The Theocrat: A Modern Arabic Novel (Modern Arabic Literature) by Bensalem Himmich

Mas‘ud, go and get him! A poet of the time composed these lines:
     
    Mas‘ud has a tool that is mighty.
    Long as a papyrus scroll.
    One that cleaves the arses of sinners
    Harder than a pearl on a nail.
    Ibn lyas, Bright Flowers Concerning the Events of the Ages
    This Mas‘ud had been one of the vast number of slaves that made the slave market on the outskirts of Cairo resound with noise. His most recent slave master, Abu Sulayman al-Za‘farani, had categorized him as a tough sell, someone that needed oils and creams to make him attractive to gullible buyers. Mas‘ud’s face was as black as could be and incredibly ugly, so much so that, if we are to believe rumors of the time, it was impossible to entertain any positive thoughts about him even with his white teeth. In all three dimensions his body was as powerful and tall as any ghoul: if he made up his mind to kill his slave master by kicking and punching him, it would have been no harder than banging a nail.
    Like everyone so endowed, Mas‘ud wore his inner soul through the color of his skin and eyes, People saw his temperament as molded by sheer evil and darkness; the very purchase of him was regarded as a loss, since, like many other slaves, he was always running away. “If he’s hungry, he sleeps; if he’s sated, he fucks.” went the popular saying, but actually it did not apply to Mas‘ud. When he was hungry, he waited; if he was sated, he belched and started work again. As regards running away, he did indeed do it a lot; for that very reason, he never stayed with a single owner or slave master any longer than demanded by the limits of surveillance and daylight. He would wait instinctively for those moments of distraction at dead of night when he could speed away like an arrow in pursuit of careening specters.
    The root cause of such behavior was not poor training or corrupt character, but rather a terrible fear of his own image as others saw him and of his smell that others termed foul. He had managed to run away more times than any other slave, so at one point he was declared legally killable inside Egypt. That particular episode forced him to spend a frantic period on the run, and he was forced to look for a hiding place. For a while he lived a life that swung between total panic and sorrow, anticipating his own downfall and the oblivion that would follow; if not that, then a mountain where he could stay clear of hunters and the blind. The last place Mas‘ud stayed during this period was a deserted cemetery shrouded in silence and full of wild herbs. There he eked out a living among the rocks and tree roots. Each night he envisioned legions of the dead rising up and handing him cold and poison to drink; the angel of the dead would arrive in a black cloak of infinite length and depart with the elements. In spite of the difficulties of living in such a place and the terrifying company at night, Mas‘ud came to appreciate that life among the dead was much preferable to falling once more into the clutches of the living. The eyes of the latter were hellfire, their expressions were deadly arrows, whereas the former had no eyes but merely sockets that were forever empty, neither pursuing anyone nor loading someone down with investigations and matters of conscience.
    Mas‘ud spent several days with no alternative but living amid the cold and mud, nourished only by the thought of his own coffin or else by looking at the women’s underwear hung up to dry far away on the roofs of the houses that overlooked the cemetery. Then came the day when Mas‘ud felt his guts being torn apart by an incredible hunger. He got up and walked around the city perimeter searching for food amid the garbage. He had not gone very far before he noticed that everyone around him was running away in sheer fright, making even domestic animals and fowl do likewise. When he reached a square, he realized that his body was uncovered and exposed to the army elite, so he pulled himself