Speak Bird Speak Again Read online

  For their financial support, the authors would also like to thank the following organizations: the American Palestine Educational Fund (now the Jerusalem Fund); the Ford Foundation; the American Federation of Ramallah, Palestine; and the Kayali Scholarship Fund.

  The authors also wish to express our deep appreciation to the editorial staff of the University of California Press for their excellent and dedicated guidance.

  Finally, we wish to single out Jane Muhawi, who, more than any other individual, made a significant contribution to this book. Without her encouragement, editorial skills, and native ear, this book would not be what it is.

  NOTE ON TRANSLITERATION

  The system adopted in this book for transliterating the Palestinian dialect follows the guidelines established by the Zeitschrift für arabische Linguistik , articulated in Handbuch der arabischen Dialekte , by Fischer and Jastrow, two editors of that journal. Readers are referred to the grammatical discussion in Chapter 10 of that work ("Das syrisch-palästinenische Arabische") and to the examples provided in Section VII immediately following the chapter.

  The list of characters used for transliterating the Palestinian dialect phonemically is as follows:

  Short vowels are represented as a , e , i , o , and u , and long ones as a , e , i, o , and u ; diphthongs are rendered aw and ay .

  Because an apostrophe, or hamza, before an initial vowel indicates glottalization, readers should note that the absence of this apostrophe is itself a phonetic marker indicating elision of that word-initial vowel with the final consonant of the preceding word. Furthermore, in the transcription of Tale 10 (Appendix A) only the definite article is hyphenated, whereas in the smaller pieces of discourse included elsewhere in the book hyphenation is used somewhat more extensively.

  KEY TO REFERENCES

  All references to works are keyed to the Bibliography. In the footnotes to the tales, book and article titles are shortened for ease of use. The Folkloristic Analysis following the tales proper utilizes even more abbreviated forms, as explained in the introduction to that section.

  The following abbreviations have been used for the names of journals:

  JPOS

  Journal of the Palestine Oriental Society , Jerusalem

  PEQ

  Palestine Exploration Quarterly , London

  TM

  Al-turath wa-al-mujtama` , A1-Birah, West Bank

  TS

  Al-turath al-sha`bi , Baghdad

  In footnotes, Roman numerals always indicate volume number, whether for a book or a journal article. Arabic numerals preceding a colon indicate the issue number of the journal being cited, in references for which this information is essential. Arabic numerals following a colon always indicate page references.

  INTRODUCTION

  The Tales

  The forty-five tales included in this volume were selected on the basis of their popularity and the excellence of their narration from approximately two hundred tales collected on cassette tapes between 1978 and 1980 in various parts of Palestine - the Galilee (since 1948 part of the state of Israel), the West Bank, and Gaza. The criterion of popularity reflects our intention to present the tales heard most frequently by the majority of the Palestinian people. Both our own life-long familiarity with this material and the opinions of the raconteurs themselves helped us to assess a tale's popularity. We made a point of asking the tellers to narrate the tales heard most often in folktale sessions of the past, and in most cases we selected only those tales for which we had more than one version. In the few cases where variants were not available (e.g., Tale 44), excellence of narration was the determining criterion, as it was in choosing a version (always taken as a whole and without modification) from among the available variants.

  In this collection we have included only the type of tale known in the Palestinian dialect as hikaye or xurrafiyye - that is, "folktale" proper. With such terms as Marchen, wonder tale, and fairy tale all used to designate the kind of narrative under discussion here, the word folktale almost defies definition. The Arabic terms, however, provide us with helpful clues. The first, hikaye (which, correctly translated, means "tale"), is derived from a root that means not only "to narrate" but also "to imitate (artistically)." Hence the designation hikaye puts the emphasis on the mimetic, or artistic, aspect of narration, whereas xurrafiyye (properly translated, "fabula") is derived from a root stressing its "fabulous," or "fictitious," aspect. (The term xurrafiyye, we must note, is the more inclusive of the two, for it is also used to refer not only to folktales but to other types of fictional oral narrative as well.)

  This "fabulous" element in folktales has doubtless led the community to consider them a form of kizib or "fantasy" or "fiction" (literally, "telling lies"). And in fact it was by recourse to such a label as "a tale that is all lies from beginning to end" (as in the last episode of Tale 37) that we most frequently elicited the type of material we sought. The other designation used to obtain them, hikayat 'ajayiz ("old women's tales"), has major implications for our understanding of this genre, for it dearly indicates that society considers the telling of these tales to be a woman's art form. Of the seventeen tellers included here, only three are men.

  In all likelihood there is a direct relationship between the first label ("all lies") and the second ("old wives' tales"). To the extent that the tales are thought to consist of lies, adult men tend to shun them, even though the vast majority of these men were exposed to them repeatedly as children. And to the extent that they are "old wives' tales," folktales are perceived by men as being somehow silly, their telling an activity fit only for women and children. The fabulous element in folktales lends them an air of improbability and unreality. A man who likes to listen to and tell folktales (in other words, an active male carrier) is considered to be a niswanji, or one who prefers the company of women to that of men. In their gatherings (diwan), men prefer to listen to epic stories (sira), like that of Abu Zed il-Hilali, which is frequently sung to the accompaniment of the rababa (single-stringed instrument with a flat sound box made of wood and goat skin). They also like to hear tales of Bedouin raids (gazw) and adventure (mugamarat). These, collectively, are known as qissa (stories). Their content appears more realistic. It is not necessarily thought that the events described in them actually happened, only that they could have happened. The heroes of these stories, especially if they have a historical basis, are thought to have lived just yesterday and their conduct is considered exemplary.

  Another major difference between folktales (hikaye) and stories (qissa) that hinges on the gender of the narrator lies in the manner of delivery. Because most folktale tellers are women, their narration involves little gesticulation or physical movement. The performance aspect of telling tales is minimized, with the tellers relying on their voices and the power of the colloquial language to evoke a response. The tales told in the diwan, in contrast, may involve a considerable amount of physical movement and acting out of the narrative. The distinction is especially apparent in cases where one person tells both types of story. For example, Safi', one of our best tellers (see "The Tellers," below), in performing to a male audience in the diwan, would often jump up from his chair and try to act out the narrative, whereas in telling folktales he remained seated and hardly moved at all. Folktales thus offer their tellers a greater potential for linguistic expression than do epic stories. They are told from memory, and their language, though poetic in itself, is still the language of prose and the speaking voice. The tellers are free to give linguistic shape to the tale, to tell it in their own way, even though they cannot change its form. The stories narrated in the diwan, unlike folktales, are frequently in the measured language of poetry, which must be recited rather than spoken, sometimes even with the aid of a printed text.

  The Palestinian folktale is a highly developed art form. Its style, though not artificial, follows linguistic and literary conventions that set it apart from oth
er folk narrative genres. It relies on verbal mannerisms and language flourishes not used in ordinary conversation, especially by men. Women were largely responsible for developing this style, and they carry on the tradition. To sound credible, men who tell these tales must adopt the narrative style of women. Safi, for example, was reluctant at first to admit that he knew folktales. He wanted to narrate the tales of romance and adventure preferred by men at the diwan . We therefore had to tape several hours of these romantic tales before he consented to tell folktales. The art of the narrators consists in their ability to use creatively the narrative style received from tradition. Folktale style matures with age, and it is not surprising that the majority of tellers represented here were over sixty years of age when the tales were recorded (a fact also perhaps indicating that the Palestinian folktale tradition is dying out; more on this below). The cultural significance of old women's dominant role in folk-tale narration is not to be underestimated. As we shall see, women in their maturity are at the apogee of their authority in the society.

  Folktales, moreover, are told in a special setting that distinguishes them not only from the stories recited in the men's diwan but also from other types of folk narrative current in the society. Among these are tales illustrating proverbs (matal), describing a rare event (nahfe, nadre), or recreating a past occurrence (salfe); animal fables (hikayet hayawan); jinn tales (hikayet jan), saints' legends (hikayet wili); myths (ustura); and memorates (mugamara). A good illustration of the last category occurs at the end of Tale 42, where the men are sitting around on their side of the tent exchanging stories. These forms of narrative do not require a special setting for their telling. They are occasional and come up by chance in the course of ordinary conversation, when someone might say, "This reminds me of ...," and then proceed to tell the appropriate story. The narration over, normal conversation resumes. These stories are rarely told for their own sake, as folktales are, but are usually used to illustrate a point, offer subtle recommendation concerning behavior, or volunteer a different perspective on a subject.

  The settings in which the folktales presented here were recorded generally resembled the authentic folktale settings of the past, except for the presence of the tape recorder. The tales were all recorded at the homes of the tellers in the presence of a small audience, usually consisting of the collector and members of the teller's family. Occasionally children would be present, influencing thereby the course of the narration. Other than providing appreciative responses and asking the occasional question about unfamiliar words or expressions, the collector played a largely neutral role. Once a session began, tellers usually volunteered tales of their own accord. At the end of each telling, the collector thanked the teller, saying, "God save your tongue!" Although it was not difficult to locate tellers, it was not always easy to get the material we were seeking (as in the case of Safi).

  In the past, folktales were told for entertainment, usually after supper during winter evenings, when work in the fields was at a minimum and people were indoors with time on their hands. During the summer there were likely to be other forms of entertainment or subjects for conversation, such as weddings and festive occasions, and folktales were not told. The most common setting for taletelling was the small family gathering, consisting of two or three mothers from a single extended family and their children, combined perhaps with a neighbor or two and their children. Although men were occasionally present at these sessions, they preferred to spend their time in the company of other men at the diwan . Large gatherings and formal visits are not appropriate settings for the telling of tales, which requires a relaxed and spontaneous atmosphere, free from the constraints imposed by the rules of hospitality.

  Telling these folktales, then, is a social activity, part of a culture that puts heavy emphasis on the oral tradition and verbal ability and where conversation is valued for its own sake. People do not go visiting expressly to hear folktales, but rather because they enjoy each other's company and like to sit around in the evening chatting (sahra). They go where conversation is good, and the evenings entertaining. (The house of Safi is popular because both he and his wife are good conversationalists and storytellers.) At these small, intimate, family gatherings people casually drift into telling folktales. Someone might say, "Tell us a tale!" and if the mood is right a session begins. Usually the oldest woman present is deferred to. If she knows a tale and wishes to tell it, she will proceed with an opening formula such as "Testify there is no god but God!" When she finishes, she pronounces a closing formula, and someone else will take a turn. (Not all the tales in this collection, it should be noted, begin with an opening formula or end with a closing one. The closer a recording session came to duplicating an actual folktale setting, the more likely the tellers were to pronounce the formulas.)

  The opening formula creates an air of expectation as the session unfolds. A casual evening's visit turns into an esthetic occasion for the duration of the telling. The atmosphere is aided by the dim light of an oil lamp or a kerosene lantern and by the attitude of the audience, who huddle around a day brazier (kanun) warming their hands over the embers. In modern times the experience of a folktale session would be equivalent to going to the cinema. The introductory formula ushers the audience into a space radically different from the space outside. Darkness, light, and shadow help shape the experience, as does the modulation in the teller's voice. Once begun, the tale is narrated straight through to the end. Long interruptions are not appreciated, nor would it be permissible for someone else to start another tale. The continuity of narrative time is essential, allowing the element of fantasy in the tales to take over the listeners' imaginations and help them break from ordinary experience. The audience are encouraged to suspend their disbelief until the dosing formula brings them back to the world of everyday reality.

  For such a setting, a special style and narrative attitude are necessary. The style imitates the speech patterns of ordinary conversation (we recall the root meaning of hikaye, "tale," as "to speak"), and the narrative attitude reflects beliefs about magic and the supernatural that Palestinian society attributes more readily to women than to men. For men in general, not only is the fictional world of the tales something of a lie, but the manner of speech required to bring it into being sounds artificial as well. Folktale style depends on a variety of devices to put the action into the realm of fiction, whereas the story style preferred by men tends to emphasize historicity. The fact that the most common opening formula (wahdu l-lah, "Testify that God is One!") is a kind of invocation to dispel the influence of jinn and ghouls would seem to indicate that the telling of folktales is a magical process involving the aid of powers whose influence must be neutralized before the narrative even begins. It would, for example, be totally inappropriate for someone to interrupt an ordinary conversation with an opening formula and then proceed to tell a folktale. The gap between the domains of life and fiction must remain absolute.

  Among other devices of style that help to maintain this distance - and which audiences expect in a successful narration - are the frequent threefold repetitions, a passive manner of delivery, and a reliance on verbal mannerisms and flourishes that are more characteristic of women's speech than of men's. Threefold repetition (which is certainly not unique to the Palestinian folktale) lends an air of unreality to the events, as though an action were not valid until ritualistically repeated three times. Three is a magic number in many cultures, and in the tales its power works at the level not only of action but also of sentence structure. The most frequent syntactic pattern in all the tales is the parallel sentence with three verbs ("She reached out her hand, took the ring, and bolted the door again"), reflecting the paratactic pattern of narration in the tale as a whole. Absence of gesture removes visual stimulus, throwing listeners back on the expressive power of language. Finally, the verbal flourishes and mannerisms derived from women's speech give the tales their particular character and are to be found in every tale without exception, even in t
hose narrated by men. Those encountered most frequently in this volume include exclamatory interjections of all sorts (e.g., "Far be it from the listeners!" - bid an is-samin - when a socially odious subject is mentioned) and the forms of address used by women among each other ("O you whose face has been smeared with soot!" - ya msahhara).

  Thus we see that the tale creates a time and space set apart from the rest of life in which events and transformations, because they have no equivalent in experience, can be understood only by the imagination and not by rational thought. The narrative attitude appropriate to folktales must somehow present the possibility of magical transformation as though it were an ordinary event, yet still allow the narrator to remain skeptical. Tellers frequently interject remarks such as "If the tale is to be trusted!" (an alienating device in the Brechtian sense) to remind listeners that the tale is, after all, a fiction. In this manner the narrative attitude identifies the elements of a possible fictional world but distances it from experience. For example, because merely to mention the jinn in narrative time (that is, while the tale is being told) could bring them into being, the narrator must avoid this possibility by invoking the name of Allah. This in fact is another verbal mannerism of women: mention of the jinn (who occur frequently in the tales) is immediately followed by the formula, "In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful!"

  Although the folktales told in the type of setting just described are not specifically children's tales, the presence of children in the audience is essential to the whole activity. One would never find grown men and women telling folktales just to one another. Of course, adults, including the men, enjoy the tales and are usually on hand during a session, but it is the presence of children that shapes the event, affecting the manner of delivery and helping to create a sense of anticipation during which anything can happen. The tales in any case appeal to the children, who, more easily than the adults, can imagine the jinn, ghouls, and other supernatural beings that abound in them. These are frightening creatures, which mothers frequently use in warning ("You'd better behave, or the ghoul will devour you!"). The presence of the adults at these sessions, especially the mothers, is therefore reassuring to the children, and the whole process helps to socialize and imbue them with the values of the culture.