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86 Hamilton Toward the Holy City Oarsmen The chain is heavy and the heart’s route is long. Mariner The ship is waiting to leap towards the horizon. People O Rose of Allah, we are loath to see you depart. Warriors You are the steady beating in our hearts. Women We greet you with the day’s tears of departure. Priests We bless your ship as it prepares for Mecca. Slaves We unfurl before you a rainbow of prayer-tapis. Shepherds We cascade flowers from fields where your dew is. Elders We offer the olive branch of Allah’s will. Poor We say your right hand’s bread and the left is milk. Nomads Your name is clear fresh water from the oasis. Merchants Your name’s the scales where perfect balance is. Children Your name is always Mamma: kind and lovely. Mariner The ship’s now ready: filled with sugar and honey. On the Winged Ship Laïïleh Time passes and days are the same in the balm of the double sky: the storm has clipped our wings. Pilgrims But we felt more alive than in this calm! Laïïleh Tell me, in which direction are we sailing? Mariner A huge wave took the needle in its case and I can’t say precisely where we are. Laïïleh Is your judgement not an honest compass? Mariner The ship tossed like an orange and the stars for many nights have veiled their guiding eyes. Laïïleh The pilgrims tire: they are hungry and thirsty. In truth our ship must be a distant cry from land for you to be so miserly with rations. Were they also snatched by waves? Mariner And I regret that our pilgrims are not brave.
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Hamilton 87 Pilgrims To drink! To drink a little quenching water in this exhausting hell of bitter sea! Mariner You are not worthy of Lalla Maghnia. Pilgrims But Allah brings her food! She isn’t hungry! Mariner If that were true she would have portioned it between her faithless servants like Mohammed who shared his dwindling rations in the desert. Laïïleh An evil thought has formed in someone’s head back home at my Zaouïïa on this day they dedicate to our safely reaching Mecca. So, as the sheep are roasting and the honey is flowing and dates tumble down in clusters, the angels will relieve them of their feast and serve it up to us as we drift East. A Feast from Heaven Pilgrims The folding doors of Heaven are opening and down the brilliant gold and azure stairs two double rows of angels are descending with dishes Allah’s kitchen has prepared. Six cherubs proffer condiments in cupped and chubby hands: red and green pimento assorted into heaps and finely chopped upon bright-yellow rounds of fresh-cut lemon. Two cupids who are slightly bigger, with wings still glowing from the fires of the kitchen, approach with a white peacock they are lifting on a plate above their heads. And after them the succulent meat is carried by adult angels – a sheep, wild boar and a young tender gazelle.

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86

Hamilton

Toward the Holy City

Oarsmen The chain is heavy and the heart’s route is long. Mariner The ship is waiting to leap towards the horizon. People O Rose of Allah, we are loath to see you depart. Warriors You are the steady beating in our hearts. Women We greet you with the day’s tears of departure. Priests We bless your ship as it prepares for Mecca. Slaves We unfurl before you a rainbow of prayer-tapis. Shepherds We cascade flowers from fields where your dew is. Elders We offer the olive branch of Allah’s will. Poor We say your right hand’s bread and the left is milk. Nomads Your name is clear fresh water from the oasis. Merchants Your name’s the scales where perfect balance is. Children Your name is always Mamma: kind and lovely. Mariner The ship’s now ready: filled with sugar and honey.

On the Winged Ship

Laïïleh Time passes and days are the same in the balm of the double sky: the storm has clipped our wings. Pilgrims But we felt more alive than in this calm! Laïïleh Tell me, in which direction are we sailing? Mariner A huge wave took the needle in its case and I can’t say precisely where we are. Laïïleh Is your judgement not an honest compass? Mariner The ship tossed like an orange and the stars for many nights have veiled their guiding eyes. Laïïleh The pilgrims tire: they are hungry and thirsty. In truth our ship must be a distant cry from land for you to be so miserly with rations. Were they also snatched by waves? Mariner And I regret that our pilgrims are not brave.

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