The Glassblower's Muse of Aleppo | مُلْهِمَةُ صَانِعِ الزُّجَاجِ في حَلَب
"A master glassblower creates vessels of impossible beauty, each one shaped by the curves of the mysterious woman who visits his workshop at midnight."
مُلْهِمَةُ صَانِعِ الزُّجَاجِ في حَلَب
The Glassblower's Muse of Aleppo
الفَصْلُ الأَوَّل: النَّارُ وَالزُّجَاج
Chapter One: Fire and Glass
كَانَ كَرِيمُ بنُ نَصْرٍ أَشْهَرَ صَانِعِي الزُّجَاجِ فِي حَلَب. يَنْفُخُ فِي الزُّجَاجِ المُنْصَهِرِ فَيُخْرِجُ أَشْكَالًا لَمْ يَرَ العَالَمُ مِثْلَهَا: قَوَارِيرَ تُشْبِهُ الدُّمُوعَ، وَأَكْوَابًا تُشْبِهُ الأَزْهَار. لَكِنَّهُ كَانَ وَحِيدًا، يَعِيشُ مَعَ نَارِهِ وَزُجَاجِهِ.
Karim ibn Nasr was the most famous glassblower in Aleppo. He blew into molten glass and produced shapes the world had never seen: vials resembling tears, cups resembling flowers. But he was alone, living with his fire and his glass.
كَانَ فِي الخَامِسَةِ وَالأَرْبَعِينَ، يَدَاهُ مَحْرُوقَتَانِ مِنَ النَّار، وَوَجْهُهُ مُضَاءٌ دَائِمًا بِضَوْءِ الأَفْرَان. كَانَ يَقُولُ إِنَّ الزُّجَاجَ زَوْجَتُهُ وَالنَّارَ عَشِيقَتُه.
He was forty-five, his hands burned by fire, his face always lit by the ovens' glow. He said glass was his wife and fire his mistress.
الفَصْلُ الثَّاني: الزَّائِرَةُ المَجْهُولَة
Chapter Two: The Unknown Visitor
فِي لَيْلَةٍ مِنَ اللَّيَالِي، طَرَقَتْ بَابَهُ امْرَأَةٌ مُتَلَثِّمَة. "أُرِيدُ قَارُورَةً تَحْفَظُ ذِكْرَى،" قَالَتْ بِصَوْتٍ كَرَنِينِ الزُّجَاج.
One night, a veiled woman knocked on his door. "I want a vial that preserves a memory," she said in a voice like the ringing of glass.
"أَيَّ ذِكْرَى؟"
"Which memory?"
كَشَفَتْ عَنْ وَجْهِهَا. كَانَتْ جَمِيلَةً جَمَالًا صَادِمًا: بَشَرَتُهَا بَيْضَاءُ كَالزُّجَاجِ المُضِيء، وَعَيْنَاهَا زَرْقَاوَانِ كَالزُّجَاجِ المُلَوَّن. جَسَدُهَا مُمْتَلِئٌ تَحْتَ ثَوْبِهَا كَقَارُورَةٍ مَمْلُوءَةٍ بِالمَاء.
She uncovered her face. She was stunningly beautiful: her skin white as luminous glass, her eyes blue as colored glass. Her body was full beneath her gown like a vial filled with water.
"ذِكْرَى حُبٍّ ضَائِع،" قَالَتْ. "مَاتَ حَبِيبِي وَأُرِيدُ أَنْ أَحْفَظَ شَيْئًا مِنْهُ."
"A memory of lost love," she said. "My beloved died and I want to preserve something of him."
الفَصْلُ الثَّالِث: النَّفْخُ فِي الرُّوح
Chapter Three: Breathing into the Soul
بَدَأَ كَرِيمٌ يَصْنَعُ لَهَا القَارُورَة. لَكِنَّهُ لَمْ يَسْتَطِعْ أَنْ يُتِمَّهَا. كُلَّمَا نَظَرَ إِلَى الزُّجَاجِ المُنْصَهِرِ، رَأَى وَجْهَهَا. عَادَتْ إِلَيْهِ كُلَّ لَيْلَةٍ لِتَرَى تَقَدُّمَه.
Karim began making the vial for her. But he could not finish it. Every time he looked at the molten glass, he saw her face. She returned every night to see his progress.
"لَا أَسْتَطِيعُ،" اعْتَرَفَ لَهَا. "كُلَّمَا نَفَخْتُ فِي الزُّجَاج، أَتَخَيَّلُ أَنَّنِي أَنْفُخُ فِيكِ."
"I cannot," he confessed to her. "Every time I blow into the glass, I imagine I am breathing into you."
"إِذَنِ انْفُخْ فِيَّ،" قَالَتْ. "فَأَنَا زُجَاجٌ بَارِدٌ يَحْتَاجُ نَارَك."
"Then breathe into me," she said. "For I am cold glass that needs your fire."
خَلَعَتْ ثَوْبَهَا، وَظَهَرَ جَسَدُهَا كَتُحْفَةٍ مِنْ زُجَاجٍ حَيّ. كَانَتْ بَيْضَاءَ وَمُمْتَلِئَةً، نَهْدَاهَا كَقُبَّتَيْنِ مِنْ كِرِسْتَال، وَبَطْنُهَا مُنْحَنٍ كَقَارُورَةٍ عَتِيقَة.
She removed her gown, and her body appeared like a masterpiece of living glass. She was white and full, her breasts like two crystal domes, her belly curved like an antique vial.
الفَصْلُ الرَّابِع: التَّشْكِيل
Chapter Four: The Shaping
ضَاجَعَهَا أَمَامَ الفُرْن، وَضَوْءُ النَّارِ يَنْعَكِسُ عَلَى جِلْدِهَا فَيَجْعَلُهَا تَبْدُو كَتِمْثَالٍ مِنْ ذَهَب. كَانَ يَلْمِسُهَا كَمَا يَلْمِسُ الزُّجَاجَ السَّاخِن: بِحَذَرٍ وَشَغَف. وَهِيَ تَتَشَكَّلُ تَحْتَ يَدَيْهِ كَمَا يَتَشَكَّلُ الزُّجَاج.
He took her before the furnace, the firelight reflecting on her skin making her appear like a golden statue. He touched her as he touched hot glass: with caution and passion. She shaped herself under his hands as glass shapes itself.
"أَنَا قَارُورَتُكَ،" هَمَسَتْ. "شَكِّلْنِي كَمَا تَشَاء."
"I am your vial," she whispered. "Shape me as you wish."
شَكَّلَهَا طَوَالَ اللَّيْل، يَلْمِسُ كُلَّ انْحِنَاءٍ فِيهَا، يَتَعَلَّمُ خُطُوطَ جَسَدِهَا كَمَا يَتَعَلَّمُ خُطُوطَ تَصْمِيمٍ جَدِيد.
He shaped her all night, touching every curve in her, learning the lines of her body as he learned the lines of a new design.
الفَصْلُ الخَامِس: التُّحْفَةُ الأَخِيرَة
Chapter Five: The Final Masterpiece
فِي الصَّبَاحِ، صَنَعَ لَهَا قَارُورَةً لَمْ يَرَ أَحَدٌ مِثْلَهَا: شَكْلُهَا كَجَسَدِهَا، انْحِنَاءَاتُهَا كَانْحِنَاءَاتِ لَحْمِهَا. كَانَتْ تُحْفَةً تَجْمَعُ بَيْنَ الفَنِّ وَالحُبّ.
In the morning, he made her a vial none had seen the like of: its shape like her body, its curves like the curves of her flesh. It was a masterpiece joining art and love.
"هَذِهِ لَيْسَتْ لِذِكْرَى حَبِيبِكِ،" قَالَ. "هَذِهِ أَنْتِ."
"This is not for your beloved's memory," he said. "This is you."
بَكَتْ وَاعْتَرَفَتْ: "لَمْ يَكُنْ هُنَاكَ حَبِيبٌ مَيِّت. جِئْتُ لِأَجِدَكَ أَنْت."
She wept and confessed: "There was no dead beloved. I came to find you."
تَزَوَّجَهَا وَصَنَعَ مِنْ جَسَدِهَا مَصْدَرَ إِلْهَامِهِ الأَبَدِيّ.
He married her and made her body his eternal source of inspiration.
الخَاتِمَة
Epilogue
صَارَتْ قَوَارِيرُ كَرِيمٍ أَشْهَرَ تُحَفِ الشَّرْق، وَكُلُّهَا تَحْمِلُ شَكْلَ جَسَدِ زَوْجَتِهِ. وَيُقَالُ إِنَّ مَنْ يَشْرَبُ مِنْ أَكْوَابِهِ يَشْعُرُ بِدِفْءٍ غَرِيبٍ فِي صَدْرِه.
Karim's vials became the most famous masterpieces of the East, all carrying the shape of his wife's body. It is said whoever drinks from his cups feels a strange warmth in their chest.