The Arch and the Butterfly by Mohammed Achaari

Author:Mohammed Achaari
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Bloomsbury Qatar Foundation Publishing
Published: 2014-05-07T16:00:00+00:00

The rose does not ask why

It blooms because it blooms

Not caring about itself

Not anxious to be seen.

‘Yes, yes, it is the teacher I told you about who recited those verses, expecting us to be transported in rapture, the way you were now. But instead, we roared with laughter, and he was upset with us and declared that the older humanity gets, the more it loses its poetic inclination.

‘I do not know what devil made me say to him, “It is people who age. Humanity is ageless.”

‘He asked me, “Where are you from?”

‘ “From Greco-Roman civilisation,” I replied.

‘ “I am not surprised,” he said.

‘I do not know how to recover the sense of humour I appreciated at once in those verses. Do you think they are funny?

‘No, you do not find them amusing. Good, let’s drop the subject.

‘I have a last comment to make before we bid the mountain goodbye. I always found the streams of water rushing out of your German mountains amazing. Do you see any water connected to this mountain? Do you see waterfalls, the expanse of a lake, or flowing springs? Nothing at all? Yet right at the foot of this mountain, cold springs flow, some profuse, others scarce. No one hears them, and their charm is only visible in the gardens and through the birds living in the valley. These mountains cry or laugh in silence. Who knows what goes on in the mind of a mountain!

‘The tour ends here! Sorry, but before we close the book of mosaics for good – with you at least – allow me to draw your attention to this tableau that represents Medusa’s head. It is the only mosaic at this site used like a painting. According to mythology, Medusa defied the goddess Minerva with her beauty. Minerva punished her by changing her beautiful hair into terrifying serpents and gave her eyes that could turn everything she looked at into stone. You can examine Medusa’s face at length; her gaze will not turn you to stone. I tell you that from experience, as I have often sat before her hoping it would happen to me. How many stones have I piled up inside me while staring into her eyes. It looks like I will go on wandering for a long time, a living body among the stones of this city.

‘Thank you. Go back to your homes with Bacchus’s blessings and my own. As for me, I will drink my afternoon tea here under the fig tree, whose shade covers the whole café.’

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