust that you gave me is not enough even for one turban?!” – exclaimed dazedly the brocade merchant, examining the bag liner.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I am dressed?! Oh, and the most important condition… – you have not seen me here?! For that condition you will receive another little payment?!” – answered al-Majnun, pushing his magic hat, astrologer robe and sandals with curved tops into the linen sack.

Taking a view of al-Majnun from all sides, Mustafa noticed an amazing resemblance to the nobleman Soninke. A blue turban with a silver clasp in the form of a crescent in combination with a brown robe and blue brocade bloomers, really suited the newly acquired bluish black face colour, hands and feet, and stressed the distinction of the origin of its owner.

Having paid the merchant, al-Majnun in his newly acquired guise went outside to carry out al-Farouk’s orders.

Barely did he manage to make seven or ten steps from the shop as he suddenly stumbled upon his pursuers. “Look, Master?!” – screamed out loud the black Mesufa to his Berber-sanhaja, “This is him?! This is him beyond all doubt?!” – cried the black Messufa, pointing the tip of his javelin at al-Majnun.

“You don’t say so?! Silly slave?! (Let the Allah Almighty and Merciful tame your long and useless tongue?!) The man who stole my gold was the Berber in a big black cap and a black dressing gown?! And who do you think that is? Look at him?! You see the black grandee of a prominent Soninke, and he is dressed in a blue turban, a brown dressing gown and moreover in blue brocade pantaloons?!” – said the Berber-sanhadja indignantly.

“Rather look for the thief?! And don’t irritate me with your silly conjectures?!” – added the Berber, trying to spot the black peaked cap with stars in the raging market crowd.

Bargaining for a handful of grain al-Majnun made all the necessary purchases. He loaded the portly and very fattened camels with water skins, pottery jars with grain and bales with food, and having fed and given water to the newly acquired black slaves, al-Majnun directed his caravan to the town’s gates.

“Did al-Farouk guess my “small pranks” in the market?” reflected al-Majnun, driving the camels and cattle and from time to time shouting at the black slaves.

The hot Saharan sun was slowly sloping to the horizon, painting the smooth blue surface of the Saharan sky in tender pink hues.

Al-Majnun suddenly remembered how once, long ago, he was a Katib[15] and at the same time the Chargê d’Affaires for the Emir of the city[16] of Méma[17].