The Women of the Arabs

by Henry Harris Jessup

XIII. Khubby Mukhzinak. "Pebble pebble." One boy goes around and hides a pebble in the hand of one of the circle and asks "pebble, pebble, who's got the pebble." This is like "Button, button."

Then there are other games like chequers and "Morris," chess, and games which are used in gambling, which you will not care to hear about.

Sometimes when playing, they sing a song which I have translated:

I found a black crow,
With a cake in his maw,
I asked him to feed me,
He cried caw, caw.

A chicken I found
With a loaf of bread—
I asked him to feed me.
He cried, enough said.

And an eagle black
With a beam on his back
Said from Egypt I come
And he cried clack, clack.

So you see the Arab boys are as fond of plays and songs as American boys. They have scores of songs about gazelles, and pearls, and Sultans, and Bedawin, and Ghouls, and the "Ghuz," and the Evil Eye, and Arab mares and Pashas.

A few days ago a Druze, named Sheikh Ali, called upon me and recited to me a strange song, which reminded me of the story of "Who killed Cock Robin," and "The House that Jack built." In some of the Arab villages where fleas abound, the people go at times to the tennûr or oven, (which is like a great earthen jar sunken in the ground,) to shake off the fleas into the fire. The story which I have translated goes thus: A brilliant bug and a noble flea once went to the oven to shake off the ignoble fleas from their garments into the fire. But alas, alas, the noble flea lost his footing, fell into the fire and was consumed. Then the brilliant bug began to weep and mourn, saying,

Alas! Ah me!
The Noble Flea!
While he was thus weeping,
And his sad watch keeping,
A glossy raven overhead,
Flew swiftly down and gently said,
Oh my friend, oh brilliant bug,
Why are you weeping on the rug?
The bug replied, O glossy raven,
With your head all shorn and shaven,
I am now weeping,
And sad watch keeping,
Over, Ah me!
The Noble Flea.
The raven he,
Wept over the flea,
And flew to a green palm tree—
And in grief, dropped a feather,
Like snow in winter weather.
The palm tree said my glossy raven,
Why do you look so craven,
Why did you drop a feather,
Like snow in winter weather?
The raven said,
The flea is dead!
I saw the brilliant bug weeping
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea.
Then the green Palm tree,
Wept over the noble flea.
Said he, The flea is dead!
And all his branches shed!
The Shaggy Wolf he strayed,
To rest in the Palm tree's shade
He saw the branches broken,
Of deepest grief the token,
And said, Oh Palm tree green,
What sorrow have you seen?
What noble one is dead,
That you your branches shed?
He said, O Wolf so shaggy,
Living in rocks so craggy,
I saw the glossy raven,
Looking forlorn and craven,
Dropping down a feather,
Like snow in winter weather.
He saw the brilliant bug weeping
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea!
Then the Wolf in despair
Shed his shaggy hair.
Then the River clear and shining,
Saw the wolf in sorrow pining,
Asked him why in sad despair,
He had shed his shaggy hair?
Said the Wolf, Oh River shining,
I in sorrow deep am pining,
For the Palm tree I have seen,
Shedding all his branches green,
And he saw the glossy raven,
Looking so forlorn and craven,
As he dropped a downy feather,
Like the snow in winter weather.
He saw the brilliant bug weeping,
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me,
Over the Noble Flea!
Sadly then the shining River,
Dried its waters up forever.
Then the Shepherd with his sheep
Asked the River once so deep,
What great grief, oh shining river,
Dried your waters up forever?
Said the River once so shining,
I in sorrow deep am pining,
Since I saw the wolf's despair,
When he shed his shaggy hair,
For the Palm tree he had seen,
Shedding all his branches green,
And he saw the glossy raven,
Looking so forlorn and craven,
As he dropped a downy feather,
Like the snow in winter weather,
He saw the brilliant bug weeping,
And his sad watch keeping.
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea!
Then the Shepherd in sorrow deep,
Tore the horns from all his sheep,
Sadly bound them on his head,
Since he heard the flea was dead.
Then the Shepherd's mother dear,
Asked him why in desert drear,
He had torn in sorrow deep,
All the horns from all his sheep,
Sadly bound them on his head,
Just as though a friend was dead?
Said he, 'tis because the River,
Dried his waters up forever,
Since he saw the Wolf's despair,
When he shed his shaggy hair.
For the Palm tree he had seen,
Shedding all his branches green,
For he saw the glossy raven,
Looking so forlorn and craven,
As he dropped a downy feather,
Like the snow in winter weather.
He saw the brilliant bug weeping,
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea!
Mother sad began to cry,
Thrust her needle in her eye;
Could no longer see her thread,
Since she heard the flea was dead.
Then the Father grave and bland,
Hearing this, cut off his hand;
And the daughter, when she hears,
In despair, cuts off her ears;
And through the town deep grief is spread,
Because they heard the flea was dead.