Speak Bird Speak Again (12 page)

Ambiguity
concerning the ultimate status of action is a critical feature of all
folktales. On the one hand, Palestinian tellers do resort to
narrative distancing devices to put the action in the realm of
fiction. On the other hand, by concretizing the supernatural they
manage the opposite effect, locating fictional entities in the domain
of the real. The out-of-the-ordinary locations in which tellers like
to place the action are, as we have pointed out, essential aspects of
plot in nearly all the tales. These places cannot, of course, be
reached by mere human effort: the protagonists, on their way to
retrieve some magical object vital to narrative continuity, must seek
assistance from supernatural beings. The ghouls and jinn who populate
these tales, however, do not act merely as donor figures. They also
assume fully human roles as fathers (Tale 20), husbands (Tale 16),
lovers (Tale 12), daughters (Tale 8), sons (Tale 40), wives (Tales
17, 30, 32, 37), sisters (Tale 8), mothers-in-law (Tale 34), aunts
(Tale 29), and mothers (Tale 18). These supernatural beings are not
only creatures of the imagination but also part of people's
experience in life. In presenting them, Palestinian tellers, who can
rely on the audience's belief in their reality, do not have to use
distancing devices to help suspend disbelief. And it is precisely
this absence of distancing devices in connection with these creatures
that gives the tales their special character, adding to the ambiguity
in the action and thereby making the task of interpretation more
difficult.

Action
is of course organically connected with the hero and plot in the
tales. As we have seen, the Palestinian folk do not conceive of this
world in terms of unmitigated good or evil. By humanizing
supernatural creatures, the tales remove them from susceptibility to
facile moral judgment. In Tale 22, for example, the ghouleh is kinder
to the hero than is his own mother, and in Tale 12 the magic bird is
more trusting of his wife than she is of him. It is therefore more
appropriately the balance of forces proper, rather than an assortment
of capricious supernatural beings, that controls rewards and
punishments in this world. The plot is set into motion when this
balance is disturbed. The agents of this balance are the heroines and
heroes, who, much like the supernatural creatures with their human
dimension, themselves have a superhuman dimension. Whether in
fulfillment of individual desire or in serving the community, they
undertake difficult journeys and seemingly impossible tasks. Because
every action in life has its consequences, the events of plot - of
their journey, of their deeds - are narrative manifestations of this
balance of forces. Resolution is not achieved until all the forces
that have been set into motion are neutralized and a new balance is
achieved. If a wish is articulated, it must be fulfilled; if a vow is
made, all its conditions must be fulfilled. By thus removing an
absolute scale for judging action, the tales, despite their reliance
on the paraphernalia of the supernatural, throw the onus of
responsibility on human beings. In their very essence, the tales
affirm a human reality.

The
concept of plot in the tales is an artistic imitation of the
unfolding of fate. Or, viewed the other way around, belief in
predestination implies that the plot of human, and therefore
individual, destiny has been planned from the very beginning. In
life, human beings tread a delicate balance between the powers of
good and evil. The future is predetermined, yet it is unknowable. And
because fate is sealed, causality is eliminated. Chance thus becomes
an essential aspect of plot in the tales precisely because this plan
for the universe exists - even though human beings do not know what
it is. Every event has a meaning in relation to the unfolding story
of the world. Taking this thought a bit further, we can say that only
chance is meaningful in the tales because, in the absence of
causation, heroes and heroines have no interiority. There is no space
in their world for reflection. They do not know, nor can they
evaluate, the meaning of their actions. They are their actions, as
the names of some of the tales make so dear (e.g., Tales 1, 2, 3, 31,
32, 42, 43).

So far
in our discussion we have distinguished between the specific
contribution of the culture and that of the genre itself, with its
concomitant plot requirements for any particular tale type. From that
perspective, we considered briefly the documentary aspect of the
tales - that is, their relation to the social context. Now, as we
study plot structure and the meaning of action, we observe a
congruence of the traditional, predominantly Islamic Palestinian
worldview and the significance of action in the tales. The equation
we make between the concept of plot in art and the doctrine of
predestination in life may be verified from the metaphor alluded to
earlier, "It is written on the forehead," that is used to
express the notion of a preexisting order. Life from birth to death
is like a story authored by God, who breathes life into the soul at
conception and sends the angel of death at the end. All folktale
readers are familiar with the tale that begins with the prediction of
how a newborn will die, a prophecy that is fulfilled regardless of
the parents' efforts to frustrate the inevitable. For obvious
reasons, this folktale is very popular in the Arab world, for it
articulates one of the most profound and cherished attitudes the
people hold about the meaning of life. Human beings are God's slaves
(abid ; sing., abid), and they can no more attempt to change their
fate than can folk heroes and heroines alter the laws of folk
narrative (see especially the tales included here in Group V). Those
individuals who succeed most fully in embracing their destiny
unquestioningly are, then, the heroines and heroes of our tales.

Notes
on Presentation and Translation

Following
the scheme articulated in the Introduction, the tales are divided
into groups, each of which is followed by an afterword. This
commentary follows rather than precedes the selections in order not
to interfere with the reader's individual response to the tales.
Likewise, we hope that the enjoyment of a first reading will not be
interrupted by the footnotes. Notes have been provided to explain or
explore many of the terms and concepts found in the tales. Extensive
cross-referencing should allow readers to pursue particular topics,
and the Footnote Index provides even more comprehensive surveys.

A
translation must sound natural in the target language while still
remaining faithful to the original. In translating these tales,
several basic issues had to be considered. The first is the language
of the original, which is the Palestinian dialect. In rendering
colloquial Arabic into English, the translator must decide on the
linguistic level, or tone, that best conveys the spirit of the
original. A too-formal translation distorts that spirit, and a
heavily colloquial one is equally deleterious.

In
addition to purely linguistic considerations, there are also
stylistic ones. Many stylistic features of oral performance cannot be
duplicated in print without destroying the fluency of the narrative.
Among these, for example, are comments reflecting the teller's own
viewpoint (included in parentheses) in the midst of speech uttered by
one of the characters. Literary oral narrative, when translated for
print into another language, obviously undergoes in reality a process
of double translation: the first is from one language to another, and
the second is from one medium into another.

Fortunately,
linguistic practice in English is helpful to the translator in both
cases. The division in English between formal and informal language
is not quite as important as it is in Arabic, where standard speech
is used mostly on formal occasions and in writing. Thus, the solution
to both problems (linguistic level and stylistic propriety) lies in
steering a middle course between standard and informal speech,
avoiding intrusive colloquialisms on the one hand and expressly
"literary" diction on the other. The translation, in short,
must sound good to native ears when read out loud.

In
every case the translation follows the original very closely,
attempting where possible to duplicate its narrative rhythm and its
grammatical structure. The philosophy of translation articulated here
assumes that the tellers must tell their own tales, with as few
interpretive intrusions as possible. No liberties are taken with the
text by adding invented material or by censoring scatological
references through euphemistic substitution or excision. Necessary
departures from the literal intent of the text are either included in
square brackets in the body of the tale or footnoted - or both.

Although
the translations remain faithful to the literal meaning of the
originals, they are not word-for-word translations. All dialogue in
the tales, for example, is introduced in the originals by the word
qal, "to say." Qal is translated in a variety of ways (as
"said," "spoke," "answered," "replied,"
"called"), depending on the context. We feel that following
the text too literally here will yield a turgid translation that is
not faithful to the original either in letter or in spirit. In
rhythms, gestures, and intonations oral narration holds the attention
of the listener; the verbal text, seen on the printed page, does not
by itself (so to speak) tell the whole story.

GROUP
I

INDIVIDUALS

CHILDREN
AND PARENTS

1.

TELLER:
Testify that God is One!

AUDIENCE:
There is no god but God.

There
was once a woman who could not get pregnant and have children. Once
upon a day she had an urge; she wanted babies. "O Lord!"
she cried out, "Why of all women am I like this? Would that I
could get pregnant and have a baby, and may Allah grant me a girl
even if she is only a cooking pot!" One day she became pregnant•
A day came and a day went, and behold! she was ready to deliver. She
went into labor and delivered, giving birth to a cooking pot. What
was the poor woman to do? She washed it, cleaning it well, put the
lid on it, and placed it on the shelf.

One
day the pot started to talk. "Mother," she said, "take
me down from this shelf!"

"Alas,
daughter!" replied the mother, "Where am I going to put
you?"

"What
do you care?" said the daughter. "Just bring me down, and I
will make you rich for generations to come."

The
mother brought her down. "Now put my lid on," said the pot,
"and leave me outside the door." Putting the lid on, the
mother took her outside the door.

The
pot started to roll, singing as she went, "Tunjut, tunjur,
clink, clink, O my mama!" She rolled until she came to a place
where people usually gather. In a while people were passing by. A man
came and found the pot all settled in its place. "Eh!" he
exclaimed, "who has put this pot in the middle of the path? I'll
be damned! What a beautiful pot! It's probably made of silver."
He looked it over well. "Hey, people!" he called, "Whose
pot is this? Who put it here?" No one claimed it. "By
Allah," he said, "I'm going to take it home with me."

On his
way home he went by the honey vendor. He had the pot filled with
honey and brought it home to his wife. "Look, wife," he
said, "how beautiful is this pot!" The whole family was
greatly pleased with it.

In two
or three days they had guests, and they wanted to offer them some
honey. The woman of the house brought the pot down from the shelf.
Push and pull on the lid, but the pot would not open! She called her
husband over. Pull and push, but open it he could not. His guests
pitched in. Lifting the pot and dropping it, the man tried to break
it open with hammer and chisel. He tried everything, but it was no
use. They sent for the blacksmith, and he tried and tried, to no
avail. What was the man to do? "Damn your owners!" he
cursed the pot, "Did you think you were going to make us
wealthy?" And, taking it up, he threw it out the window.

When
they turned their back and could no longer see it, she started to
roll, saying as she went:

"Tunjur,
tunjur, O my mama,

In my
mouth I brought the honey.

Clink,
clink, O my mama,

In my
mouth I brought the honey."

"Bring
me up the stairs!" she said to her mother when she reached home.

"Yee!"
exclaimed the mother, "I thought you had disappeared, that
someone had taken you."

"Pick
me up!" said the daughter.

Picking
her up, my little darlings, the mother took the lid off and found the
pot full of honey. Oh! How pleased she was!

"Empty
me!" said the pot.

The
mother emptied the honey into a jar, and put the pot back on the
shelf.

"Mother,"
said the daughter the next day, "take me down!"

The
mother brought her down from the shelf.

"Mother,
put me outside the door!"

The
mother placed her outside the door, and she started rolling - tunjur,
tunjur, clink, clink - until she reached a place where people were
gathered, and then she stopped. A man passing by found her.