Avi Shmuelian

Israeli Writing in the Middle East-Avi Shmuelian was born in Rafsanjan, Iran; he presently lives in Jerusalem. He has been a porter, skin-diver, artist, construction worker, hypnotist and restaurant owner. Only at the age of 48 did he publish his first novel, Moonstruck Sunflowers (1992), which has been compared (by the Israeli novelist David Grossman) to the work of Garcia Marquez-
COPYRIGHT 1994 Fairleigh Dickinson University
shmuelian.avi@gmail.com phon il+089445230
Moonstruck sunflowers For years Mula Youssuf had harbored a desire to see the sea, ever since the time Haim Dalal had used incantations to bring rain to Rafsanjan. Those had been years of relentless drought. After three barren winters the wells and aqueducts--which flooded the fields and even the city, when all was right--were nearly dry. With the onset of summer the sun had shortened the distance between itself and the drought-stricken, had scorched the carcasses of beasts in the fields, had seared the parched trees. When it had dried even the tears in the eyes of the citizens, when a burning dust had gathered on every thing, the Muslims turned to the Jews and asked that they use their powers to bring forth rain.
Haim Dalal, who had only just learned the secret of commanding ghosts and spirits, sat with the other founding fathers in his house amid the ruins. They scoured the old tomes, combing their crumbling leaves until they came upon something about a reservoir. Finding King David's lament for his beloveds, Saul and Jonathan, they read: "O mountains of Gilboa, no dew, nor rain be upon you, nor fields of offerings . . ." One of those present asked: Where then, did the rains that did not fall on the Gilboa, fall? Haim Dalal sent his twin sons, Joshua-Two-Wives and Arai Diono, to the dried-out river, and they brought him a startled frog. He filled four clay bowls with water and placed them in each of the four corners of the yard, sprinkled salt on the frog's back, and then set the frog loose in the center of the yard. Instantly the frog leapt into the northernmost bowl of water. Thus he determined that the rains of the Gilboa had fallen for thousands of years in northern Persia, forming the Lake of the Kuzars.
That very day he gave the Muslims a parchment of eagle's skin on which were written explicit names and he told them to slaughter an
ass in the fields, put the parchment between its teeth, immolate the decapitated head with the talisman in its mouth, and scatter the ashes over the waters of the northern lake.
That summer a party set out from Rafsanjan bearing the ashes of the ass's head, and at the end of autumn they scattered the ashes over the waters of the sea. At the onset of winter grey clouds gathered above the city, endless rains fell, and raging floodwaters threatened to obliterate the city, as in the first days. With no letup--the clay houses dissolving around their inhabitants, the city sinking like an island in a stormy sea until none came and none went--the Muslims turned again to Haim Dalal, this time asking that he call off the siege of the city.
Haim Dalal, who, with his family, had found refuge in the synagogue in the lower city, passed through the door of the house of prayer, burying his head in his long coat for protection against the rain and cold. He climbed the tower in the city wall. Alone, gazing at the turbid, turbulent waters, he stood shrouded in thought. To get to the heart of the matter he took up his childhood habit of sticking a finger in his mouth and sucking it for hours. When at last he climbed down, drenched and trembling, he confronted those who awaited his judgment with these enigmatic words: "The waters themselves are wise; their power is hidden within them." Right then and there he ordered the carpet weavers to weave a flying carpet, according to his design.
In the synagogue that Saturday he took aside the young Mula Youssuf, the only Jew with green eyes, and told him to prepare for the day when the flying carpet would be ready, as he was to fly to the lake and scatter above it a powder for the dispersal of clouds. When the weaving of the carpet was done, the winter ended and the clouds vanished, revealing the faces of the citizens, which were as grey as the clouds. In the days to come, the carpet would give Haim Dalal a place to sit cross-legged, but the longing to see the sea would stay with Mula Youssuf, and it was this longing that brought him from the crossroads at which he found himself, to the sea.
When at last he stood on a cliff overlooking the sea, it seemed to him that he was seeing a familiar sight. Even when he went down to the seaside fishing village, the sea could not teach him anything new--neither by its appearance nor by its properties. All was as he'd read in the Bible, even the mirage he saw at sunset: an enormous metallic bird landing on waves at the edge of the horizon. He compared what he saw to God's chariot, as described by Ezekiel in his prophecy. The next day, when the bird appeared again, he turned to the fishermen, whose language he did not know and, with gestures, asked what this could mean. The fishermen, who were busy salting fish and laying it out to dry on palm fronds, rose as one, leaned forward, spread their arms out to the sides, skipped around in a circle and, with gestures, explained to him that he had seen a tayara. Years later Mula Youssuf would be the only Jew in Rafsanjan to believe Arai Diono when he returned from serving in the army of the Reza Shah and spoke of having seen with his very own eyes metal flying machines that could rise as high as the clouds, even with all the Jews of Rafsanjan inside them. All the others just laughed and called him mad.
Mula Youssuf joined a caravan of camels bearing sea salt to Rafsanjan and this time he was determined not to stray from the path. Yet by the first day his mule was trailing behind the camels, unable to keep up. Only at midnight did he manage to catch up with the caravan. The next day Mula Youssuf lifted her long ears and whispered magic words into them, then stroked special places on her long face, as Sariav had taught him. Within a few days the beast had learned the ways of camels and was carrying Mula Youssuf on her back at the head of the caravan. When he was but two hours' ride from the village of Meherabad, near the city of Bam, the sky filled with thousands of humming bees, which landed at the outskirts of the village. When he had seen quite enough of the bees, Mula Youssuf tugged at the mule's reins, and turned toward Bam.
In the days when Mula Youssuf was journeying far from Rafsanjan, an eye-healer came to town--a Doctor Yakoubian. Hassan Choupori, the town crier, who had the longest pipe and the biggest mouth and was the tallest of the Rafsanjanis, made his rounds down the main street and through the maze of alleys, spreading the news at the top of his lungs and drawing after him a crowd of the curious.
Without warning the many Muslims who were stricken with trachoma, the blind and the half-blind, gathered in the upper synagogue. The eye-healer and his assistant Raphael Kermoni sat themselves in the center of the courtyard and began to receive patients who were still on their feet, one by one. At first they treated the mild cases who came and stood between them, each in turn. Raphael Kermoni would press their backs to the bloated belly of Doctor Yakoubian, who would yank them by the scalp and drip red iodine into their eyes.
Among those who were treated with iodine was Ali Paloo, a face so familiar among the Jews that he often got confused at the mosque, praying "Sh'ma Yisrael" when entreating Allah to keep him from going blind, for since the trachoma epidemic his sight had deteriorated with each passing year. While the other patients saw the world as a sinking sun and whimpered as if salt had been thrown in their eyes, Ali Paloo endured the searing pain, straightened his back, and stood at the head of the line of severe cases, to request more treatment. In the meantime the eye-healer and his assistant ground copper sulphate with dried tortoise eggs and medicinal herbs. When all was made ready for the operations, they called to the blind to pass under their hands.
The first was Ali Paloo. He kneeled. Raphael Kermoni stood over him, legs spread, and yanked his head back. Doctor Yakoubian tested his new method on him: first he poured black powder into his eyes, then passed a long, heated needle between his eyelids until smoke rose from them. A quick, sharp pain pierced Ali Paloo's brain, passed to his heart and from his heart spread in needles of heat to each limb of his body and like an echo back to his head, until it was no longer possible to keep him from shaking. They bound his hands and legs like those of a terrified beast being brought to the slaughter.
Seized with fright, the other blind people fled for their lives, stumbling over one another. The eye-healer hid his disgrace in trembling hands as he lay cloth compresses smeared with vaseline on the seared eyes of Ali Paloo; then he and his assistant gathered up their bundles and the hat full of coins. That very day they vanished from Rafsanjan, leaving behind Ali Paloo shuddering on his back like a drugged cockroach.
The worshippers who arrived for afternoon prayers were overcome with dread, fearing what would happen should the matter become known to the Muslims of Rafsanjan. They passed a long pole between the bound hands and legs of Ali Paloo, hoisted him aloft, and carried him to the dim room of Rivka Katchali. They stood out on the balcony for afternoon prayer, then sat down to ponder their plight. Not finding a solution, they determined to delay their decision until the day of the solar eclipse. The next morning they placed a large and deep copper tray in the synagogue courtyard, filling it with water they had drawn from the Paayab. They stood around it, entranced, gazing at the pale countenance of the sun. Baba Bozorg, the elder among them, pointed at the quivering stain and stated gravely that this was the solar eclipse. The worshippers passed their hands over their faces in blessing, then spilled the sun on the garden. They then gathered in the synagogue to discuss how to remove the stain of disgrace left by Doctor Yakoubian.
When a week had passed, Ali Paloo was put on the back of an ass and, accompanied by Hassan Choupori the town crier, sent to the hospital of the "English" in the county seat of Kerman to get false eyes. By mistake, he arrived at the old hospital. There they opened Ali Palods eyelids, which had coagulated, dug out his sockets, and replaced his eyes with two painted dove eggs. When chicks burst from them, they tried painted wooden balls, but these were slowly gnawed by worms. After other unsuccessful attempts, his caretakers left him to the mercy of the "English." There, attended by the Jews of Kerman, he waited months for the arrival of two eyes, ordered from the land of the "English": one blue and one black, with metal weights for stabilizers. Later, when Ali Paloo would be asked how it was that his eyes were two different colors, he would answer that he was half-Muslim, half-Jew. When he had adjusted, Ali Paloo returned to Rafsanjan, where he made a living turning off lights on the Sabbath in the homes of the Jews, who passed him from hand to hand.
One Sunday, as he sat on a stool in the store of his friend the cobbler, cradling the end of his walking stick, his eyes were suddenly drawn out by a magnet in the shape of a horseshoe which, in his search for nails, the cobbler had unwittingly passed before Ali Palods eyes. Thereafter, the removal of Ali Palods eyes with the cobbler's magnet became a stunt that greatly amused his friends. Later it became a source of income. Enlisting Hassan Choupori, they bought from the old Muslim grave digger an ancient owl that could turn its head all the way round like a spirit, and a parrot, which Ali Paloo taught to speak, and grew a watermelon in a glass bottle. They went from village to village posing as a band of magicians, and made a fortune presenting the wonder of the removable eyes and the bottled watermelon with the owl on top. When the parrot would ask: "What's the time? What's the time?" the owl would turn its head like the hand of a clock. Ali Paloo walked about without eyes, aroused the pity of the onlookers, and collected money in a hat. He promised that if they gave generously, the cobbler would climb into the bottle and eat the watermelon. Meantime Hassan Choupori would strut around on stilts so tall he could pull fog from the sky and obscure the eyes of the skeptics. Thus it was that the cobbler could prove he had entered the bottle and got out again: he did it while the crowd was lost in a fog.
One day, when they arrived at the village of Meherabad, near Bam, they found a surprise waiting for them in the form of Doctor Yakoubian. As they entered the village, Hassan Choupori noticed a large crowd gathered in the square. Raising his head, he picked out Doctor Yakoubian in the center of the crowd. After a brief consultation the band decided to retrace their steps and wait in ambush at the edge of the village. The next day they caught Doctor Yakoubian and his assistant Raphael Kermoni. They bound them together, back to back, until they were as one. Then they smeared sugar water on their eyelids, left them there beside a bees' nest, and went on their way.
The next day, those who passed on the road from Meherabad found the bloated carcasses of the two healers. The bees' venom had left marks of advanced decay, and the two had been cleft in twain by the pressure of the ropes. The villagers dug a deep pit and poured into it the sticky mass of deadmen along with a few bees that were still sunk deep in the sockets of their eyes, and sealed the pit with clumps of earth. Spring water gushed from the bowels of the earth and the sides of the rocks at the base of the freshly-dug grave. Flowing downhill toward the valley, it watered the fields.
One day Hassan Khoury, an old, blind man who was born with his eyes closed, came upon the spring. The instant he doused his face with the spring water his eyelids opened, sprouted lashes, and stayed open two whole days and nights for fear of closing never to open again. On the third night he succumbed to his body's weariness. He lay on his back beside the spring, asleep with his eyes open, and dreamed the first dream he had ever dreamt in his life: the eye-healer stood on a hill like a white, gleaming angel, and spread his wings over countless hovering bees. His assistant hovered nearby, drawing a trail of dizzy bees after him. When the eye-healer had reached the utmost height he stood, weightless, on the chest of Hassan Khoury; in the terrifyingly soft voice of the dead, he demanded a fistful of bees in exchange for granting him sight, lest his eyes refuse to close, forcing him to witness the deeds of men even if he turned his head away. When Hassan Khoury woke he sacrificed countless bees, mashing them on the grave, and began to see like any man. That very day he appropriated the site, erecting a marble monument and an impressive, high-domed structure, as befits a holy place.
The rumor of the wondrous healing powers of the waters of Ein Yokoubian spread throughout the region, bringing pilgrims from far and wide. The number of visitors and the mashing of bees were so great, that many supplicants fainted from inhaling the venomous fumes that rose off the grave. The situation became so dire that only Hassan Khoury, who was immune to all poisons, could enter the mausoleum. He stood at its doorway and, in exchange for a modest sum, took sealed jars of bees and sacrificed them gleefully on the grave. Within a short time the waters of the spring had become poisoned, and any careless enough to swallow water when washing their faces died on the spot.
At that time there was a great shortage of bees, and those in need of even one stinging bee had to pay bee hunters in gold ingots, on which was embossed the visage of the Reza Shah.
Though Mula Youssuf's heart grew heavy, he had the strength of beasts. He left behind plains and mountains, villages and towns. So anxious was he to return to Rafsanjan that he skirted towns and took shortcuts. In the end, he lost his way. He would point himself in the direction of one town, but find himself in another; turn down the path to Bapht--and be greeted by the gates of Sirjan. Yet he kept on. He would close his left hand around the ring, and keep on. When he entered a town, he would stay only to buy fodder for the animals and provisions for himself. One time he needed kerosene, to fix Shaheen's shoes. Another time he sought a harness-maker and a rope-maker. He would quickly acquire what he needed, then continue on his way.
One evening he came to an oasis, and stopped there for the night. In the morning, he found it difficult to rise.
He said to himself: "It is mere idleness getting the better of me."
He forced himself to sit up, but instantly his head became light and dizzy. He thought: "The sun is unusually hot today."
Stealthily, slowly, a chill came over his body, and he trembled. Pain pounded in his head and brought tears to his eyes. It spread to his neck and his armpits and his groin. By nightfall he was burning with fever, hallucinating. At midnight, when the moon rose, he saw tiny figures dancing among the date palms. He said: "If these are spirits, I must have reached Rafsanjan."
Later he was blessed with many visitors. Montazeri, sailing on the ocean, riding on a tree stump, extended his hand to him, then grew distant. He also saw Sariav, a cock, chasing him. The figures and shadows flickered, disappearing into abysses and behind peaks, returning to his side, prating in his ear. The most bothersome was Mula Rahamim, who chided him in sign language, sitting on his chest and pressing his bones until, no longer able to breathe, he wheezed and fainted.
He was awakened in the afternoon by voices which he took to be imaginary. He was encircled by the blurry figures of soldiers. One said: "The man's burning with fever."
Another corrected him: "He?s dying."
Mula Youssuf's eyes closed.
"He's dead."
Alarmed, he tried to open his eyes to show that he was alive. One of them rested a hand on his forehead and said: "Wake up, Mula Youssuf, wake up. I am the Messiah ... I am the Messiah . . ."
Years later, when Arai Diono came to Mula Youssuf and confessed: "I'm crazy, I'm crazy," Mula Youssuf would answer by saying: "Once upon a time you told me that you were the Messiah, and I believed you, for I was ill."
Indeed, so grave was his illness that those who cared for him despaired, and at the end of two weeks grew doubtful whether he would ever awaken. But one evening he surprised them. He opened his eyes and, seeing a clean-shaven soldier with the face of a youth leaning over him, asked if he really was the Messiah--then promptly fell asleep again.
The next day he woke, his body bathed in sweat. He tried to find a comfortable position. His limbs were so stiff that he could not move his hands. He let his eyes wander, trying to fix his gaze on something. He saw smooth clay walls plastered with palm fronds. He realized he lay in a bare room, at an oasis. He slept fitfully, vaguely remembering voices and blurred figures, until at last they melded together and stood before him in the person of a farmer. In those days Mula Youssuf could rise from his mat and lean against the clay walls. The farmer would come and go tirelessly, tending him in silence. He would dissolve various powders in water, support his head and bring the balm to his lips. He would bring him fruits to eat, and quench his thirst with chamomile tea.
One morning he awoke to the sound of neighing and whinnying. He rose and found his belongings. They had been there beside him all along, resting against the wall. He walked out of the room, happy. Shaheen and the mule were drinking from the trough in the stable.
He went up to the mule and lovingly stroked her back. She trembled in response. Shaheen received him calmly, as if they had never been apart. He thought: "How sated and happy are the beasts. They have been lovingly tended."
He remembered the farmer. He said: "I must thank him for his deeds."
He did not find him in the granary or in the meadow. He went back to the clay hut. Not a soul was in its four rooms. He went out. He saw countless sunflowers in full bloom. They encircled the house on all sides to the horizon. Nothing but sunflowers and the farmer's hut.
He sat in the doorway of the room on a straw mat and waited. Hours passed. Besides him and the beasts, who waited nearby, not a soul was in sight. Nothing moved; nothing stirred. Even the sunflowers stood as if eternally bent in morning prayer. They did not turn their faces toward the sun, or follow its movements.
For hours Mula Youssuf sat sunk in thought, trying to recall what had happened to him. There were days missing since he had come to the oasis, and he didn't know who it was that he had seen. Had the spirits of Rafsanjan forgotten their custom of helping him in time of trouble? Who was the Messiah? Why did he appear in a soldier's uniform? Where had the farmer gone?
All that day the farmer did not appear; neither did he come that night. At midnight the moon rose, and the sunflowers followed its movements until dawn. In the morning they again stooped in prayer, unmoving.
"Moonstruck sunflowers," thought Mula Youssuf, and added: "The laws of nature must have lost their force, if sunflowers can turn toward the moon." He rubbed his hands together. He noticed that the ring was missing; it seemed curious to him that someone would have coveted the ring, but not the rest of his belongings. Later he found food and drink in abundance; he understood that he was not to leave the hut until the farmer returned. Nights and days he waited, never diverting his thoughts from the sunflowers. Those were moonless nights, and they, forsaken, went back to staring at the sun. The sun scorched their leaves, dried them and bent their stalks.
Mula Youssuf went to look at the heads of the sunflowers before they buried their faces in the earth. He lifted one and tore a handful of seeds from its face. He cracked open a few. They were tawnyhulled, and white inside. Eating a few seeds, he said: "If I continue to wait, signs of day and night will also appear before me. I will set out before waiting becomes my existence, as idleness is for the mule."
He went to the stable and fed the beasts sunflower seeds in anticipation of the journey. This time he piled all his sacks and bundles on Shaheen's back. Astride the mule, leading Shaheen by the reins, he sadly distanced himself from the withering sunflowers.shmuelian.avi@gmail.com