Short Stories, - [books to read fiction .txt] 📗
- Author: -
- Performer: -
Book online «Short Stories, - [books to read fiction .txt] 📗». Author -
Then Habakkuk laid hold on one of his ebony foot soldiers, and said: “O, my lord King Solomon, the One Merciful hath given thee dominion over all ghouls and afrits and jina and marids of the jinn, them that inhabit the houses of the fire and them that walk on the earth or creep within its bowels, them that dwell within the deep waters and them that fly upon the wings of the air; yea, all them that durst disobey thy behests, hast thou imprisoned against the Day of Judgment in vessels of copper, sealed in lead with thine own seal, and hast cast them into the sea of El Kerker. Yet hath not the One Merciful, to whom be glory, given thee lordship over these bits of ebony and ivory that they should do thy will; for lo, when I shall set down this foot soldier on yonder next square, where will my lord the King be then?”
And Solomon looked at the tables, and behold when his adversary should set down the foot soldier he was checkmated without redress. And when he understood that he was known of the Son of the Desert and had been defeated by him, a mighty wrath gat hold upon King Solomon and the world was straitened upon him; and his forehead waxed dark as the Night of Retribution, and his eyes flashed thereunder as it were the burning of the two Cities of the Plain, and his voice was as the roaring of the fire wherewith they were consumed. And he leapt to his feet and would have drawn his sword to smite off the head of Habakkuk. But Habakkuk abode still and lifted up the ebony foot soldier in his right hand, and the King was as one striken with a sudden palsy; and there came upon him a great whiteness and trembling, and his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and the sword dropped from his right hand.
And Habakkuk said unto him, “O my lord King Solomon, where is the wisdom wherewith the One Merciful hath gifted thee beyond all others of the sons of men? Behold now these three times hast thou gone about to slay the servant of the living God. How is it that thou hast not known me?”
And as Solomon looked straitly at Habakkuk the snow of his hair and his beard was melted away, and the manner of his garments were changed, and even while Solomon was yet marveling at the change, behold it was the slave girl, Admatha, who held up the ebony foot soldier against the King.
And the waters of forgetfulness were rolled back from the King’s memory, and he said: “Verily I should have remembered and repented, for lo this game is the very game, move for move, that I played with thee, O, Admatha, what time thou wert sent for to sing in the house of Ben Abinadab my son.”
And Admatha said, “O my lord King Solomon, of a truth this is even so, but where is the wisdom wherewith the One Merciful hath gifted thee beyond all others of the children of men? How is it thou hast not known me?”
And as Solomon looked straitly at Admatha her countenance and the manner of her garments were changed, and even while the King was yet marveling at the change behold it was Jareb ben Othniel who held up the ebony foot soldier against the King.
And the things which had been were lifted above the waters of forgetfulness, and Solomon saw them even as they were. And he said, “Verily I should have remembered and repented, for lo these two games are the very same, move for move, and combination for combination, with the game I played aforetime with thee, O Jareb ben Othniel, when thou didst bear a message to Jehoshaphat my remembrancer.”
And Jareb said, “Oh, my lord King Solomon, of a truth this is even so, but where is the wisdom wherewith the One Merciful hath gifted thee above all thy fellows? How is it that thou hast not known me?”
And as Solomon looked straitly at Jareb his countenance and the manner of his garments were changed, and even while the King was yet marveling at the change a glory as of the unspoken Name lighted his face, and his hair was as the rays of the sun at noonday, and his raiment was as a flame of fire, and from his shoulders came forth wings, whereof every feather was as a rainbow after the storm.
And the Angel said, “O, King Solomon, where is the wisdom wherewith the One Merciful hath gifted thee above thy brethern? Even yet hast thou not known me.” And the Angel still held up the ebony foot soldier against the King.
And Solomon said, “Verily long since should I have known thee and repented, O Azrael, angel of death, for none save the brother of the Four who uphold the throne of God, to whom be glory, could have played this game at the chess that thou hast played against me, lo these three times.”
And Azrael said, “Oh King Solomon, may the One Merciful have much mercy upon thee, for thou needest much!”
And he set down the ebony foot soldier.
And King Solomon was dead.
(From the Silician Folk Lore Dialect: E. C.: For Short Stories.)
Once upon a time there was a carter; he married, and took to wife a pretty girl. The wedding over, and the newly married pair alone, the carter turned and said to the bride:
“See, Rusidda (says he) now we are husband and wife. What happiness! Now I will buy me a horse, I will make me a cart, and so I will go with loads and we shall get bread. But there is this about it: When I come home, I will not work any more. Then, see, my little Rusidda, from now henceforth when I come home, you take the horse, unharness him from the cart, lead him in and water him; in short, care for him, for I am tired.” The girl began to shrug her shoulders and says, “I won’t do it!” “What do you mean? Then who is to lead the horse in, I?” “I don’t know how to do such things.” “Well,” says the young man, “I will teach you.” “No, I am not used to such things. At my home I was not taught in that way.” “Well, I will teach you now, little by little.” “No, I won’t lead the horse in!” “But what is to be done if you must lead him in?” “And I won’t lead him and I won’t lead him in!” “And I tell you, either you will lead him or you will come out badly.” “No, no; neither now or ever!” At this the young man arose in a rage, and unbuckled his leather belt. “Now I tell you either you lead the horse in, or I will set on you with my hands.... Go lead the horse in!” “No, I will not lead him in!”—“Ah, what is that?... Go lead the horse in” ... and he took her with a great blow of the strap on her shoulders. What would you expect of the girl? She began to scream like one burnt. “Alas, I’m dying ... I won’t lead the horse in! I won’t lead him in!” “Go, lead the horse in, I told you!...” and here blows with the strap that took off the skin. And “Go, lead the horse in,” and “I won’t lead him in!” The neighbors came running. “Children, children, what is it? You are just married and begin the quarrels! What is it? About the horse? Come off, we will lead him in.... Where is the horse?” “But,” says the young man, “It was talk ... we have yet to buy the horse.” “An apoplexy take you! For a talk, you make all this disturbance!” And the whole village fell upon them.
(Buckey O’Neill: San Francisco Chronicle.)
A hot day. The sun directly overhead, glowing with a fire that made the air in the shadeless canyon quiver as if heated in an oven. Not a tree in sight, not a bush—everything brown and barren. Everywhere boulders of lava immense in size and sometimes split in twain, as if in rapid cooling from the intense heat which gave them birth. Here and there between the gray-green of the giant cacti, raising their thorny forms fifty and sixty feet in the air, assuming with their strangely formed limbs the shapes of immense crosses or trunks of trees from which all leaves and smaller branches have been torn. Between the black and brown of the sunburnt lava an occasional tuft of tall, almost colorless grass. Over all a stillness that to one unaccustomed to the land would seem strange and oppressive. Not a bird to break it with its song. Even the lizards sought out what shade they could, making with their green, red and variegated coats, almost the only dash of color to relieve the monotony of the all-prevailing brown and black lava that each moment grew more oppressive to look at under the glow of the fierce heat.
Save these not a living thing was in sight except where off to the west a buzzard floated high in the air, and two men, with a burro lazily following, passing down the canyon.
Prospectors and their outfit.
Opened shirts, showing red, hairy breasts, while their loosely buckled belts, heavy with long, bright cartridges, whose tarnished surfaces, made doubly bright from the rays of the hot sun, seemed strangely out of place in such quietude.
Neither spoke. Each walked along as if alone, looking for the “float” that might indicate the presence of some mineral ledge higher up, more from habit than from hope, as the “formation” gave but little indication of treasure.
How hot the sun. The burro, patient-eyed, forgot his old trick of nipping the tops of the long gaete grass, and contented himself with keeping closely in the trail of the two men, whose worldly possessions of blankets, cooking utensils and tools, capped with an enormous canteen of water, he so patiently bore. Not a breath of air stirring. Only the quivering heat that made the eyes burn and ache. The men shifted their rifles constantly from one hand to another, as if to avoid getting blisters from the places where they touched the highly heated metallic parts of their guns.
Crack! crack! crack!
Not fifty yards ahead from behind a dozen boulders leap out as many jets of fire, while the snowy white puffs of smoke float up a few feet and disappear in the quivering air.
One of the men stops for an almost imperceptible instant, as if to brace himself. His hands rise to the level of his chest as if to bring his rifle to his shoulder and then—down he falls headlong to the ground in a limp mass. Dead! Shot through the head. Not a quiver; not a motion; without a sound, were it not for that made by his falling rifle.
As he falls his companion staggers back a pace or two, catches himself, and then, half crouching, half falling, drops behind one of the many boulders. “Hit!” he thinks to himself, “but, thank God! not fatally; only a scratch.” Life seems a new thing; to live, a new joy.
Only a scratch. “Where?” He hardly has time to think as he places his gun across the boulder and fires at a figure, naked, dark, clothed only in a breech clout and with a red scarf wound around the head. He notes almost unconsciously how pronounced its color is against the dark face and darker
Comments (0)