CLOCKWORK PHOENIX 2: More Tales of Beauty and Strangeness (24 page)

The bigger fish think it is too risky but the smaller fish is adamant. His life may be at stake but so too will many others if they don’t cure Faris Al-Kawthar of loneliness before it is too late.

* * *

The smaller fish wastes no time, he is an impetuous sort of fellow, and with one enthusiastic flick of his golden tail he flings himself into the fountain’s path. The other fish gape below as he spins away from their world. They try to muster up a buoyant song to send him on his way but only silence follows; they are too nervous for a song.

Meanwhile the smaller fish is being thrown high and higher into the air. He is somersaulting and twirling, flipping head over flapping tail. He is terrified and exhilarated; he has never seen so much colour. He can’t believe anything has ever existed beyond sky blue and reed green.

Very soon though he is descending towards the fountain pool, finally slipping back underneath its watery surface with barely a splash from his spun tail.

“Are you alright?” the fish ask anxiously, crowding all around him.

The smaller fish nods his head; he is too winded yet to speak.

“What is the world like? Did it give you new ideas?”

“No,” the fish confesses finally catching his breath. “It was all a bit of a blur but I did see a little boy standing by the front door. He was talking with Master Faris while they shared a piece of bread. You should have seen how the boy smiled when he saw me flipping through the air. I think Master Faris saw me as well because he started smiling too.”

“Master Faris was smiling?”

“Yes, though it was only very slight.”

“Well, then you must do it again if it makes Master Faris smile.”

“No,” replies the biggest fish. “This time I shall go. I have bigger eyes than our smaller friend here. I shall be able to look around a little more. Making Master Faris smile is important but curing his loneliness even more so.”

The other fish nod their heads; they can see wisdom in his thoughts and without another word the biggest fish has disappeared—an orange rocket to the sky.

A few seconds later though, he returns with a choppy, violent splash; it seems he lacks the flying finesse of the smaller one in the air.

“Quickly,” he pants. “Start swimming in circles. Master Faris and the boy are coming. They want to see what we’re up to.”

The fish begin to swim, trying their very best not to look conspicuous; as if they are going about their normal day the way normal fish are supposed to do. They understand how important it is that they look like normal fish; wide, vacant eyes, mouths open and shut, for they know there is nothing more suspicious than a fish that has been caught in the act of vigorous thought. It unnerves human beings when they see fish this way; makes it harder for them to reconcile the use of barbed hooks and spear guns. Normally the fish would not care, they would quite like to unnerve, but the last thing they want to do is upset their Master now.

“That was amazing,” says the little boy leaning over the fountain edge. “I’ve never seen a fish dance before. Did you see the way the first one twirled? So many somersaults and pirouettes, he was beautiful don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Faris agrees. “Very beautiful indeed.”

“Can I bring my older sister back another day? She is in Aleppo with my Uncle now but soon she will return. I am sure she would love to see your fish dance. She loves everything that dances.”

“Of course,” says Faris, patting the boy gently on his shoulder. “Though I cannot promise you the fish will dance again. I’ve never seen it before myself.”

* * *

Later when the boy has gone, and Faris has retreated to his room, the fish congregate amongst the reeds and mouth the word “dance” in joyous unison. Of course, they should dance; it will bring all the women to Master Faris’s door.

Don’t women love their dancing as much as they love their glittering heels?

Such a gloriously simple idea, they wonder how they hadn’t thought of it any earlier until one of the fish rather wisely says: “Yes, well though I am very familiar with the song; I am not so certain of the dance.”

“We can learn it,” says the biggest fish instantly, for he is not one to be deterred. “Tell us smaller fish, what exactly it was you did.”

The smaller fish drops his head; his wee mind has drawn a blank. He remembers being high up and seeing gold letters in woven tapestry. He remembers the boy’s face smiling and thinking he might die.

“Never mind,” says the biggest fish. “We shall ask the universe for help. Someone out there will be able to teach us how to dance!”

* * *

The fish ask the universe in the very next storm; threading their message through the water before it is conjured to the sky.

We are the fountain fish of Faris Al-Kawthar.

We must learn to dance.

It is a matter of great consequence for the fountain

and the land.

They listen as the storm carries their words across the sky; they listen and they hope that their answer will soon arrive.

Unhappily for the fish though, the universe is not forthcoming and most of the creatures who hear their message choose to ignore their plea instead.

Why do fish want to dance anyway?

It sounds preposterous and frivolous; a little high-faluting as well.

* * *

In the end it is a Desert Lark who takes pity on the fish. She has looked down on the land from the blue sky above; she has seen how it is dying a little more with each passing day. She may not understand why the fish want to dance but she understands that it is something that they feel they must do.

She comes late one evening after the dusk light has faded and sings to the fish of all the dances that she has seen. Of dolphins she has seen skipping between the white tips of the sea. How they twirl high into the air, both backwards and then forwards. How they vault, leap and cartwheel across the surface of the water and wave with their fine flippers to each other in joyful harmony. She tells them of other dolphins, and of whales and seals too, whom she has seen performing in grand theatres to wild, rapturous applause.

The fish feel heartened as they listen to her accounts: if their fellow fish can dance then surely so too can they?

Soon they begin to secretly practice every night as Faris sleeps. The Lark tells them what she has seen; they listen and they learn. They find it much easier if there is a beat they can follow so the Lark invites a Syrian Woodpecker to come join her fountain side. He drums out a merry rhythm with his slim slate-black beak.

The fish are good studies and they work very hard. Sometimes they even slop water over the edge of the fountain. In the morning Master Faris mops the floor, shaking his head at the mess; he never questions why it has happened, he just cleans it half-heartedly and moves on with his chores.

Finally, after all the phases of the moon have made one journey across the sky, the fish decide that they are good enough; that they are ready to perform.

“We are ready,” chorus the fish all together. “Now all we must do is wait for the boy.”

Their waiting is soon rewarded. The boy returns two days later. He has brought his older sister with him too and she has brought her many friends. They crowd curiously around the fountain while Faris Al-Kawthar hovers in the periphery: he is preparing tea and
kanafi
should the fish fail to satisfy. But the fish will not fail; they are ready to perform and as the afternoon
Asr
Prayer ends they begin their special dance. Shooting up with the fountain they spring out from each side like small exploding firecrackers; writhing orange flames. They spin, twirl and twist, while singing harmonic chords, before swooping back towards the water in synchronized dancing pairs. Then once under water they begin their formations: a flowering lotus, a revolving sun, a layered quilt of weaving fish.

Everyone is spellbound, even young Faris. Unable to speak, they simply watch on in wonder, mouths open and mouths shut and then mouths open once again. When the show finally ends with a triumphant fistful of springing fish the women cannot help but turn to each other and whisper how much more interesting Al-Kawthar’s fountain is now it is the host of dancing fish.

“We shall come back with our sisters, our friends and our mothers. Every woman must come to Faris Al-Kawthar’s fountain now to see its dancing fish.”

The fish are delighted when they hear what the women say. Surely their young Master’s loneliness will be cured before too long.

* * *

Soon the fish are dancing every day after the
Asr
Prayers. Tantalizing crowds of enthralled women as they dance, twirl and spin. Of course men come too, largely male relatives and showboat types. But it is the young women that the fish want to please; they want to charm them most of all.

Unfortunately, however, Faris does not see what they see. He is too busy being mesmerized by the tricks the fish perform to notice all the beautiful women who are now congregating in his home. He simply stands, widely gaping, watching his fish as they dance; clutching clenched fist to beating chest such is his pride in their fine work.

“He looks like a stunned mullet,” the fish mutter in disgust. “Hell
never
find his true love if he simply stands there and stares.”

“I shall try and draw his attention,” says the biggest fish to the others. “Away from we fish and towards the young women.”

“But how?” the fish chorus back in six chord harmony.

“I’m not sure but I shall try. It is imperative that I must.”

* * *

The next day as the fish dance the biggest fish does his best; trying to catch his Master’s eye as he somersaults through the air, while nodding his head vigorously towards the pretty young woman seated to Faris’s right. It seems that after a few attempts Faris has begun to notice the biggest fish’s efforts for he stops staring at the dancing fish and stares at the young woman instead.

* * *

But then something terrible happens!

* * *

The biggest fish is thrown out of orbit from all the vigorous nodding of his head. Confused and disoriented he misjudges his descent so he no longer falls back down towards the fountain but instead shoots across the room like a small orange dart. He lands on the lap of another watching woman but the landing is hard and causes him to bounce; twice on her covered knees and then once on her shoe, before hitting the marble floor very hard and with some clip. The whole crowd falls silent; many avert their eyes. No one wants to bear witness to this tragedy that is unfolding.

The young woman quickly kneels on the floor by the fish. She does not care that the cold marble will tear at her skin. She only cares about the fish lying so lifeless on the ground.

She cradles him in her hands, willing him to breathe. But the biggest fish does not stir. He is as still as Palmyra stone.

She carries him to the fountain, carefully cupping him in her hands, and then lowers him into the comforting embrace of the fountain spring. She prays the little fellow will feel his watery home once again. But the biggest fish feels nothing. He remains perfectly still; a limp, autumn leaf in the palm of her cupped hands.

Faris Al-Kawthar hurriedly joins her as she stands fountain side. His eyes are very bright. They shine like wet coals.

“I am sorry Brother Faris,” she says gently, pouring the fish into his hands. “He was a beautiful fish. He lived a full life.”

She then steps away from Faris and disappears with the crowds; leaving him alone by the fountain, his head bowed in sorrow.

The other fish congregate below the place where their Master now sadly stoops. Eyes wide, mouths stretched open; they are screaming silent Os. Faris leans over and lowers his cupped hands into the water. He knows the other fish will want to see their fallen friend one last time. They nudge at Faris’s fingers and caress the biggest fish with their heads; all the time they are singing, though Faris cannot hear them. They are singing
In Paradisum;
they will never sing
Fauré
again.

* * *

That night Faris goes to bed without cleaning the fountain at all.

“Now the situation is worse,” the fish weep. “Far worse than ever before.”

* * *

The next day Faris Al-Kawthar’s courtyard is inundated with visitors. They don’t come because they expect to see the dancing fish again. They come because they want to express their sorrow for the biggest fish; because they want to embrace Faris Al-Kawthar and to bring him baked bread.

Yet as the
Asr
Prayers end there is a sudden surge in the fountain pool and the fish rise up once again; they rise up just the same. They don’t feel much like dancing, their souls still freshly torn, but the fish know they must: that the biggest fish would have said so; that it is more crucial now than ever that their Master finds his true love.

It is difficult; however, for the fish to freely dance because they are nervous in the air and their hearts weigh them down. They can only hum intense melodies, most of which are by
Wagner
; melodies even the fish concede are not the most conducive to merry dance.

* * *

When the dancing finally ends and the applause has petered out, Faris clears his throat. He has an announcement to make.

“Thank you my good well-wishers for sharing your thoughts and your bread but I have decided that my fish shall no longer dance to great crowds.”

He says this even though he knows he cannot stop the fish from dancing. Even though he knows he holds no power over what his fish choose to do. If the fish wish to dance, they will dance all alone; no crowds to distract them and divert their small minds. Perhaps without distraction no more fish will fall.

* * *

The fish are appalled when they hear their Master’s words.

“How will he ever find his true love now,” they sing in minor chords.

* * *

The following day there is a knock on Faris Al-Kawthar’s door. Faris opens it expecting to find a small crowd of well-wishers begging him to rethink his ban on the dancing fish. Instead he finds a young woman standing alone on the doorstep. She is wearing a khimâr, all the colours of the rainbow; it is too cheerful for Faris, he wants to turn her away.