Mouth of the Whale

         The purple caravan, dragged by two enormous black stallions with plaited manes and led by a fat gypsy woman with arms like two lamb spits, roared through the desert. The gypsy woman lashed the stallions mercilessly, shrieking at them to go faster, working herself into a feral frenzy. From afar they looked like a whirlwind of sand wandering the desert and in an instant that whirlwind died, the stallions tossed their plaits back and the fat woman jumped off her seat. She wobbled away from the caravan until she was satisfied, and pulled a formidable diamond necklace from between her copious breasts. She blew at it and at once a honeyed voice escaped the necklace and danced before her. It was a voice that angels could hear, celestial in nature and favorable to the ear. Its' intricate melody gave birth to a majestic series of tents, made of black goat's hair entwined with thick gold threads. The peaks of the tents towered to the skies, as if trying to attain Jannat Al-Khuld. Before the fat woman's patience was spent, an imposing palace of tents stood glittering before her. Grandiosely, she entered the palace to inspect within and was met with a sheet of darkness pierced solely by a twinkling jewel perched at the crown of the tent. As the last notes of the song were drawn to this winking jewel, scintillating threads of gold dropped from the roof like a stream of raindrops suspended in the sky. The golden strands emanated both sound and light: a tinkling, diamondiferous reverberation and a yellow gleam that illuminated the contents of the tent.

The fat gypsy went back outside and rapped impatiently on the door of the caravan. The two dancers emerged and followed her back into the tent. What they saw was a palatial chamber that would amaze the Queen of Sheba herself. But before they could satiate their eyes with the splendor of the palace the fat gypsy woman grabbed them both from their wrists, shrunk them to the size of almonds and threw them into a suspended cage over her bed. On their wrists two chains bound them to the bars of the cage. In this manner the two girls spent every night, chained in a golden cage, watched over by a greedy gypsy woman, in a palace as grand as the gifts they stole.

          It was when the moon was nodding off and the jinn were defiantly frolicking in our world that the fat gypsy descended down a flight of stairs to an open desert space. In that space thousands of large, hanging cages covered with colorful fabrics swayed to and fro with the bashful night breeze. She walked between them and stopped before a large, golden cage covered with a glowing red fabric. She pulled at it revealing the young woman in the bazaar, naked, singing in the cage like a melancholic bird. The fat gypsy woman, looking disgusted, opened the door of the cage and threw in the necklace. Locking the cage and covering it again with the shiny fabric, the young woman was expelled from existence, along with her enchanting voice.




It was a hot, windy day when the caravan reappeared in a new town. Men and women were hooded and hunched over, shielding their eyes and mouths from the piercing grains of sand in the dusty gale. The two dancers were already in the center of the market place, concealed in a black burnoose as every other pitiful being forced hither by obligation or need. A short man with wide, feverish eyes and a twitchy mouth fixed permanently into a half-grin looked excitedly at the women. Though they had not yet moved nor revealed themselves, this was a man who found thrill in the mundane, and felt an inherent compulsion to have a hand in all the affairs of the town and its people. His grin was widest when he had exclusive reports to share with whomever would listen, usually women, for men looked at him with disdain and shame for his lack of manhood and love of gossip. Therefore, even those two cunning dancers failed to slip past his inquisitive sense, and he stood before them like a child waiting for a story to explode into life.
One of the dancers, without notice, erupted into a dance of deliberate, rehearsed moves, her arms twisting this way and that, her hips moving in synchronous harmony. The other, unimpressed with the scanty crowd and the wretched weather, strode towards the man, grabbed a handful of sand and sprinkled it over his turban. A heavy crown appeared on his head, it's opulence the envy of the wealthiest Indian king. The excitement was more than the pitiful man could anticipate. He danced around like a monkey, clutching the crown with one hand, the other flailing in the air to attract as much attention possible to this extraordinary development in his life. He cursed the weather for beclouding his special moment. As his desperation to be noticed increased, so, seemingly, did the dust in the air. He squinted to keep the sand out of his eyes, and through those narrow slits he saw dark figures moving around in a hurry. Confusion quickly settled in and the pitiful man lost his bearings through the sandy fog. He got down on his hands and knees and felt his way around. He tried to call out to the two dancers but the vicious sand grains coated his tongue. Keeping his head hanging low he dragged his body across the market grounds until the fleeting dust devil subsided. By then he found himself at the feet of the fruit vendor, packing the remaining of his fruits onto his cart.The pitiful man scrambled up, the fruit vendor looking at him in bewilderment.

“By Satan or by God, I have seen a vision none shall believe. The crown of King Solomon himself sat on my head. Those devious gypsies!”

The fruit vendor shook his head in disgust and turned away from the foolish man's babble. Behind them, the market place stood empty.

         The two dancers sat cross-legged at the bottom of a sand dune, in the shade of the purple caravan. They stared intently at the fat gypsy who was perched high on a mound with a crown resting askew on her disheveled hair. She was highly animated, and it seemed that she was talking but the dancers could not hear her from where they lay. Her arms flourished in the air as she spoke, and though ignorant as to what she was doing, the two dancers could not help but giggle at the sight. The scene was indeed farcical; the gypsy looked like a mad king orating to a crowd of donkeys. Undoubtedly, her spirits were high, and she looked forward to see what opulent abode was in store for her.
As anticipated, she took the crown off her head and rolled it down the side of the hill. Once it reached the bottom it rose up in the air, supported by a tent sprouting from the earth beneath it. The fat gypsy peered over the edge, while the two dancers rushed to the side of the hill to get a closer look at the growing tent. Growing, however, was quite a hasty statement, for the tent barely shot up a meter off the ground before it stopped. The fabric was a coarse, tawny canvas slumped lazily over the frail infrastructure of wooden stakes, while the floor of the tent was lined with the feathers of a palm tree branch. The wind weaved itself through the gapes in the fabric, causing the tent to rock to and fro. The tent, ultimately, could shelter neither a human being nor an animal. This pathetic sight sent the fat gypsy sliding down the side of the hill in a rage. She leaped at the two dancers and grabbed them by their hair. Her nose was dilated, her eyes bulging, her lips twisted like an old , scorched coil of rope. She was panting heavily, and patches of sand stuck to the sweat covering the fat on her neck and face. She hissed at the girls, her restraint discernible.

“You useless, cursed girls! What is the meaning of this?” The girls knew better than to struggle with the powerful gypsy. One of them spoke up through her pain.

“There was a sandstorm, there was no one else around! We thought he had something.”

“Since when do you base your choices on thought, you ignorant goat? You know better than to steal the assets of one who possesses none. You calculating she-devils have been nothing but a burden on me.” She wrapped their hair tighter around her wrists and brought their ears within a hair's breadth of her seething mouth, “Did you think that this pathetic attempt at defiance is going to benefit you?”

“We told you, it wasn't intentional! We can go back and get someone else.”
The gypsy released one of the girls from her grip and hurled her against the tent. With her free hand, she held the other girl's neck and squeezed it tightly.

“You have until the sun breaks through the night to bring me something that will construct the most magnificent palace ever created; a monument that will rival those in the kingdom of heaven. Come back with anything less and you may as well turn up empty-handed. Your sister here will pay for it with her life.”