“The Mongols devastated the Mideast,”Frigate had said. “Never in history has such desolation been wrought in such a short time. Before the Mongols left, they murdered half the population, and they had destroyed everything from canals to buildings. In my time, six hundred years later, the Mideast still had not recovered.”
“They were indeed the Scourge of Allah,” Nur had said. “Yet there were good men and women among them.”
Now, sitting by the little man, watching the dark-skinned betel-nut chewers on shore, Frigate was thinking about chance. What destiny had crossed the paths of a man born in midwestem America in 1918 and of one born in Moslem Spain in 1164? Was destiny anything but chance? Probably. But the odds against this happening on Earth were infinity to one. Then the Riverworld had changed the odds, and here they were.
It was that evening, after his conversation with Nur, that all sat in the captain’s cabin. The ship was anchored near the shore, and fish-oil lamps lit their poker game. After Tom Rider had cleaned up the final big pot-cigarettes were the stakes-they had a bull session. Nur told them two tales of the Mullah Nasruddin. Nasruddin (Eagle-of-the-Faith) was a figure of Moslem folktales, a mad dervish, a simpleton whose adventures were really lessons in wisdom.
Nur sipped on his scotch whiskey-he never drank more than two ounces a day-and said, “Captain, you’ve told the tale about Pat and Mike, the priest, rabbi, and minister. It’s a funny story, but it does tell a person something about patterns of thinking. Pat and Mike are figures of Western folklore. Let me tell you about one from the East.
“One day a man came by the house of the Mullah Nasruddin and observed him walking around it, throwing bread crumbs on the ground.
” ‘Why in the world are you doing that,Mullah?”the man said.
” ‘I’m keeping the tigers away.’
” ‘But,’ the man said, ‘there are no tigers around here.’
” ‘Exactly. It works, doesn’t it?’ ”
They laughed, and then Frigate said, “Nur, how old is that story?”
“It was at least two thousand years old when I was born. It originated among the Sufis as a teaching tale. Why?”
“Because,” Frigate said, “I heard the same story, in a different form, in the 1950’s or therabouts. There was this Englishman, and he was kneeling in the street, chalking a line on the curb. A friend, coining along, said, ‘Why are you doing that?’
” ‘To keep the lions away.’
” ‘But there are no lions in England.’
” ‘See?’ ”
“By God, I heard the same story when I was a kid in Frisco,” Fanington bellowed. “Only it was an Irishman then.”
“Many of the instructive Nasruddin stories have become mere jokes,” Nur said. “The populace tells them for fun, but they were originally meant to be taken seriously. Here’s another.
“Nasruddin crossed the border from Persia to India on his donkey many times. Each time, the donkey carried large bundles of straw on his back. But when Nasruddin returned, the donkey carried nothing. Each time, the customs guard searched Nasruddin, but he could not find any contraband.
“The guard would always ask Nasruddin what he was carrying. The Mullah would always reply, ‘I am smuggling,’ and he would smile.
“After many years, Nasruddin retired to Egypt. The customs man went to him and said, ‘Very well, Nasruddin. Tell me, now it’s safe for you. What were you smuggling?’
” ‘Donkeys..’ ”
They laughed again, and Frigate said, “I heard the same story in Arizona. Only this time the smuggler was Pancho, and he was crossing the border from Mexico to the United States.”
“I suppose every story is an old one,” Tom Rider drawled. “Probably started with the cave man.”
“Perhaps,” Nursaid. “But it is a tradition that these stories were originated by the Sufis long before Mohammed was born. They are designed to teach people how to change their patterns of thinking, though they are amusing in themselves. Of course, they are used in the simplest, the first, stage of teaching by the masters.
“However, since then these tales have spread throughout East and West. I was amused to find some of them, in altered form, told in Ireland in Gaelic. By word of mouth, over thousands of leagues and two millennia of time, Nasruddin had passed from Persia to Hibemia.”
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