Free The Book of Saladin by Tariq Ali

manners.
    Ibn Maymun, who never missed a festival, admitted that the mock trial of a donkey, accused of pissing on a preacher, had made him laugh aloud. The student acting the part of the Kadi had heard the arguments, questioned the donkey and then pronounced his judgement. The donkey was to be publicly humiliated. His penis was to be sliced into five portions, arranged on a platter, and served to the preacher it had insulted. Furthermore the donkey was to be forced to bray in public, at least five times every day. When asked whether he accepted the verdict, the donkey emitted a loud fart.
    “Their thoughts and actions are by no means lofty,” Ibn Maymun had told me on that occasion, “but only a deaf and blind person could deny that they are hugely popular.”
    Rachel and I went to where the big procession was due to assemble. This year the youths were all wearing thin beards as they laughed and joked on the streets. Snake-charmers and jugglers were competing for attention with acrobats and contortionists and conjurors. There were spellbound children everywhere, their innocent laughter bringing a smile of joy to the face of even the most cynical adult.
    We bought leopard masks and had barely managed to cover our faces when we were surrounded by other masked leopards of all sizes. We began to exchange greetings, when one of them suddenly extended his arms and began to feel Rachel’s breasts. She slapped the offending hands, and the masked offender ran away.
    Who would be elected the Emir of the Spring Festival? It was Rachel who first noticed the candidates for the “Emir”. A young man climbed a wall of shoulders and began to introduce the choices. As each one was paraded, the crowd made its preference clear. The transvestite attired as a dancing girl, with exaggerated make-up and water-melons masquerading as breasts, was declared the Emir by loud acclaim. He was led to the ceremonial mule, painted red, yellow and purple for the occasion, with green encircling its posterior.
    The Emir of the festival, holding a fan in one hand, mounted the animal, and the whole crowd, including Rachel and myself, began to sing and dance. The Emir fanned himself in an exaggerated fashion, anticipating the summer to come. Four naked men, their private parts covered by a mi’zar, and their bodies smeared all over with a white fluid, suddenly emerged from the heart of the crowd. They were loudly cheered.
    Two of them carried bits of ice and jugs of cold water and drenched the Emir. The other two rushed up and fed him a bowl of warm soup. They put a blanket round his shoulders to drive away the cold.
    The ceremony over, the four naked men took their places in front of the ceremonial mule and began to fart, each attempting to better the performance of the one who preceded him. There was total silence as we strained our ears to capture the rough music of these gifted farters. Such musical farting was a much-appreciated accomplishment on these occasions, and the final crescendo, performed in unison, won much applause and laughter. Their performance proved strangely infectious, and those of less advanced years attempted to mimic the masters of the art for the rest of the afternoon. Mercifully their success was limited, and we did not have to pray to Allah to send us a breeze from heaven to cleanse the air.
    At last the procession began to move. Its pace was slow, deliberately slow. It gave the participants time and opportunity to purchase and consume small flasks of wine from wayside vendors. We were winding our way to the large square outside the Sultan’s palace. Would he appear and greet the crowd? This was the first time he had been physically present in Cairo during the Festival.
    In previous years the Kadi al-Fadil had made a token appearance, to be greeted by a display of a thousand phalluses. The Kadi had quickly retreated, and refused to address the common people. This year, with the Sultan in the city, the Kadi was taking no risks.