Read Online The Spider's House by Paul Bowles - Free Book Online Page A

sight, although they had never been friends. After greetings had been exchanged, the young Yazami told him what he was looking for.
    “We can supply them all for you,” said Amar immediately.
    “We need them now,” said El Yazami.
    “Of course.” He had no idea whether such a large number could be furnished or not, but it was important that he be the one to communicate the order to his employer, who would surely reward him.
    The man with the beard was incredulous. “Five hundred?” he cried. “Who wants them?” He knew he could get the jars from his colleagues; what interested him was to know whether this was a serious offer or some fantasy of Amar’s.
    “Over there.” Amar indicated the young Yazami, who was idly chinning himself on the underside of a ladder. The potter was not impressed. The youth did not look like someone who was going to buy even one water jar.
    “Son of sin ,” began the man under his breath. Amar had run over to the boy, taken him by the arm.
    “Fifty rial for you tomorrow if you buy them here,” he whispered.
    “I don’t know … my father …” He pointed in the direction of the elder Yazami, who was inspecting jars on the far side of the thoroughfare.
    “Bring him over here fast, and come by for your fifty rial tomorrow.” There was no guarantee that the potter would give him anything if he put the sale through, but he had decided simply to leave if he did not. The world was too big, too full of magnificent opportunities, to waste time with unappreciative masters.

    The boy went across the road to the other side and talked awhile with his father. Amar could see him pointing in his direction. The potter returned to his crouching position outside the shed. “Go back to work,” he called. Amar stood, hesitating. Then, risking everything, he ran across the road, and presently returned with El Yazami and his son. The potter stood up; as the three approached, he heard the portly gentleman saying to Amar: “I remember you as a boy no bigger than a grasshopper. Don’t forget to greet Si Driss for me. May Allah preserve him.”
    The purchase was made quickly, and Amar was dispatched to round up a group of boys who could carry the baskets of jars to Bab el Guissa. When the last load had departed, the potter went down the steps into the dark little room where Amar sat.
    “Z duq,” he said, looking at him with bewilderment, “you really are the son of Si Driss the fqih.”
    Amar stared at him in mild mock surprise. “Yes. I told you that.”
    The man fingered his beard meditatively. “I didn’t believe you. Forgive me.”
    Amar laughed. “Allah forgives,” he said lightly. Without looking up he went on working, pretending to be completely absorbed in his gestures, and wondering if the potter were going to offer him his reward now. Since the man said no more on the subject, but began to talk about a load of clay that was due, he decided that it would be necessary to take action. Hoisting himself out of the hole in the floor, he seized the man’s arm and kissed the sleeve of his djellaba . The man pulled back.
    “No, no,” he objected. “A Cherif—”
    “An apprentice to a master potter,” Amar reminded him.
    “No, no—”
    “I am only a metallem . But I can make a prophecy. From this day on, your life will prosper. My gift tells me that. Allah in His infinite wisdom has granted me the knowledge.” The potter moved backward a step, looking at him with wide eyes. “And I’d tell you even if at this moment you were raising your hand to strike me.” The potter made a gesture of puzzled protest. “Allah is all-powerful, and knows what is in my heart. Therefore howcan I withhold it from you? He knows that this moment my father is lying ill at home without the money to buy a keg of buttermilk which would make him well. He knows that you have a generous heart, and that is why He sent the rich man here this afternoon to buy from you, to make it possible for you to use your