In the Gyre
The woman, wearing a red dress and bright white shoes, was walking down the forest path when she heard a scratching inside the forest walls. Marred by fallen trees and roots submerged into the soil, the woman traced her every step, plucking her blouse at times to avoid it being dirty. She had spent her whole life in the village, still unmarried and now in her forties. In the forest, she had memorized each patch, each breathing tree, each bush and shrub since childhood.
The noise — this scratching — was unlike anything she’d heard before. It was like a metallic trill, reiterated with a low pulsating noise. This intrigued her: this was otherworldly. So, with each threaded step, the sound became louder and the causing figure became just visible.
By the time a few minutes had passed, omniscient marks had begun appearing. The trees had become more isometric and more clad with geometric patterns. Instead of the random twisting branch, all such extensions of the trees — even the leaves — were conjoined into a pattern. Branches formed conjunctions at each node, creating inhumane shapes of maddening geometries; everything was rough and gaudy, as if the forest was putting on a show.
She had reached the heart of the now-deafening noise and had seen the figure. The figure, this fantastical creature termed “the Behaymer”, had a most interesting psyche. It had writhing arms, a multitude of them twisted and flattened to each other, and short legs that kept its mountain-large torso barely afloat on the forest floor. The legs were muscular however, having hard-tinted hooves at the end. The Behaymer had brown-leather skin and a sharp-pointed head that was narrowed in the edges.
The most haunting feature of the Behaymer was the hole in its heart, in the middle of the chest. It was a hole where one could not see the other end; it seemed to possess no end and theories suggest the hole had an endless depth — such claims have not been verified by the Behaymer himself.
The Behaymer was a trickster, far more cunning than any human one. It loved to steal many things: jewels, artifacts, old chessboard pieces; it would steal anything valuable. It would however not steal anything that seemed cheap or poor in production or not authentic. This includes fake jewelry, broken musical instruments, and anything it just didn’t fancy, like children’s toys; they’re usually trash to begin with.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman said looking at the Behaymer rummage through the village rubbish, “but I am afraid you do not have the village’s approval to go through our trash — if you’d like we could have a party vote on whether you are given that permission. It is also, sir, rather improper to rummage through the trash we have piled here.”
“I’m not interested in your pesky human ways,” the Behaymer said, “let me do my business and I’ll let you do yours. I have no — ”
“Is that a costume, sir? If it is, may I remind you that the village costume festivities are till next month? But I like your early preparation, sir. And your costume is just marvelous. I know who I’m voting for this year’s Best Costume Award.”
The Behaymer had to take a pause to take in all the nonsense the woman was saying.
“You’re … an interesting one,” the Behaymer said, “may I know your name?”
“Oh, I have no name.”
“You have no name!” the Behaymer looked shocked and his mouth was agape for a moment. “But you’re such an interesting woman. I’ve seen so many boring women with very interesting names, like Queen Elizabeth. You know what, I’ll call you ‘Joe’. How’d you like that?”
“I’d rather not be called that.”
“OK, Joe.”
“I said I’d rather not be called that, please.” Joe said — Eh, I mean: the woman said.
“Fine,” the Behaymer said, letting out a sigh. “But do tell me where you live here. I’d like to see my friend again.”
“I live in a shack, sir.”
“Is that how I’m supposed to find you?”
“Eh, I mean I live on the far end of Beckenham Street. It’s right at the end and my house sort of looks like a shack. However, out of all the houses, I clearly have the nicest garden (this was a lie).”
“OK, then. I guess I’ll come by your house at roughly 10 PM. And, just so you know, I don’t like sugar in my tea.”
And with all that said, the Behaymer, grabbing onto one of the nearby branches, leaped into the sky and turned invisible; this was one of the many abilities the Behaymer used to his full advantage.
“Hey! He didn’t say goodbye. Rude” the woman said who, soon after seeing her friend was truly gone, started cleaning up the trash and sorting them in piles. Unbeknownst to her, the tree branches were becoming normal and everything was not that geometric anymore. And, for the first time in her life, the woman had someone to wait for, and possibly care for.
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Whether daydreaming about reality or keeping up with life, Ibn Nas has always been obsessed with morality. This theme often appears in his writings, and it’s no coincidence. From the arabesque mysticism of his pen name to his not-so-Arab birthplace in Dhaka, Ibn Nas finds inspiration in diverse experiences.
In his spare time, he enjoys writing and occasionally finishing a few drawings. A lover of books and catchy music, he unfortunately struggles to keep up with social media. When not engaged in any of these activities, you might find him taking long walks and questioning his existence.
Ibn Nas © Poems and Short Stories, and Some Other Things in Between
