A Caravan of Brides by Kay Hardy Campbell

Author:Kay Hardy Campbell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Loon Cove Press
Published: 2017-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

With the ease of one who’d been tinting his beard for decades, Nassah poured water into a large wooden bowl and mixed in henna powder with a stick. He beckoned us toward al-Sahba. “First cut her tail, then her mane.”

I drew my dagger and grabbed the tail. I hated to cut the mare’s long tresses, which flew straight behind when she ran with her tail held high. Two young men joined in, cutting a few strands at a time because her hair was so thick. Al-Sahba looked back and whinnied. She nodded her head and pawed the ground. Mabrukah stroked her snout to distract her while they finished. Afterward, one of them handed me a lock of hair as a memento.

My tears welled up when I saw the horse’s tail sheared to a short fringe just beyond the end of her tail flesh, but I couldn’t cry, for no young man would never flinch at such a trivial thing. Al-Sahba tried to swish her tail, and then looked back and whinnied. That was the greatest blow to her vanity. Her tail had been her great glory, like a bride’s long tresses. And we’d also done her another disservice. We’d taken her God-given fly swatter.

“Now the mane,” Nassah directed.

I leaned against the horse’s neck and whispered, “Be patient now, we’re going to cut some more.” I ran my hands through her pearly mane one last time. Then the boys with the knives joined me and, within a few minutes, we’d slashed it down to a mangy stubble.

“Excellent,” Nassah said. Then he bent over and poured a blob of henna paste onto her flank and began to smear it over her chest and rump.

“Come, all of you, and help me rub the henna in, like this.” Ten pairs of hands massaged the green paste into her midsection. Al-Sahba endured with patience.

“Good.” Nassah said, standing back. Then he kneeled down and painted thick rings around her lower legs with his stick. Using their fingers and hands, the rest of them put stripes round her neck and painted delicate lines across her face.

As they put finishing touches on their designs, the ostrich girls stood in a line and began to sing and clap again, leaning back and forth in time to the rhythm. Then one of them leaped out in front and tore off her headdress. She hopped around and swung her long hair in circles. She flapped her arms like wings, flashing her newly hennaed palms. The young men joined in the song.

O beauty in our midst

O soft and mild gazelle,

Don’t fear this night of nights

Your groom will treat you well.

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