بخش 42 - رجوع به داستان آن کمپیر

Since that (crone who was faded as) autumn desired to be wed, that lustful one plucked out the hair of her eyebrows.

The old woman took the mirror (and held it) before her face, that she might beautify her cheeks and face and mouth.

She rubbed (them) gleefully (with) rouge several times, (but) the creases of her face did not become more concealed,

(So) that filthy (hag) was cutting out portions of the Holy Book and sticking them on her face,

In order that the creases of her face might be hidden, and that she might become the bezel in the ring of fair (women).

She was putting (these) bits of the Book all over her face, (but) they always dropped off when she put on her chádar (veil);

Then she would stick them on again with spittle on all sides of her face,

And once more that bezel (paragon of beauty) would arrange her veil, and (again) the bits of the Book would fall from her face to the ground.

Since they always dropped off though she tried many an artifice, (at last) she exclaimed, “A hundred curses on Iblís!”

Immediately Iblís took (visible) shape and said (to her), “O luckless dried-up harlot,

In all my life I have never thought of this: I have never seen this (impiety practised) by any harlot except thee.

Thou hast sown unique seed in (the field of) infamy: thou hast not left a single Scripture (Qur’án) in the world.

Thou art a hundred Devils, troop on troop: let me alone, O foul hag!”

How long will you steal portions of the lore of the Book, in order that your face may be coloured like an apple?

How long will you steal the words of the men of God, that you may sell (them) and obtain applause (from the crowd)?

The daubed-on colour never made you (really) rosy; the tied-on bough never performed the function of the (fruit-bearing) stump (from which the dates are cut off).

At last, when the veil of death comes over you, these bits of the Book drop away from your face.

When the call comes to arise and depart, thereafter (all) the arts of disputation vanish.

The world of silence comes into view. Stop (talking)! Alas for him that hath not a familiarity (with silence) within him!

Polish your breast (heart) for a day or two: make that mirror your book (of meditation),

For from (seeing) the reflexion of the imperial Joseph old Zalíkhá became young anew.

The chilly temperature of “the old woman's cold spell” is changed (into heat) by the sun of Tamúz (July).

A dry-lipped bough is changed into a flourishing palm-tree by the burning (anguish) of a Mary.

O (you who are like the) old woman, how long will you strive with the (Divine) destiny? Seek the cash now: let bygones be.

Since your face hath no hope of (acquiring) beauty, you may either put rouge (on it) or, if you wish, ink.