Heaven

Stories

“Tayer,” I said. “Altayer. Bird.” 

“Very good,” said my teacher. “Now copy.”

“Do you ever wish you could be a bird? To rule the sky. To answer to nobody.”

“I fear it would not be quite so romantic. Though they can fly for a time, birds are, in the end, pinned to the ground, just as we are. It reminds me of a story of a man who wanted to be a bird. Would you like to hear it?”

As my Arabic progressed, my teacher seemed more eager to have conversations—in Arabic or not—about Alandalusian culture. “Language and culture go hand in hand,” he always said, so it was vital that I learned the history, politics and customs of the people in addition to learning the language. “Only then will you be able to master our pen.”

“I’d love to hear the story,” I said.

“It began about a hundred years ago, when Ibnfirnas—a crazy man, they say—decided he wanted to be a bird. He began his quest by jumping off the tallest tower in Kurtuba wearing wings that he’d built himself. They say the wings were nothing more than a cloak pinned to his back, but even so, he landed quite alive, with just a few scrapes.”

“Wow,” I said. “Can you imagine?”

“And that’s not the end: He kept at the idea, and a few years later the young man made an attempt at genuine flight. He had built a contraption with two sets of wings and a bar to hold onto. With a running start, he’d be able to hoist himself into flight. And not only that, but by pulling the various levers he’d installed, he’d be able to control his speed, direction and altitude. It was only theoretical for some time, but he finally tried it—and it worked. For flying, anyway, but landing was a different story. Ibnfirnas crashed, and they say he was badly injured. I think that was the end of the bird dreams for him.”

“Ibnfirnas Altayer,” I said, and my teacher smiled. 

He seemed to dismiss the story as nothing more than a historical curiosity, but I was inspired. The idea of flying—of escaping the world, even for a short time, and making your way off to somewhere else—was tantalizing. 

“What happened to his wings?” I said.

 

“As a matter of fact, I believe Hashday has them in his house. They were a gift from the caliph. That Jew is quite fond of antiques, you know.”