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The oboe-player, Sydy Ali, was Barber and cafekeeper, eager for A change, and crazy to get gold. "This trip," He told his friends, "is but a pilgrimage." There's nothing lacking but the telbyya. "I've taken trips before and with good luck. I was the master, with my art acclaimed. I was director of the Nouba, at The court, when Turkey held the reins of power.
At Azal when night comes we pitch our tents. Sydy-l-Ahsen is before us now: Ez-Zerga, too. Then faring on we go To Sydy Sayd, and Elmetkeouk, And Medoukal-of-palms, where we arrive At eventide. We saddle up at dawn, Just when the breeze begins. Our halting-place, Sydy Mehammed, decks this peaceful earth. From there the litters seek El Mekheraf. My charger gray straight as an eagle goes.
But when They said, "Come take a smoke," I was confused. "Impossible," I answered, "for I have With Sydy Hasan Sydy Khelyl studied, And the Senousyya. So I cannot." Ben Aysa came to me, with angry air, "The Antichrist," he said, "shall spring from thee. I saw within that book you have at home His story truly told." "You're right," said I, "Much thanks!"
But 'twas the crowd that led Him on, and that is how it came to pass. With them is donkey-faced Hamyda, who Sold flowers in the market-place. He left His family no coins to live upon, But told them only: "Moderate your pace. I'll buy a house for you when I get back, And we shall live in plenty evermore." Sydy Ahmed et Tsoqba timbals had As big as goat-skin bottles.
Es Snybla, bellows-faced, who used to work For our good mayor, off to Paris went To make the soldiers' coffee. When he comes Back home again, so much he will have earned. He will be richer than a merchant great. Oh, welcome, Sydy Omar! All of Paris Is charmed to see you, O my Snybla dear! If he would only go to Mexico, And stay there it would be a riddance good.
He desired To play in unison, but the musicians all Abhorred him, for he could not keep in time. The heart of Sydy Ahmed glows with love For Ayn-bou-Sellouf, who is very fair. I hope that cares and fainting-fits may swell Him out, and yellow he will straight become As yellow as a carrot in a field. I love Sydy-t-Tayyeb when he sings And plays the tambourine. Such ugliness My eyes have never seen.
She died the death of martyrs, my sweet love, My fair'st one, with Koheul-tinted lids! They took her to a country that is called Sydy Kaled, and buried her at night, My tattooed beauty. And her lovely eyes, Like a gazelle's, have never left my sight. O sexton, care now for my sweet gazelle, And let no stones fall on Hyzyya's grave.
He is a cafékeeper, and his son A baker. For associate he has Sydy Aly Mehraz, who does his work Astride a thorn; he surely doth deserve Our compliments. All three you see are dressed In duck, in fashion of the Christian men. There's de Merzong; the people say he's good, But still they fear him, he is so uncouth. Good God!
Respected sirs, It is the latest Friday in the month Of El Mouloud and in the year we call Twelve hundred ninety-four, that I complete This tale fantastic. Would you know my name? I am Qaddour, well known to all the world, Binder to Sydy Boû Gdour, and attired In gechchabyya-blouse. And if my back Were not deformed, none could compete with me.
A porcupine The first resembled, and the other one Was one-eyed. You should hear them play the lute! Some persons heard my story from afar, Oulyd Sydy Sáyd, among them, and Brymat, who laughed abundantly. And with Them was the chief of Miliana. All Were seated on an iron bench, within The right-hand shop. They called me to their booth Where I had coffee and some sweets.
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