An Arabic Tale,
or: The incredible Arabic adventures of Eve Dansford, as written down by (here words obscure)
based on her own true memoirs and those of her family, to be found stored at the Ponderosa ranch, Nevada, United States of America
17.10. (the memoir of Joe Cartwright)
Who could
know that the sea would claim the Captain so suddenly? I thank the Lord that
Father was spared the pain he would have endured if Sarah or I went down...
I remember all too clearly as he was telling us when we were leaving – “I’ve
lost one son to the sea – don’t the sea dare to take another.” Adam’s drowning
has affected him greatly – all of us, but him the most of all. The parent-child
relationship is of different nature than the one of siblings; and it’s unnatural
for the younger to go first.
I’ve always
thought of Eve Dansford as a lively girl, if
something spoiled. She worries me greatly now as she sits silently in her
cabin and stares at the wall. Not even Sarah can get through her stupor at
times. I hope she can overcome it soon and busy herself with something –
that frees the mind from too many painful thoughts. I must find a good guide
to fill her with information about the city and its antiquities while we’re
sightseeing. If she gets the least interested, her mind will go in a different
direction, away from the pain and memories.
I still
don’t know where those two men came from. I saw two horses gallop straight
into us, spooking the horses and unnerving the camels, then some force grabbed
me upon one of them as Eve was lifted on the other one just as suddenly,
and the horses carried us to safety.
Or so we
thought. I’ve prayed for help from dear, dear Father – what must he be enduring!
– but it doesn’t seem as though they are taking us to him. The younger of
the men is called Khaled, the older one is Ahmed.
We are sitting in a tent, I and Eve. By some chance, I have both our diaries.
Eve is too shaken to write. Beside the capture and the inhuman treatment
before, Khaled began kissing her when they’d
brought us here. I wouldn’t let him hurt her so I hit him like Dad had taught
me. That Ahmed pushed me to the ground, and then, when I was ready to fight
both of them – silly, I know, but what else was I to do? – they thankfully
left.
Eve is very
shaken, so am I. There must be some way to escape and find Father, there
must be at least one way and I’ll find it, not yet, not today maybe – but
I’ll find it.
[the date is chronicler’s supposition, original
dates given according to a different calendar]
Ahmed had
the dark-haired one, and I the blond one. She looked so vulnerable in my
arms that I kissed her. She tastes sweet and her body feels good. It was
created to lie in my arms, it fits so perfectly.
Then someone
pulled my arm away and a fist hit my chin. I saw stars as bright as the sun
when my head hit the ground. I heard angry voices and I saw Ahmed throw the
dark-haired woman on the ground. It was she who hit me. There is fire in
her eyes. She has the spirit of a fighter.
I moved
towards the blond woman again and she cowered from me. I didn’t want to hurt
her. The dark-haired woman shielded her, holding her fists ready. Ahmed said
they were scared of us and they should be left to rest. So I left them. We
made a small new tent for ourselves.
Tonight I
cannot sleep. I think of the blond woman and how well she fits in my arms.
She would feel good by my side now.
I think
of white women, European women. Some of them said it is indecent to hold
a woman like I held the blond one. Indecent was wrong. They spoke of respect,
too.
Women like
beautiful things. They like it when a man says they are beautiful. I can
give her very many dresses, jewellery and camels; I can show her respect.
I want to have her without force. I want her to come to me by herself.
Khaled eyed me with amusement, and I must say I didn’t
trust that look. He said something to Ahmed; the big man reached for something
and produced a fabric similar to that of Khaled’s
clothes. Khaled smiled at me and indicated each
part of the cloth, saying “pour tête”, “haut”,
“inférieure part”. As far as I know my French, he must have meant the turban
for the head, top part and trousers. The language can be our chance for communication.
He chose
a dress – the most decent one, to give him the benefit of the doubt – and
handed it to Eve. She stayed behind my back and looked distrustful, so I
decided to take the dress for her. Khaled looked
hesitant but handed it to me, gazing intently at Eve. He seemed to stop smiling
from then on, and soon left the tent with Ahmed. After a moment, some of
the women came in. I still suppose it’s a kind of harem that Khaled keeps. Ahmed looks like a eunuch to me; that
only confirms my suspicions.
It turned
out that the women came to help us change. Obviously the kind of clothes
Khaled wore were indeed meant for me. Eve’s dress
was fairly light, but covered decently all the right places. It felt embarrassing
to have to change in front of these women, but it had to be, I guess.
They paid
special attention to making Eve beautiful. I felt almost like a female Arabic
warrior; truth be told, the clothes were quite comfortable. The women treated
me differently, showed me a different kind of respect than they showed Eve.
They might have seen her as Khaled’s favourite,
which thought scares us.
Later we
were led out of the tent. They seemed to strike camp. Khaled approached us, his eyes smiling; his face was
covered, but he pulled the fabric aside. Eve stepped behind me; in fact,
I was a bit scared myself, but at least I had the freedom of movement to
fight him. He showed no intention of being aggressive, however; he showed
to the horses and asked, “ ’orse? Camel?” His
English is dreadfully tortured with the French accent, but rather understandable.
I preferred a horse, and asked for one for Eve. He shook his head and argued
that a camel would be preferable for her; he showed us a pretty litter secured
on the camel’s back and repeated, “Camel,” indicating Eve. Unsure as to what
he may have in mind, I resigned myself to a camel, too. I’d rather not that
they part us.
Before we
were brought up on the camel, Khaled managed
to somehow get around me to Eve and held her chin, then touched her hair.
“Beauty,” he said to her and turned to me. “Beauty,” he repeated with a smile,
bowing his head to me. “Vous êtes très belle.” [“You (both) are very beautiful” – chronicler’s annotation]
Then we set out.
We don’t
know where he is taking us.
I felt cold
and hot all at the same time. I suppose that is what true fear does to you.
Khaled’s robe was covering my head and I could
only see those intense eyes glisten next to me. The force of the wind began
subsiding, or the sand around us made it feel so. I suddenly knew we were
buried under it, and the thought suffocated me. Khaled
began shushing me through the cloth on his face and stroked my cheek. He
said in French that it was fine; he whispered it a couple of times, “C’est bien, c’est bien,” the sounds
soothing in themselves. I felt silly realising I was behaving like one of
those damsels in distress from dime novels. Khaled
lived here, he knew what to do, don’t lose your head, I told myself. That
would only encourage him to take advantage. I had to stay calm. Khaled kept stroking my cheek and shushing me gently;
surprisingly, he did nothing else. Then something tore the fabric up away
from Khaled’s grasp, and we saw Ahmed and Sarah
above us. They had succeeded in digging us out. I caught the immense relief
in Khaled’s eyes, only this making me realise
just how lucky we’ve been to have been found, and I had to sit down in the
sand again for a moment.
I want her
with my body and soul.
I have sent
Ahmed to her with my bed. It is warmer and it will do her good in the night.
I don’t want her to be ill. Ahmed brought me the bed we had given to her
before.
It smells
of her, the bed. I want her. I’m going crazy for her. I won’t sleep tonight.
We arrived at the seaport yesterday. That day,
Khaled’s women left us. It turned out that he
was helping them get home to their families. Then we were heading towards
the market, when suddenly we heard shouting and what sounded like a fight.
There wasn’t time to learn what was going on, we were soon surrounded by
yelling, fighting, enraged men. Khaled pointed
to a group of men in what looked like uniforms, and told us to run there.
When I reached them – thankfully, they were soldiers – I
turned to see Eve, but there was no sign of her, and no chance of getting
back for her into the middle of the crowd. Now as I recall the happenings,
I’m quite sure I heard a shot – there was some shooting, generally – and
right then Eve cried out. Didn’t sound like a cry of pain, but I’m not sure
of anything right now, having mulled it over for hours. Maybe I’m imagining
things. Hours have passed until everything calmed down, and then it was hard
to find any traces. No familiar bodies were found, either. It gives some
hope.
I hear Father
outside the door. Whether it was the Lord’s Will or coincidence – whatever
you call it – Father was the first person I ran into after reaching the soldiers’
headquarters. I name it the Good Lord’s Will. He is good, he will help Eve.
I told them
to look for Khaled and Ahmed, as well. They were
the last to see Eve...
Father came
in and just shook his head again. He looks tired, although you’d think he
got ten years of his life back once he saw me. He’s ageing a little again
in his concern for Eve.
Maybe I
should look more closely at the passing crowd. Just maybe.
In the scuffle,
I rediscovered my mother. There is also a man. A man I don’t know but my
mother and Ahmed tell me that he is my father. I like him. I trust him and
that surprises me. I don’t trust people, usually.
Eve argues
that I should use words which she knows, not from Arabic or my mother’s tongue.
Now she laughs at my words but she writes them. I like it when she sits with
me.
I don’t
remember getting injured but I remember that Eve shot at one of the men,
and I was already injured then. It is strange. I remember how calm she was.
I also remember that I was afraid when I woke up, afraid that she would be
gone. She could have left me and she didn’t. I never was so much afraid as
then, when I thought I could lose her.
I love her.
He is my
only family now. I don’t know what happened to Sarah, I can only hope she
had reached the group of soldiers that was our aim.
Khaled’s parents treat me very naturally, as though I were
one of them. His father is white, possibly American, but I can mistake here.
Either he hasn’t used English for a longer time, or he has just learned it
somewhere. Sometimes sailors speak a couple of languages, none perfectly
but most of them understandably, some just enough
for a simple conversation. He has a gift of talking about the most important
or most painful things in the softest, calmest, most reasonable and convincing
way, regardless of the language he uses. I told him of my father, and talking
alone seemed to help – his words so much more. He must have endured a lot
of pain himself in his life.
Khaled’s father is a handsome man – has passed that on
to Khaled, obviously – with a white beard and
trustworthy eyes.
Khaled’s mother speaks little. She doesn’t need to. You
always know what she wants of you. She’s not Arabic, but I
don’t think she is from somewhere near
Khaled stirs in his sleep, but is probably still too
weak to shift. He’s still pale, but the fire is back in his eyes and voice,
and I know he will be fine. Still, today’s dictation has tired him quickly.
He needs his rest.
It is strange
and silly how difficult it is to speak to someone directly about certain
things. Yet he just needed to say I love you to the page
to strike my heart. Then, as I turned to him, he began showering my hands
with kisses with both such intensity and gentleness in his eyes... The skin
still tingles with the sensation.
I love him.
I can’t say that directly to him either and that is so silly. It feels even
more silly as I know he will read it for I write it in his diary. I suppose
that’s why I write it here.
We thought
at first it may be another pirate ship, and my heart sank. In face of imminent
danger, however, you don’t put down your gun and let anyone kill you just
like that. The time we fought without hope, however, was not lost, as the
other ship opened fire to the pirates, and soon new figures jumped on board
of our ship, pushing the pirates in-between us and them. Soon, it became
apparent that the newcomers, clad in Arabic fashion and thus easy to spot,
were even harder on the pirates than we. Obviously – allies.
My heart
rose, more so when I spotted a small cloud of smoke from the cabin door,
slightly ajar. Sarah was definitely a Cartwright. I gave a her a lecture
later, of course – the men could have easily ripped the door out of the doorframe,
and her with it – but I can’t say I’m not proud of her. Then a pirate appeared
at my elbow unexpectedly, as though from the depths of hell – yelled a war
curse in language unknown – and fell like a cut-down tree at my feet. I only
saw two burning, oriental eyes from the folds of the Nomadic-like, dark blue
turban, and my ally turned to fight off another attacker. I could swear he
was still very young – but his face was covered with the blue fabric his
clothes were made of. I wonder if he’s an Arab. The others don’t look Arabic,
despite clothing. We only know they are our allies here and now.
When the
last of the pirates was caught and put in the empty cargo hold to bring them
to justice as soon as possible, most of the strangers were already back on
board of their own ship. I saw one of them exchange a few words with our
Cpt. Johnson, who was shaking hands with him
and nodding. Then the Captain ordered his men to take care of the dead, the
injured and – a thing I didn’t understand right then – to find old, spare
clothing.
In answer
to Cpt. Johnson’s query, the man said, “I was
the commander of those people.” When? Many years ago, as he claims. He is
well-built, but looks somewhat emaciated. His complexion is olive-grey, there
is bruising around his eyes, and all in all he looks weary.
They plan
to stay in the port for a couple of days; the men are tired from the journey
and from the long absence from home. From the fight with pirates, as well.
The man is wearing some of the clothes they had bought from the crew; the
others are also wearing them. The clothes don’t fit, and mostly the men look
sorry and miserable in them. They plan to buy some more fitting ones today
or tomorrow, as I’ve heard. The man doesn’t want to immerse in the matter
of how they ended up on an undermanned ship with scarce clothes. He doesn’t
even want to explain who they are. We were sailors was all
he said to Cpt. Johnson. Cpt. calls him Commander. He doesn’t look very official
in the too small shirt and loose-fitting trousers, but he has a natural air
of authority around him, and I’m inclined to believe that he had indeed been
a Commander. It’s a man to give orders, not take them. His eyes bother me.
He hadn’t exactly looked at me, he just spoke with the Cpt. and didn’t pay much attention to anyone but the
crew; he soon left. He came only to thank for the clothes and say they were
staying here a couple of days. Cpt. Johnson decided
to stay as well, even if only to accompany them; I was about to suggest it
myself. They helped us, after all, and their ship is terribly undermanned
even for a layman’s – i.e. my – eye. The Commander expressed his gratefulness,
although he sounded only polite, and left. His eyes still bother me. The
eyes and the voice. I don’t know what it is about them, and it drives me
mad not to know. I intend to find the man tomorrow, maybe visit his ship.
I need to find out what it is about him.
The woman
was still a handsome one; she wasn’t pretty – she was attractive in this
other special way: more serious, calmer, more classic than most of the girls
and women I’ve met. The young man could be her son; there were similarities.
He was displeased with my arrival, and shut the chest with a challenging
look. It was then that the Commander entered.
He was saying
something as he came in, but stopped at the sight of me. I faced him, and
he looked at me as though a lightning had struck him. Then he called my name
and that sound brought everything home, which felt like a roaring avalanche
to my poor mind. I thought I’d go crazy, and that maybe I already had. We
held each other as tight as we could and I cried like a baby in his arms.
The emotion was too great to describe.
In the beginning,
we were led to a cabin to have supper there; the crew were so respectful
and polite that I didn’t know what to make of it. Then the host came; his
wife was with him, and behind them stood no one else but – Khaled, with that infuriating smirk on his face. Beside
him there was Eve. My mind and my heart stopped.
Father began
the introductions, but barely had he said a few words when there was complete
chaos and confusion. My head is still spinning from all the news and revelations.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to put all the puzzles in place and grasp the
whole picture. There was too much of it at once.
It began
with the first introduction; all the things we did not know. I’m sorting
it out in my mind; my father and Sarah’s father are family and only they
knew that, and they’ve learned it yesterday. So Sarah and I are cousins.
She didn’t know I was my father’s son – her uncle’s son – and it was the
first shock. Sarah thought that Eve was lost to them and therefore she was
again shocked, and we had to tell of our accidental meeting with my father.
She heard that I took care of Eve and she was shocked again; I think she
thought I would hurt Eve, but I never would. Her father – Joe – was shocked
as well; he did not know that I was the Khaled about whom Sarah told him. I saw his face and
eyes and I don’t think she had told him something nice about me. He was also
shocked that I helped Eve and that she was safe. My father didn’t know that
Sarah’s father knew Eve, and he was shocked, too. It was funny. At some point
my father began to laugh and it was pleasant to hear that. His laughter sounds
pleasant. I don’t remember him laughing; but I don’t know him much yet and
I don’t remember him at all. When he laughed, everybody laughed after him
and we could have supper in peace. I must ask my father who is the guardian
of Eve if she has no family.
Khaled, or John, as they call him now, is a very interesting
young man. He often pretends not to understand me when he doesn’t want to
answer some questions, yet I’m sure he knows exactly what is being said.
He speaks a curious mixture of French, Arabic, English, Hebrew and Aramaic
– at least these are the languages Adam is able to enumerate. John seems
still confused in the matters of language, and doesn’t mind substituting
French or Arabic words or phrases for English ones. Adam is working with
him on his English, and on dividing his knowledge into particular languages.
His mother teaches him as well, as she knows more Arabic than Adam and certainly
more Hebrew.
Eve is staying
with them. She works with John a lot, talking about religion, language and
culture. They spend a lot of time together and seem to have taken to each
other; when I hint at that, Adam shrugs his shoulders. He seems to think
that it’s completely normal and that there’s nothing wrong with that. Ahmed
laughed at me when he heard of my problem; he adores John and thinks whoever
John chooses to have should belong to him. Adam smiles bitterly when he says
he can’t bring Ahmed to think differently than in terms of ownership. Ahmed,
in turn, is trying to be more ‘western’ when in Adam’s presence. It feels
as though Adam is averse towards the Arabic culture, and Ahmed knows it,
but I don’t know what may have caused that.
There is
some kind of bond between Ahmed and Adam, not quite one of servant and master,
although this is how Ahmed addresses Adam often in private. Something brought
the two quite close together.
From what
I have learned and deduced, Ahmed is a eunuch.
I’m starting
to sort it out, now that I have calmed down. I read the night through, and
cried – no, HOWLED the night through as well. It may sound silly as I write
it now, I know, but whatever kept Adam going through all this cruelty – I
can’t understand, I can’t grasp.
The shipmate
associated with pirates. The desperate fight. The Arabic market – I never
did and I never will understand how can someone sell people
– and how Adam must have felt. He writes the worst thing was the separation
from his crewmates – he was bought (I hate this word, but this is the one
Adam uses) by an Arabic sheikh by the name of Abdullah. The man seemed to
‘like’ him in some sick way, kept him like a pet, for pleasure.
Ahmed was
his warden, and, indeed, he was a eunuch. Adam was given anything Abdullah
could think of – rich clothes, golden jewellery – rings, chains, anything
possible – pets, women. Then the first pet he really liked, Abdullah had
it beaten to death in front of Adam. Adam writes the lesson was never to
value anything or anyone higher than his master. Other than this one pet,
he hated to use what he was given, wear the clothes, put on what was rich
or adorned, never wore signet rings unless Abdullah forced him to; then,
in fact, Ahmed forced the rings on his hands, almost breaking Adam’s fingers
in the process; he never paid attention to the pets he was given, or the
women offered to him. There is so much hatred and bitterness on those pages
that, as much as I wouldn’t believe it, I still could – I know it sounds
stupid, but I can’t express it otherwise – when I read the letters in black
red saying that he had just slashed his wrists. The next page said they have
managed to save him.
Abisha was the one exception to the rule of ignoring
the women. He writes about her as though it was most natural that she was
there. They fell in love, the child was born. All Adam writes at that time
is filled with apprehension and outright fear of Abdullah. It was painful
to learn how right he had been. One day, Ahmed just took her and the boy
away, leaving Adam hateful, vengeful, and bitterly grateful he wouldn’t witness
their death, as he knew Ahmed had the order to get rid of them – and that
meant only one thing. The next page says that they have saved him again.
For some time, he fell into disgrace by Abdullah for doing that. His writing
is more relaxed then, when he expects to die soon and so be free. He didn’t
die.
Adam never
really explains in his notes how he came to Mohammed’s palace. Mohammed was
another sheikh, and another ‘master’ of his. Most of Adam’s notes relate
to the time at Mohammed’s palace; he seems to have spent there most of the
years he’s been thought dead.
There were
mentions of a business nature from time to time, then more frequently – either
Adam was remembering Ponderosa business relations or procedures, or calculating
things he observed. His life seemed to have toned down emotionally. He is
calmer, and his writing is not so upsetting.
Up till
the end of his life there, Adam stubbornly kept declining anything offered
to him as a gift, and eventually Mohammed brought him to a group of slaves,
telling him to decide on their fate. Adam recognised his old crew.
What scared
me most, was the sick logic in Adam’s reasoning, taught to him by Abdullah:
if he tells Mohammed to free them, they’ll be killed for Mohammed’s pleasure;
if he tells him to kill them, the same happens. So he only asked for the
same to happen to him as would happen to them. He admitted being their leader,
and feeling responsible for them. Now I understand why they love him so.
He was consequently
brought with them into where they stayed. One night they were given some
food and drink, and the next thing they knew, they woke up on a ship. The
ship was deserted but for them. They had clothes (although Arabic), food
and water. Utter disbelief continued even after they found Mohammed’s letter.
The sheikh admitted to admiring Adam’s courage, and let them go wherever
they wanted to – free. I suppose all I’ve seen in Adam’s cabin – the clothes,
the riches – comes from Mohammed. Here end the notes.
I found
him in his cabin with Abisha; John was on deck
with Eve and Sarah. Adam was slightly surprised when I showed him the notes,
but didn’t seem angry at John for showing them to me. He looked through them
with a bitter smile. He supposes the notes from Abdullah’s palace were taken
by Ahmed, as he had left them there; he agreed to fill in the gaps as well
as he could.
Abdullah’s
palace was raided one night; everyone scrambled away into the dark. Adam
was caught by Mohammed’s people when running out of the burning part of the
palace. He admits with a smile that it was less disgraceful than being bought
like a horse after standing three hours in the scorching sun on display on
the marketplace – his own words. He admits that Mohammed wasn’t as bad as
Abdullah; yet he couldn’t bring himself to trust the man. He had acted in the manner of a kind of business advisor, however, hence the
notes. He supposes that was the reason why the sheikh had kept him for so
long and in such good conditions. He now admits he had been lucky in that
respect. I can’t see it that way.
He shows
me Mohammed’s letter and jokes that the sheikh was kind enough to use mostly
the words which Adam knew. It looks like child’s scrambling to me, but hey,
I don’t read Arabic!
Adam confirms
that all that is there on the ship, including the ship itself, came from
Mohammed. They were given Arabic clothes, however, and longed to have some
more familiar ones. “With all the fortune here I could buy
Some time
after they woke on the ship, they heard some commotion from the port. Adam
describes it all rather vaguely; anyway, they all met at some point in midst
of the scuffle: Adam, Ahmed, John, Abisha, Eve.
It turned out that Ahmed had not got rid of the woman and child in the usual
ultimate way. He had just brought them to a white settlement – French, that’s
why John speaks the language. After some years, already after Abdullah was
gone, some unrest caused Abisha and John to be
parted. Ahmed stayed with John, whom he had come to love as a son. For some
reason, however, he still wouldn’t see himself as a part of the family but
rather as a servant.
From that
point on, John led a Nomadic life, acquiring probably more Arabic; then at
some point he met Sarah and Eve, but lost the sight of Sarah in the scuffle
in the port. Eve stayed with him.
Adam briefly
told me how they had nursed the injured John to health, put out to sea, then
saw our fight with the pirates and helped a bit. Then he asked about home.
I’m sure
I’ve told him some of the stories already a couple of times, but he doesn’t
seem to be bored. He could listen to them for hours. He visibly can’t wait
to get back home. It is Ahava, however, (she
lets me call her so) who asks most questions. Her English is smooth, though
the accent clearly foreign. I suspect she comes from somewhere in the
I want to
see them home, on the Ponderosa, by the fireplace, at Pa’s side. The news
of Adam’s death had cost him more than enough; he needs to get him back.
We all need that.
We need
to find a tongue we both use equally well. Abba speaks English and some French
and Arabic. Maman speaks Arabic
and her home tongues, and French, and some English. I speak French and Arabic,
but it unnerves me to know so little of English words that Eve does not understand
me. Uncle Joe claims I speak a chaotic language of many languages. But I’ll
learn, they’ll see, I’ll show them I can. Abba laughs; I believe him when
he says he is the same. I feel he understands.
Abba wants
to know how I got out of the difficulties at the French place. Ahmed brought
me away after I hid somewhere in a dead end street. He knew me, he came a
couple of times to our place. I think he lived nearby. I feel Abba is grateful
to him. They are very different; it is difficult to feel genuinely positively
about someone so different. Abba can. I will learn, too.
26.12. (Joe)
I’m glad
there was someone to read from the Bible on Christmas day. It’s not like
anyone can read it in any way. Everything is special on that day. I was always
more accustomed to Pa reading, but truly never has anyone read it like Adam
yesterday. Goodness, how I had missed his reading voice.
I promised
we’d make ourselves real Christmas once we were home, be it the middle of
January. At least John will know some of our traditions by then, and will
be able to join in more fully.
Home, home,
home, home, home. Home, sweet home.
I thought
I’d pass out there and then, and Pa right with me. And Joe’s introduction
– the world’s most famous sheikh of all
Dear Good
Lord, be blessed once again. You know I’m bursting with thanks and all –
You know. I know You do.
THE END
Chronicler’s
note: This thrilling story, dear reader, brings also a moral with it for
you to follow – Author’s voice, interrupting: Blah, blah, blah,
blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah..........
Author’s
notes:
1.
“Abba” (Hebrew) is a diminutive of “ab” – father and so is a counterpart of English dad/daddy.
From Ks. Tomasz Węcławski,
“Abba. Słowo pierwsze,
słowo ostatnie”,
the last fragment of the book Wobec Boga Ojca.
2.
The term ‘Arab’ has been used in late 19th
century also as a euphemism for ‘Jew’, the terms ‘Hebrew’ and ‘Israelite’
being occasional pompous circumlocutions; to avoid ambiguities, however,
the words are used here in their contemporary sense (from Euphemisms.
Over 3.000 ways to avoid being rude or giving offence, John Ayto,
3.
Abisha/Ahava’s name was taken from the site http://www.20000-names.com/ with the meaning of “God is my
father” and “loved one, dearly loved” respectively; Khaled
is an Arabic name I know, and I found it’s meaning to be “~eternal”; I am
not fully certain of the data on the site, judging by the Polish names they
give; however, these names
are probable (Abisha, Ahava) and certainly existing (Khaled/Khalid).
4.
Nomads are all peoples who don’t have one place
to live, but lead their lives travelling from place to place; as far as I
know, it was also a name of one specific tribe (who indeed lived that way).
5.
The Arabic countries described here are a kind
of Aladdin’s magic land, fully justified in tales of the mythical, oriental
and exotic. You haven’t believed the chronicler that the story is true, have
you?
Or is it true, and just disguised as a tale? What
do you think?