“The Zar Tales”, Chapter 10, end of Book One.

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CHAPTER 10

 

That morning, an hour after dawn, Shakira rose from her bed, finally alone from the village women.   She heard someone knock at the door. She had spent a sleepless night, her eyes  red and swollen with  weeping. Drawing on a gown, defiantly leaving  off her head scarf, she answered the door. There, dressed in blue robes and  indigo turban, was Ali. But Ali in the flesh and no longer a vaporous ghost. He was tall, his skin tanned from the sun, gold earrings in his ears that flashed like the sun in a mirror! Ah, he was handsome! She slumped against the door frame in her shock, and Ali, the spirit now made of strong flesh, caught Shakira in his arms, and carried her inside.

Ali lay Shakira down on her bed. The miracle of Ali in the flesh  made her dizzy. Ah! He was so …male! She looked up at him standing at the bottom of the bed before her, and her eyes traveled up his figure. He wore a blue outer robe, and a white djellaba under it. As she watched, he smiled down at her and removed the girdle around his waist, and lay aside the short, curved sword that he carried. He reached up with his dark hands and started to unwrap the dark blue turban. Around and around came the rolled cloth, and shaking free his hair, it fell in black waves down his back. He had coins plaited into his hair, and they shone in the half- light of the room like stars. He threw off his outer robe, and pulled his gown over his head, now standing in his cotton trousers. His arms were strong, roped with muscle, and his chest! Ah! He had a broad chest, with dark hair across it like a wave, and a stomach that was lean. Shakira thought  a bit thin, but her cooking would fatten him up. Her eyes were bold and they traveled his body with delight. He saw her interest and with a pull of the string at his waist, dropped his cotton pants to reveal his manhood. Shakira’s eyes widened in surprise, for this was the first time she had   ‘seen’ evidence of this.

“Is it you, Ali? Is it really you, my dearest one?”

Shakira’s face was puffy, her hair standing all over her head, half hiding her face. She could not believe her eyes.

“It is I, Shakira, my woman. In the flesh.”

Ali sat down on the pallet of her bed and stretched out a long arm in front of him. Both of them looked with awe at his solid flesh, and Ali flexed his fingers, a wry grin appearing across his dark face.

“I have not seen my limbs for a thousand years. I have not felt my skin, nor the muscles beneath. I was a strong man, Shakira, before my death. I could gallop a camel across the desert for days, I could kill a horse under me and leap onto a fresh on and continue on in battle. I was a warrior with the strength of many men.

And then I became a ghost.”

There was nothing to say. Shakira  thought she saw tears in his eyes. It was not unmanly for him to weep, for she was convinced that Ali had proved his mettle many times. No, it was just after a thousand years such a transformation took a bit getting used to. For both of them.

Shakira reached out and touched his arm. His flesh was warm and firm. He was no more a gold-dusted ghost.

He was clearly a man.

Ali knelt beside Shakira. She lay under his dark eyes and blushed. It had been a long time since a man was naked before her. She could only remember one, her dead husband, and he, poor soul, didn’t look quite as potent at this one. She started to raise herself but Ali put a hand on her chest, and gently pushed her back down onto the bed. With a smile, he bent down and kissed her softly on the mouth, his lips warm and hard on her own. He rose from this kiss and with a strange look, he gripped the neckline of her gown and ripped it apart, exposing Shakira’s body. He looked from the top of her breasts to the bottom of her hips and her large, rounded thighs, and with a groan, flung himself upon her and kissed her deeply.

Ali pressed open her mouth with his tongue and plunged it into her throat. He moaned in his passion and broke his kiss, rising up from her body. He was between her legs and sat back on his knees, looking at her like a starving man.  In fact, he was, and after this first course, he would eat whatever he could find in her small kitchen.  Being mortal finally, after a thousand years, and he had forgotten that deep, persistent hunger in his belly that grew with the hours.

Oh! He was a strong man! Shakira squealed in surprise and delight. His hard hands gripped her body and it was very different being made love to by a mortal man than a vaporous ghost!

Ah! He stared into her eyes as he slowly pushed his sword into her. Shakira gasped as he filled her. Ali was in no hurry to end this bout of lovemaking. He had waited a thousand years for the taste and feel of a woman under him. The warm, moist cave of her was a harbor for his manhood. It was worth the wait of centuries and he would savor it as long as he could.

But Shakira couldn’t. She began a deep scream somewhere in her gut, and it rushed up and out her throat. Ah! She threw her legs around Ali with a shriek. Ali saw her passion and gripping her hard around the shoulders, drove home into her warm flesh. Shakira yelled out and it seemed her noise would wake the sleeping in Paradise! She danced like a wild dervish , her eyes closed in her own trance, and her breasts– Ah! Her breasts were flushed a rosy color, hot, and her nipples so hard, they rivaled his cock. He held her to him because it seemed she was possessed and would dance off the bed!

Ali began his own dance to nirvana. He pushed into her like he had the strength of ten men and his body glistened with the sweat of his sweet toil. With his own yell, like the rising groan of the desert wind, he pumped his seed into the vessel of Shakira. Long did he come into her, spilling, spewing the seed of centuries into this fine woman under him. Finally, he threw himself down, lost in that sweet dark cave, and gathering her limp body to his, they slept a deep and exhausted sleep, limbs now solid to each other, entwining like branches, grown together like two old trees twisted by the strong winds coming down from the mountains…

For hours they slept a deep and exhausted sleep.

No one disturbed them. Even the goats outside were silent, the hens did not cackle and the rooster did not crow. No woman came calling at Shakira’s door. It was as if a spell had been put on the village and time had stopped in its passage. And perhaps time had reversed itself that day.

For all over the village, women who were formerly possessed by Zars, who had vaporous ghosts up their gowns and no men to hold onto, well, they slept like Shakira, the deep sleep of a thoroughly happy woman.

When Ali and Shakira woke, both of them still locked in their embrace, he looked at her with a wide grin.

“I told you if the Mullahs killed you I would claim your spirit and together we would be Zars for eternity.”

“Ah, my Habibi, this is much better. I have had enough of Zars. I like you better as a man in my bed, with my arms around you, and your ney where it belongs. This feels enough like eternity. Besides, now you can eat my cooking and fix the roof.”

 

******************

 

Since the Mullahs never made it back to Ankara, their findings were not disclosed nor the sentence they pronounced upon Shakira revealed.   The mayor had enough sense to keep his mouth shut and the elderly Mullah Kaleel died shortly after, a peaceful death in his bed.

As for Shakira and Ali? They are very happy, and will remain so. It is the gift of the gods for the intolerance of mankind. There is justice in the long run, but you might have to wait most of your life for it to come to your door.

 

Praise to all the Gods and Goddesses, One God or Many!

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2010-2014,

“The Zar Tales” published by Lulu.com.  This is the end of Book One, but not the end of the story.  In Book Two, the Mullahs have their revenge as they are sent back from Paradise in the form of Zars in the charge of a particularly troublesome djinn.

 

 

 

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