أبدت (راضية) لعمتها (مرضيّة) قلقها؛ من واهل يحكها في بطن أيدها الشمال، وعمتها (مرضيّة) خبيرة شعبية في الواهل، ورفة العين؛ فسرت لها الواهل بقدوم ضيفان، واحد ملايكة ومن عيال الحلال، والثاني بينه وبين عيال الحلال مثل ما بين أسفل الوادي وعلو الجبال؛ وما غربت شمس يومها وحلّ عليهن الليل؛ إلا وهي تتلوى من ما غص في بطنها، وعمتها تتنشدها وش قد كلتِ يا اللوقة؟ وتضيف متسائلة؛ يكون شربتِ شيء عند ابن حرام وإلا بنت حرام؟ والا حد نظرك؟ ثم ترفع مستوى العتب واللوم، قائلة؛ الله لا يعفي عنك إن كان بطنك قِرتك، وما تخلين سند!! فأقسمت لها إنها ما ذاقت الذوق، من أمسي إلا قرصها المفتوت وفنجال القشر! علّقت العمّة؛ عليّ عنّا منك ومن طفاستك، القشر اللي رحتِ به وانت عروس (مِدْوِد) مقضى آبوك الرخيص الله يرخصه باطن الدنيا وظاهرها، بغت تردّ عليها؛ ففزت قائمة؛ واستندت على الخصفة؛ وهي تصيح؛ خلاص يا عمّة جاني الطّلْق.
تعجبت (مرضيّة) من زوجة ابنها اللي ما زادت عن الحيلة إلا شبر ونص، كيف جابت اثنين، ولد وبنت، وهي تلف الولد في الحوكة تشاءمت منه وتصفه لنفسها وتقول منين قد ألتقطته ما هب كما ولدي؛ صندحته كما جباهة المسيد؛ ومهادله ما كنها الا مهادل جمل المحضّرة؛ وأضافت بشماتة؛ ومنين لها البطن اللي وسعهم، وشواكلها المزرية لاطية في ضلاعينها كما عنز المصارية، وبين حديث نفس مضحك، وشكوك شيطانية؛ انصرفت لما يقتضيه الواجب؛ و يبيّض وجهها مع زوجة ابنها التي فقدت أمها وهي طفلة رضيعة؛ ولم تتمكن من تمييز جسدي المواليد، فالاتريك يبقبق، وليلتهم أسود من قعر الجحل، وما أيست كهلة الرحمن يطلع نور النهار، فخرجتْ فوق الجناح ولعلعت بالغطاريف، وسرعان ما ضك البيت بالنسوان؛ اللي تهلل وتكبّر، واللي تتهول كيف لقّح (الشبّارة) زوجته باثنين وهو غصبن يزوع أرجوله من الحيلة.
أوصت (مرضيّة) زوجة ابنها، ما تحترك؛ وقالت؛ جارات، بيسدونك في نفسك وفي فروخك اللي كما فروخ الصعو، فضحكتْ وقالت؛ لا تتشمتين ما بيعوضك إلا فروخي، زفرت وعلّقت؛ يا الله في الحيا؛ ما يعوض إلا الله يا نسمة صدري، وتذكرت الفانين فانفرطت تبكي، ولكي تقطع عليها (راضية) حبل موال الحزن المألوف، طلبت منها تناولها الصغار من الميزب ترضعهم؛ سمّتْ بكل اسمٍ عظيم، ولفتها أن عيون الولد مغوّرة، وما برزت مثل عيون أخته؛ حلّت النفاس بنايق صدرها، فرضع الابن من ثدي، وناولت شقيقته الثدي الآخر فصار يزرم زريم الكلبة المجرية، علّقت الجدّة؛ حسودي، وما بيغدي بعميان إلا حُسده.
عاد ابن مرضيّة من غربته، خاطره متنكد، ولا هيا إنه لام نفسه، على بعض تجاوزات الماضي التي كانت شؤوماً عليه، بهذه البليّة، فالطفل الأعمى يحتاج من يصاليه، واستعاد ملامح مولودته اللي كن وجهها شقفه من البدر، فهان عليه وجعه، وعلّق؛ بهواها البنت المهبورة كما الأرض الممطورة، كلٌ وده يحترثها، والمعثورة ينفرون منها يخافون على اللومة تنكسر، وكلّف الفقيه يدرّس (الأعمى) القرآن، وله مع كل جزء يختمه مدّ حنطة ومثله ذرة، وما ختم ربع ياسين، إلا والفقيه ينذّر به ويدعي من ينذّر معه؛ ويدور في المساريب، ودميانه تعطي؛ وكل ما حد نشده؛ وش فقع راسك؟ يلتفت لا يكون الأعمى وراه؛ ثم يستأنف الشتم؛ قطع الله حدانه وجدانه هبدني بالشون سلمت مضاغتي والا يكون وسّدني قبري من ساعتي، سمع والد عميان الصياح فوطى اللي في ايده وأقبل؛ وخرع من دميان الفقيه وتيقن أن ابنه عُميّان الصّلف؛ ما بيخلي حد في حاله، فقام يمسح دمه بعمامته؛ ويقول؛ قطع الله ايد اللاش، وليتها في راسي عن راسك يا ولد عمتي، وأضاف؛ وش سنعه طقك؟ فقال الفقيه؛ كنت أردد عليه (في زجاجة) يقول (في قزازة) مرتين ثلاث ولا أمداني التفت للباقين إلا وهبدة عصاته اللي ظلّمت بالدنيا وانحن ظهيرة، أعجبت المذّن وان كان ما أبداها، وفي داخله يردد؛ خلك تستاهل ليته أشكل واهب فوقها ضفعة ثور حاسر.
كبر عميّان، الزاهد في النسوان، والمشفي للزاد والميلان، ومن يعترضه؛ أو يساومه؛ أمه دعت عليه؛ وصارت القرية تتعوذ منه صبح وعشيّة، يتخمخم من كل بيت ويناغش الذبان في جو السما؛ إن حس بجواره آدمي نغزه بعصاته؛ وإن شعر حوله بدابة نخسها، ويسري على أرجوله يسمر عند السحار، فغدا مرجعاً في الشعوذة، ولم تسلم منه لا ذرّة ولا جرّة ولا حُرمة ولا خُرمة، وما تخيّل الجماعة انه بيجي عليهم يوم ويتطاول على العريفة؛ أثر في قلبه حثمة عليه؛ يوم لقيه متوسد متكاه ومتمدد على جاعده، ومشغّل راديه، ورافع الصوت، ويغني مع (حسين جاسم حبيبي؛ شمعة الجلاس) فاستحبه باذنه ودفه من الدرجة وهو يقول؛ شمعة تشبّك وتشب أهلك يا الأعمى القِلح الطماع، وغصبى تلاحق عمره، وشالها له في قلبه؛ وما هلا غلقوا صلاة الجمعة، تقدم الصفوف؛ وقال؛ إن كان العريفة زافر؛ فأنا الفلكة اللي تشيل الجُوَز والسواري، سكتْ العريفة، وما علّق إلا بقول؛ ابشر بدسمة شاربك، وهو يدرك إنه ما بيريّحه، فاستدعى (شبيب الملغّب) ولزم بايده وقال؛ هبطنا، فردّ عليه ما نيب سامه؛ معي تنك بارود، ودي اشوف له مستودع آمن، فقال العريفة؛ ما دعيتك إلا من شأن البارود؛ وقبّضه عشرة ريالات فضيّة؛ وقال؛ هب لعميان منها ثلاثة وإلا نصها ورصّ التنك في سفله؛ وقل له؛ بنحطه في السفل ونكبس فوقه علف، ونأخذ منه قدر الحاجة؛ ميّس بها عميّان؛ وتالي ليل انتفضت القرية من نومها؛ على طقطقة النيران في بقايا عمران وخشب بيت عميّان؛ وما لقيوا له الأثر.
Radhia expressed her concern to her aunt Mardiya about a strange sensation in her left side. Her aunt Mardiya, a folk expert in such matters, explained that it was a sign of two guests arriving—one being a good spirit and the other having a relationship with the good spirits like the distance between the bottom of the valley and the heights of the mountains. As the sun set that day and night fell upon them, Radhia writhed in discomfort from what was troubling her stomach, while her aunt asked her, "What have you eaten, my dear?" She added, questioning, "Did you drink something from a scoundrel or a scoundrel's daughter? Or did someone cast an evil eye on you?" Then, raising the level of reproach and blame, she said, "May God not forgive you if your stomach is your burden, and you don't have any support!" Radhia swore to her that she hadn't tasted anything since yesterday except for her flatbread and a cup of coffee! The aunt commented, "I wish you would stay away from your foolishness. The coffee you took with you when you were a bride, may your cheap father be cheap in this world and the next." She wanted to respond, but she suddenly stood up, leaned against the wall, and shouted, "Enough, Aunt, I am in labor."
Mardiya was astonished by her son's wife, who was barely taller than a foot and a half, how she had given birth to two children, a boy and a girl. She wrapped the boy in a cloth, feeling pessimistic about him, describing him to herself, wondering where she had picked him up since he didn't resemble her child; he looked like a beggar from the mosque, and his cradle was nothing but a makeshift one. She added with a smirk, "Where did she get the belly that could hold them, and her shameful features hanging on her legs like a goat's?" Amidst her amusing inner thoughts and devilish doubts, she turned to fulfill her duty; she wanted to brighten her face with her son's wife, who had lost her mother as a baby and could not distinguish the bodies of newborns. The baby cried, and their night was darker than the depths of despair, and the old woman did not despair of the mercy of God, waiting for the light of day. She went out onto the porch and called out loudly, and soon the house was filled with women who rejoiced and cheered, while others were astonished at how the "young man" had impregnated his wife with two children when he could barely move his legs.
Mardiya advised her son's wife not to worry; she said, "The neighbors will support you in yourself and in your little ones, who are like little chicks." She laughed and replied, "Don't gloat; nothing can replace my chicks." She sighed and added, "Oh God, in life; nothing can replace except God, my dear." She remembered the deceased and broke into tears, and to cut off Radhia's familiar thread of sorrow, she asked her to take the little ones from the cradle to nurse them; she named them with every great name and pointed out that the boy's eyes were sunken, unlike his sister's bright eyes. The grandmother commented, "Jealousy, and I won't feed the blind except for the jealous ones."
Radhia's son returned from his travels, his heart heavy, and he blamed himself for some past transgressions that had been ominous for him. With this calamity, the blind child needed someone to care for him, and he recalled the features of his newborn, whose face was as radiant as the moon. His pain eased, and he remarked, "The girl is like the rain-soaked earth; everyone wants to cultivate her, while the unfortunate ones shy away from her, fearing their shame will break." He tasked the scholar with teaching the blind child the Quran, and for every part he completed, he received a measure of wheat and an equal measure of corn. When he finished a quarter of Yasin, the scholar would announce it and call upon others to join him; he would wander in the alleys, and the blind child would give; and whenever someone asked him, "What happened to your head?" he would turn to see if the blind child was behind him; then he would resume his cursing, "May God cut off his hands and his senses; he struck me with a stick; may my burdens be lifted, or may I be laid to rest from this moment." The father of the blind child heard the shouting, put down what he was holding, and approached; he took the stick from the scholar and realized that his son was blind and arrogant; he would not leave anyone in peace. He wiped his blood with his turban and said, "May God cut off the hands of the wicked; I wish it were on my head instead of yours, my cousin." He added, "What happened to your head?" The scholar replied, "I was repeating to him (in a bottle) what he said (in a glass) two or three times, and I didn't have time to look at the others before the stick struck me, which darkened my world and bent my back." He admired the scholar, even if he didn't show it, and inside he repeated, "You deserve it; I wish it were a bull that charged at you."
The blind man grew up, averse to women, and focused on food and drink. Anyone who opposed him or tried to bargain with him, his mother would curse. The village began to seek refuge from him morning and evening; he would sneak into every house and annoy the flies in the sky; if he sensed a human nearby, he would poke them with his stick; if he felt a creature around him, he would prod it. He would walk on his feet, staying awake until dawn, becoming a reference in sorcery, and nothing was safe from him—neither a grain nor a jar nor a woman nor a man. The community never imagined that one day he would come upon the village and confront the leader; it affected his heart deeply when he found him lying down, leaning back, sprawled on a chair, with a radio playing loudly, singing along to "Hussein Jassim, my beloved; the candle of the glass." He approached him, pushing him from his seat while saying, "A candle that connects and ignites your family, you greedy blind man." He couldn't help but chase after him, and it struck a chord in his heart; he thought, "Why don't they close the Friday prayer? I am the one who carries the burdens and the poles." The leader fell silent, and he only replied, "Expect a rich reward for your efforts," knowing that he would not let him rest. He called for Shabeeb, the trickster, and held onto him, saying, "We have descended." He replied, "I am not with you; I have a can of gunpowder, and I want to find a safe storage for it." The leader said, "I didn't call you except for the gunpowder," and he handed him ten silver riyals, saying, "Give the blind man three or half of it and stack the can at the bottom; tell him, 'We will put it at the bottom and press feed on top of it, taking what we need.'" The blind man was pleased with this, and later that night, the village woke up from its sleep to the crackling of fire in the remnants of the blind man's house, and they found no trace of him.
