With the utmost astonishment, the blue-headed man asked us: “Is something like this possible? According to this boy, I’m the one who should be punished—not he! What does his father say about this?”
Mustafa would have answered the question, as best he could, but the boy spoke first: “If you require a father here, then fetch your own; for you may not borrow mine! I’m Gideon, the Hero of Manasseh. Good-bye!” In a dignified way, Thar nodded to the man, then proudly strode out of the shop. Still clad in his make-shift suit of armor, he climbed onto the stranger’s donkey that was standing outside. From there, he trotted away on the animal. Everyone knows this: at a very young age, all Arabic boys regard the back of a donkey as the best of all playgrounds. It is rare to find a boy who lacks the courage to ride.
Now, the man from Ain Kahrim really didn’t know what he was supposed to think. His mouth hung open. Without saying a word, he glanced towards the spot where he last saw the boy. Speaking in German and still laughing, my wife asked me: “Is this possible?” I had no time to answer her. The scene had changed.
The owner of the donkey was mostly concerned about the distance between him and his animal. He had figured out whom the strangely outfitted boy belonged to; from the neighboring shop, he now walked over to us. Whether by civil means or through a complaint to the police, he was determined to come closer to settling matters. “Who among you is Mustafa Bustani?” he inquired.
As my friend slid off the trunk and bowed low, he answered: “I.”
“Do you know me?”
“Yes. Who wouldn’t know you? You are Osman Achyr, the Ferik-Pasha of our Sovereign. May Allah bless him!”
“Your son has stolen my donkey!”
“He has not stolen the animal—just borrowed it. Thar will bring it back safe again!”
“Do I run a rent-a-donkey business? If I did, I would expect a person to ask me first!”