Chapter 28

Here we are, home again at Abeih. Here are Asaad and Khalil, and several others. I asked Khalil one day to write out for me a list of all the games the boys play in Abeih, and he brought me a list of _twenty-eight_ different ones, and said there were many more.

I. The first is called Khatim or the Ring. A boy puts a ring on the back of his hand, tosses it and catches it on the back of his fingers. If it falls on the middle finger, he shakes it to the forefinger, and then he is Sultan, and appoints a Vizier, whom he commands to beat the other boys. Then the boys all sing,

Ding, dong, turn the wheel, Wind the purple thread: Spin the white and spin the red, Wind it on the reel: Silk and linen as well as you can, Weave a robe for the Great Sultan.

II. Killeh. Like the game of shooting marbles.

III. Owal Howa. The same as leap frog.

IV. Biz Zowaia. Cat in the corner.

V. Taia ya Taia. All the boys stand in a row, and one in front facing them, who calls out Taia ya Taia. They all then run after him and hit him. He then hops on one foot as if lame, and catches one of them, who takes his place.

VI. El Manya. Hig tig.

VII. Bil Kobbeh. A circle of boys stand with their heads bowed. Another circle stand outside, and on a given signal try to mount on the backs of the inner circle of boys. If they succeed they remain standing in this way; if not, the boy who failed must take the inside place.

VIII. Ghummaida. Blind-man's-buff.

IX. Tabeh. Base ball and drop ball.

X. Kurd Murboot or Tied Monkey. A rope is tied to a peg in the ground, and one boy holds it fast. The others tie knots in their handkerchiefs and beat him. If he catches them without letting go his hold on the rope, they take his place.

XI. Shooha or Hawk. Make a swing on the limb of a tree. A boy leans on the swing and runs around among the boys, until he catches one to take his place.

XII. Joora. Shooting marbles into a joora or hole in the ground.

XIII. Khubby Mukhzinak. "Pebble pebble." One boy goes around and hides a pebble in the hand of one of the circle and asks "pebble, pebble, who's got the pebble." This is like "Button, button."

Then there are other games like chequers and "Morris," chess, and games which are used in gambling, which you will not care to hear about.

Sometimes when playing, they sing a song which I have translated:

I found a black crow, With a cake in his maw, I asked him to feed me, He cried caw, caw.

A chicken I found With a loaf of bread-- I asked him to feed me. He cried, enough said.

And an eagle black With a beam on his back Said from Egypt I come And he cried clack, clack.

So you see the Arab boys are as fond of plays and songs as American boys. They have scores of songs about gazelles, and pearls, and Sultans, and Bedawin, and Ghouls, and the "Ghuz," and the Evil Eye, and Arab mares and Pashas.

A few days ago a Druze, named Sheikh Ali, called upon me and recited to me a strange song, which reminded me of the story of "Who killed Cock Robin," and "The House that Jack built." In some of the Arab villages where fleas abound, the people go at times to the tennûr or oven, (which is like a great earthen jar sunken in the ground,) to shake off the fleas into the fire. The story which I have translated goes thus: A brilliant bug and a noble flea once went to the oven to shake off the ignoble fleas from their garments into the fire. But alas, alas, the noble flea lost his footing, fell into the fire and was consumed. Then the brilliant bug began to weep and mourn, saying,

Alas! Ah me! The Noble Flea! While he was thus weeping, And his sad watch keeping, A glossy raven overhead, Flew swiftly down and gently said, Oh my friend, oh brilliant bug, Why are you weeping on the rug? The bug replied, O glossy raven, With your head all shorn and shaven, I am now weeping, And sad watch keeping, Over, Ah me! The Noble Flea. The raven he, Wept over the flea, And flew to a green palm tree-- And in grief, _dropped a feather_, Like snow in winter weather. The palm tree said my glossy raven, Why do you look so craven, Why did you drop a feather, Like snow in winter weather? The raven said, The flea is dead! I saw the brilliant bug weeping And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea. Then the green Palm tree, Wept over the noble flea. Said he, The flea is dead! And _all his branches shed_! The Shaggy Wolf he strayed, To rest in the Palm tree's shade He saw the branches broken, Of deepest grief the token, And said, Oh Palm tree green, What sorrow have you seen? What noble one is dead, That you your branches shed? He said, O Wolf so shaggy, Living in rocks so craggy, I saw the glossy raven, Looking forlorn and craven, Dropping down a feather, Like snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Then the Wolf in despair _Shed his shaggy hair_. Then the River clear and shining, Saw the wolf in sorrow pining, Asked him why in sad despair, He had shed his shaggy hair? Said the Wolf, Oh River shining, I in sorrow deep am pining, For the Palm tree I have seen, Shedding all his branches green, And he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me, Over the Noble Flea! Sadly then the shining River, _Dried its waters up forever_. Then the Shepherd with his sheep Asked the River once so deep, What great grief, oh shining river, Dried your waters up forever? Said the River once so shining, I in sorrow deep am pining, Since I saw the wolf's despair, When he shed his shaggy hair, For the Palm tree he had seen, Shedding all his branches green, And he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather, He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping. Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Then the Shepherd in sorrow deep, _Tore the horns from all his sheep_, Sadly bound them on his head, Since he heard the flea was dead. Then the Shepherd's mother dear, Asked him why in desert drear, He had torn in sorrow deep, All the horns from all his sheep, Sadly bound them on his head, Just as though a friend was dead? Said he, 'tis because the River, Dried his waters up forever, Since he saw the Wolf's despair, When he shed his shaggy hair. For the Palm tree he had seen, Shedding all his branches green, For he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Mother sad began to cry, Thrust her needle in her eye; Could no longer see her thread, Since she heard the flea was dead. Then the Father grave and bland, Hearing this, _cut off his hand_; And the daughter, when she hears, In despair, _cuts off her ears_; And through the town deep grief is spread, Because they heard the flea was dead.

THE NURSERY RHYMES OF THE ARABS.

Who is that singing in such a sweet plaintive voice in the room beneath our porch? It is the Sit Leila, wife of Sheikh Abbas, saying a lullaby to her little baby boy, Sheikh Fereed. We will sit on the porch in this bright moonlight, and listen while she sings:

Whoever loves you not, My little baby boy; May she be driven from her house, And never know a joy! May the "Ghuz" eat up her husband, And the mouse her oil destroy!

This is not very sweet language for a gentle lady to use to a little infant boy, but the Druze and Moslem women use this kind of imprecation in many of their nursery songs. Katrina says that many of the Greek and Maronite women sing them too. This young woman Laia, who sits here, has repeated for me not less than a hundred and twenty of these nursery rhymes, songs for weddings, funeral wails, etc. Some of the imprecations are dreadful.

They seem to think that the best way to show their love to their babies, is to hate those who do not love them.

Im Faris says she has heard this one in Hasbeiya, her birthplace:

O sleep to God, my child, my eyes, Your heart no ill shall know; Who loves you not as much as I, May God her house o'erthrow! May the mosque and the minaret, dome and all, On her wicked head in anger fall! May the Arabs rob her threshing floor, And not one kernel remain in her store.

The servant girl Nideh, who attends the Sit Leila, thinks that her turn has come, and she is singing,

We've the white and the red in our baby's cheeks, In pounds and tons to spare; But the black and the rust, And the mould and the must, For our neighbor's children are!

I hope she does not refer to _us_ for we are her nearest neighbors. But in reality I do not suppose that they actually mean what they sing in these Ishmaelitic songs. Perhaps they do when they are angry, but they probably sing them ordinarily without thinking of their meaning at all.

Sometimes snakes come down from the ceilings of these earth-roofed houses, and terrify the people. At other times government horsemen come and drag them off to prison, as they did in Safita. These things are referred to in this next song which Nideh is singing:

If she love you not, my boy, May the Lord her life destroy! Seven mules tread her down, Drag her body through the town! Snakes that from the ceiling hang, Sting her dead with poison fang! Soldiers from Damascus city, Drag her off and shew no pity! Nor release her for a day, Though a thousand pounds she pay!

That is about enough of imprecations, and it will be pleasanter to listen to Katrina, for she will sing us some of the sweetest of the Syrian Nursery Songs.

Sleep, my moon, my baby sleep! The Pleiades bright their watches keep. The Libra shines so fair and clear, The stars are shining, hush my dear!

There is not much music in the tunes they sing to these words. The airs generally are plaintive and monotonous, and have a sad and weary sound.

Here is another:

My boy, my moon, I bid you good morrow! Who wishes you peace shall know no sorrow! Whom you salute, his earth is like heaven, His care relieved, his sin forgiven!

She says that last line is extravagant, and I think as much. The next one is a Moslem lullaby.

O Lord of the heavens, Knowing and Wise, Preserve my Ali, the light of my eyes! Lord of high heaven, Compassionate! Keep my dear boy in every state!

This one is used by the women of all the sects, but in all of the songs the name is changed to suit the name of the baby to whom the mother is singing,

Ali, your eyes are sleeping, But God's eyes never sleep: Their hours of lonely weeping None can forever keep. How sweet is the night of health, When Ali sleeps in peace! Oh may such nights continue, Nor ever, ever cease!

Among all the scores of nursery songs, I have heard only a very few addressed to _girls_, but some of these are beautiful. Hear Katrina sing this one:

Lûlû dear the house is bright, With your forehead's sunny light; Men your father honor now When they see your lovely brow. If father comes home sad and weary, Sight of you will make him cheery.

The "fuller's soap" mentioned in Malachi 3:2, is the plant called in Arabic "Ashnan or Shenan," and the Arabs sometimes use it in the place of soap. The following is another song addressed to a baby girl:

Come Cameleer, as quick as you can, And make us soap from the green "Shenan," To bathe our Lûlû dear; We'll wash her and dress her, And then we'll caress her, She'll sleep in her little sereer. (cradle)

This song is sung by the Druze women to their baby girls:

Your eye is jet black, and dark are its lashes, Between the arched brows, like a crescent it flashes; When painted with "kohl" 'tis brighter by far, Than the full-orbed moon or the morning star.

The following is supposed to be addressed by a Druze woman to her neighbor who has a daughter of marriageable age, when she is obliged to veil her face:

Hide your daughter, veil her face, Neighbor, do not tarry: For my Hanna is of age, Says he wants to marry. When I asked about his choice, Said he was not needy: But that if he ever wed, He thought he'd like Fereedy.

The next one is also Druze and purely Oriental:

Two healths, one health, Four healths more: Four sacks of sesamé seed, Scattered on the floor; Pick and count them one by one. Reckon up their number; For every seed wish Hassan's health. Sweetly may he slumber!

The Druze women delight in nothing so much as to have their sons ride fine horses:

My Yusef, my cup of sherbet sweet, My broadcloth red hung over the street, When you ride the blood mare with sword and pistol, Your saddle is gold and your stirrups crystal.

Katrina says that this little song is the morning salutation to baby boys:

Good morning now to you, Little boy! Your face is like the dew, Little boy! There never was a child, so merry and so mild, So good morning once again, Little boy!

This song is sung by the Druze women to their babes:

O Sparrow of Paradise, Hush him to sleep? Your feathers are "henna." Watch him and keep! Bring sleep soft and sweet Upon your white wings! For Hassan the pet And his mother who sings!

The apples of Damascus are noted throughout Syria, though we should regard them as very poor fruit:

What's he like? If any ask us, Flowers and apples of Damascus; Apples fragrant on the tray, Roses sweet with scent of May.

Laia says that the next one is sung by the Druze women to their baby boys:

I love you, I prize you, and for you I wish, A hundred oak trees in the valley; A hundred blood mares all tied in the court, And ready for foray or sally. Mount your horse, fly away, with your scarf flowing free, The chiefs of the tribe will assemble; Damascus, Aleppo, and Ghutah beside, At the sound of your coming will tremble.

Nejmeh says that the Bedawin women who come to Safita, her native place, often sing the following song:

Come little Bedawy, sit on my lap, Pretty pearls shine in your little white cap, Rings are in your ears, Rings are in your nose, Rings upon your fingers, And "henna" on your toes.

They use the "henna" to dye their hands, feet and finger nails, when a wedding or festive occasion occurs in the family.

Katrina recalls another little song which she used to sing to Harry:

Welcome now, my baby dear, Whence did you come? Your voice is sweet, What little feet! Make yourself at home!

Nideh, the Druze girl down stairs is ready with another song. She is rocking little Sheikh Fereed in his cradle, and says:

In your cradle sleep my boy, Rest from all your labor; May El Hakim, heaven's God, Ever be your neighbor!

It makes me feel sad to hear a poor woman praying to a man. This El Hakim was a man, and a bad man too, who lived many hundred years ago, and now the Druzes regard him as their God. But what difference is there between worshipping Hakim as the Druzes do, and worshipping Mary and Joseph as the Greeks and Maronites do. Laia says the Maronites down in the lower part of this village sing the following song:

Hillû, Hillû, Hallelujah! Come my wild gazelles! He who into trouble falls On the Virgin Mother calls; To Damascus she's departing, All the mountain monks are starting. Come my priest and come my deacon, Bring the censer and the beacon, We will celebrate the Mass, In the Church of Mar Elias; Mar Elias, my neighbor dear, You must be deaf if you did not hear.

Sit Leila sings:

I love you my boy, and this is the proof, I wish that you had all the wealth of the "Shoof," Hundreds of costly silken bales, Hundreds of ships with lofty sails. Hundreds of towns to obey your word, And thousands of thousands to call you lord!

Katrina is ready to sing again:

I will sing to you, God will bring to you, All you need, my dear: He's here and there, He is everywhere, And to you He's ever near.

People say that every baby that is born into the world is thought by its mother to be better than any other ever born. The Arab women think so too, and this is the way they sing it:

One like you was never born, One like you was never brought; All the Arabs might grow old, Fighting ne'er so brave and bold, Yet with all their battles fought One like you they never caught.

Im Faris asks if we would not like to hear some of the rhymes the Arab women sing when playing with their children. Here are some of them. The first one you will think is like what you have already seen in "Mother Goose."

Blacksmith, blacksmith, shoe the mare, Shoe the colt with greatest care; Hold the shoe and drive the nail, Else your labor all will fail; Shoe a donkey for Seleem, And a colt for Ibraheem.

Sugar cane grows luxuriantly in Syria, and it was first taken from Tripoli, Syria, to Spain, and thence to the West Indies and America. But all they do with it now in Syria, is to suck it. It is cut up in pieces and sold to the people, old and young, who peel it and suck it. So the Arab women sing to their children:

Pluck it and suck it, the green sugar cane, Whatever is sweet is costly and vain; He'll cut you a joint as long as a span, And charge two piastres. Now buy if you can!

Wered says she will sing us two or three which they use in teaching the little Arab babies to "pat" their hands:

Patty cake, baby! Make him dance! May his age increase and his years advance! May his life like the rock, long years endure, Overgrown with lilies, so sweet and pure!

And now the Sit Leila is singing again one of the Druze lullabys:

Tish for two, Tish for two! A linen shirt with a border blue! With cloth that the little pedler sells, For the father of eyes like the little gazelles! Your mother will weave and spin and twine, To clothe you so nicely O little Hassein!

Do you hear the jackals crying as they come up out of the valley? Their cry is like the voice of the cat and dog mingled together, and Im Faris knows some of the ditties which they sing to their children about the jackals and their fondness for chickens:

You cunning rogues beware! You jackals with the long hair! You ate up the chickens of old Katrin, And ran away singing like wild Bedawin.

It is not pleasant to have so many fleas annoying us all the time, but we must not be more anxious to keep the fleas out than to get the people in, and as the fellaheen come to see us, they will be likely to _flea_ us too. Safita is famous for fleas, so no wonder that Nejmeh knows the following song of the boys about fleas:

I caught and killed a hopping flea, His sister's children came to me: One with drum my ears did pierce, One was fluting loud and fierce, Then they danced me, made me sing, Like a monkey in a ring. Come O Deeby, come I pray, Bring the Doctor right away! Peace on your heart feel no alarm, You have not had the slightest harm.

Laia is never at a loss for something new, and I am amazed at her memory. She will give us some rhyming riddles in Arabic, and we will put them into English as best we may. The first is about the _Ant_:

'Tis black as night, But it is not night: Like a bird it has wings, But it never sings: It digs through the house, But it is not a mouse: It eats barley and grass, But it is not an ass.

Riddle about a _gun_:

A featherless bird flew over the sea, A bird without feathers, how can that be? A beautiful bird which I admire, With wooden feet and a head of fire!

Riddle on _salt_:

O Arab tribes, so bold and gay, What little grain have you to-day? It never on the trees is seen, Nor on the flowers and wheat so green. Its source is pure, 'tis pleasant to eat, From water it comes that is not sweet, Though from water it comes, and there's water in it, You put it in water, it dies in a minute.

The door has opened down stairs, and some of Sit Leila's friends have come to see her. The moment they saw the little baby Fereed, they all began to call out, "Ism Allah alayhee," "The name of Allah upon him." They use this expression to keep off the Evil Eye. This superstition is universal throughout Western Asia, Northern Africa, and exists also in Italy and Spain. Dr. Meshaka of Damascus says that those who believe in the Evil Eye, "think that certain people have the power of killing others by a glance of the eye. Others inflict injury by the eye. Others pick grapes by merely looking at them. This power may rest in _one_ eye, and one man who thought he had this power, _veiled one eye_, out of compassion for others! The Moslem Sheikhs and others profess to cure the evil eye, and prevent its evil effects by writing mystic talismanic words on papers, which are to be worn. Others write the words on an egg, and then strike the forehead of the evil eyed with the egg."

Whenever a new house is built, the workmen hang up an egg shell or a piece of alum, or an old root, or a donkey's skull, in the front door, to keep off the evil eye. Moslem women leave their children ragged and dirty to keep people from admiring them, and thus smiting them with the evil eye. They think that blue eyes are especially dangerous.

They think that the name of God or Allah is a charm against evil, and when they repeat it, they have no idea of reverence for that Holy Name.

Here is a terrible imprecation against a woman who smites with the Evil Eye:

May her hand be thrust in her mouth, And her eyes be burned in the fire! The blessings of Mighty God, Preserve you from her ire!

Nideh sings

Upon you the name of Allah, Around you Allah's eye! May the Evil Eye be blinded, And never harm my boy!

It is ten o'clock at night, and Katrina, Laia, Wered, and Handûmeh say it is time to go. Handumeh insists that we come to her wedding to-morrow. Amîn will go with them to drive away the dogs, and see that no wolves, hyenas, or leopards attack them by the way.