Desert Wind 3

 

An Arabian Tale 

Song of songs

 

Let me kiss the kisses of his mouth

For your kiss is sweeter than wine

Your anointing oils are fragrant

Your name is as oil poured out

Therefore the maidens love you

As the honeybee the nectar sucks

From the flowers of the desert

So shall you suck of mine

O’ tell me, oh you whom I love

Where you pasture your flock

Where you make it lie down at noon

Why should I be one that wanders

I am dark but lovely

Do I not deserve to be of your flock

 

Muhammad listened to the soothing voice, the cadence of the words; he knew them well enough.

 

I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valley

As a lilу among brambles,

So is my love among maidens

As an apple among the forest,

So is my beloved among men

With great delight I sit in his shadow

His fruit was sweet to my taste

He brought me to his tent

And his cover over me was love

Sustain me with apples 

Refresh me with fruits

For I am sick with love

O that his left hand was under my head

And his right hand embraced me

I adjure you, that you do not awaken love until it pleases

 

Muhammad let the last words swirl through his brain; could he raise such desire? Ah, contentment was his.

 

My beloved is radiant, distinguished above all

His head is the finest gold

His locks are wavy, raven black

His eyes are like doves beside springs of water

His cheeks are as of spices, yielding fragrance

His lips, so soft and sensuous, offer loves delight

His arms, with muscles bound,

Hold strong for passions embrace

His body, bound with iron, yields in soft caress

His legs, so sinuous, hold fast to contain his passion

He is as one, a god, whose sweet talk inflames my brain

He stands astride the world

And yet has the tenderness of the lamb

That is my beloved

 

Muhammad felt a smile move across his face at such sweet flattery. Vanity of Vanity The drapes were disturbed by breath of desert air. Vanity, all is vanity. Muhammad moved uneasily, did he hear a whisper? He waved her on.

 

I hear the voice of my beloved 

Behold he comes

Striding the mountains and the desert wastes

And he stands outside my tent, and to me he spoke 

Rise up my love, my fair one

And come away with me 

We shall sing a sweet refrain

The fig tree will put forth her figs 

The Vines are in blossom and will put forth their fragrance 

There will be singing in the land 

And also in our hearts’

 

Muhammad had eaten well, on spiced meats and fragrant vegetables, and tasted the heady delights of sweet meats, and sated his thirst with sweet tea and bitter coffee. The swirling aromatic smoke of the hookah now drowsed his senses.

 

He listened to the word song in sweet anticipation. But did he hear another voice?

 

What every heart desires you may have

Whatever your eyes desire do not keep from them

And you shall rejoice in all your Splendour

But beware your eye is not satisfied with seeíng

Nor you ear filled with hearing

Oh my love let me see your face

For it has beauty beyond persuasion

Let me hear your voice

A sweet breath  as is  rose

Ask not that your heart have more

All is yours my beloved

My endess love will feed your desire

Until the day breaks,

And the shadows flee away

Turn my beloved and be as a young stag

And upon thy nectar let my flower bloom

 

Muhammad dreamed a dream through the swirling smoke that now enveloped his brain a figure appeared.  

 

A maiden; dark skinned and yet light brown to the touch, she was clothed in a diaphanous swirl of flowing cloth. Her face was sweet, with down cast eyes, a nose so finely chiselled a sculptor could not make a better model. And yet there was a strange set to her mouth, that when it smiled there lurked a sneer.

 

Suddenly there was music, it was the slow beat of the Arabic heart cut with more intimate and subtler rhythms, and there were the high pitched pipes with that strange off key sound. She then moved to the rhythm of the music.

 

This was a dance of enticement, to take the brain, to fill it with uncontrollable thoughts that become images which cannot be defined, and so give way to strange desires. One foot stepped forward and beat upon the sandy floor, there was no sound and yet the beat increased, the foot stepping in time, and suddenly the gown was gone, and brown limbs swung across the desert wastes.

 

The hips swung, the pelvis moved with a mesmeric pulsing motion, and breasts, held so high, punctuated the dancing movement.

 

Muhammad reached out, and she was gone and in her place stood a horse; a white stallion, an Arabian, wild eyed, with a long flowing mane, saddled in glowing black leather. It stamped and pawed the ground, and shook its head as if to challenge anyone to ride it. Muhammad rose, he a horseman of high repute, he pulled himself up to his full majestic height, and used to having things bow down before him commanded the horse remain stationary as he mounted up.

 

Before he could compose himself the horse swung away and galloped off across the desert. Muhammad cried out at this effrontery to his pride, but as he watched a great city rose up before him and the horse flew through the gates that opened as he approached.

 

The city was surrounded by a crenellated wall of white marble, backed by towers and spires that rose up into the sky. Trumpets sounded, and there were cries of pleasure, the tinkle of women’s voices, and the harshness of men's. Music seemed to come from every part of the city, the reflected light of the sun twinkled on the walls as if they were studded with diamonds. There seemed everything to meet a man’s desire, and yet there was no human visible.

 

Muhammad stepped up to a door and as he pushed it open the city disappeared, as in a puff of smoke, and there in front of him sat an old lady on what looked a pile of camel dung.

‘I am the object of your desire. ’

 

Muhammad stared in disbelief. Her skin was wrinkled, her hair was grey, her eyes were rheumy, and then she looked up and smiled, and through broken and blackened teeth he saw the semblance of a sneer! He turned and fled.

 

There was a hand upon his shoulder.

'Master shall I continue with the song?’

 

He turned and looked up at the doe eyes, and the smooth skin, dark but brown to the touch, and smelled the sweetness of her breath and the fragrance of her ointment, and felt a great sadness sweep across him. All he desired had turned to ashes. With a great effort he rose and made his way to his bed chamber without looking back.

 

She smiled to herself and slid the phial away beneath her gown. She would remain a virgin for another night.