A Handful of Dates by Tayab Salih

Introduction to Tayab Salih

Tayeb Salih (Arabic: الطيب صالح‎; 12 July 1929 – 18 February 2009) was one of Sudan's greatest authors of the twentieth century. Born in Karmakol, a village on the Nile near Al Dabbah, Sudan, in the Northern Province of Sudan, he graduated from University of Khartoum with a Bachelor of Science, before leaving for the University of London in the United Kingdom.

Coming from a background of small farmers and religious teachers, his original intention was to work in agriculture. However, excluding a brief spell as a schoolmaster before moving to England, he worked in journalism and the promotion of international cultural exchange.

For more than ten years, Salih wrote a weekly column for the London-based Arabic language newspaper al Majalla, in which he explored various literary themes. He worked for the BBC's Arabic Service and later became director general of the Ministry of Information in Doha, Qatar. The last ten years of his working career, he spent at UNESCO headquarters in Paris, where he held various posts and was UNESCO's representative for the Arab states of the Persian Gulf.

UNESCO  - The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization

A Handful of Dates Theme

The short story was published, originally in Arabic in 1964, in a collection of stories “The Wedding of Zein.” In A Handful of Dates by Tayeb Salih, The theme of connection, control, greed, selfishness, rejection, injustice, conflict and coming of age. “Money changes people”. The grandson loses respect for his grandfather because of his greediness. In the beginning, the grandson would praise the grandfather.

The story highlights the age-old truth that appearances can be deceptive and actions speak louder than the words.

The grandfather from his physical appearance appears to be a deeply religious and pious (having or showing a deep belief in religion) soul but in reality, proves to be a devil filled with elfish and opportunistic designs. His greed knows no bounds and he leaves no stone unturned to grab Masood’s land without feeling any pity on him. Thus in the words of Shakespeare, “One may smile and smile and still be a villain”.

 

A Handful of Dates Character List

The Narrator

The unnamed narrator is the story's protagonist. Narrating from the present day, the narrator looks back to a time when he was a young boy. Initially proud to be at his grandfather's side and to memorize the Koran at mosque, the narrator's opinion of his grandfather changes when he realizes his grandfather has been hoping for their neighbor Masood's financial and social ruin so that he may buy up all of Masood's land.

The Grandfather

The grandfather is the primary authority figure in the narrator's life and chief antagonist. As a boy, the narrator loves his grandfather and believes he is his grandfather's favorite grandchild. The grandfather is very tall and has a soft white beard. But the narrator's high opinion of the grandfather is shaken when he learns that the grandfather has been steadily buying up their neighbor's land, exploiting Masood's propensity to accrue debt.

Masood

Masood is the grandfather's neighbor. Although he had inherited most of the land in the village from his father, Masood steadily lost most of the land by selling it off to the grandfather. The grandfather considers Masood to be indolent and judges him for marrying many times. At the end of the story, it is clear Masood is in debt to the men who come to take away sacks of dates from Masood's harvest.

Hussein

Hussein is a merchant. At Masood's harvest, Hussein takes ten sacks of dates. His assistants load the sacks onto donkeys and camels, who strain under the weight.

Mousa

Mousa is the man who owns a field next to the grandfather's property. Mousa is present at Masood's date harvest and takes away five sacks of dates.

A Handful of Dates Summary

"A Handful of Dates" opens with the narrator recalling that he must have been very young at the time the story takes place. As a boy growing up in a Sudanese village, the narrator spends almost all of his time with his grandfather, apart from the time he spends learning to recite the Koran at the mosque or swimming in the river. The narrator loves his grandfather and is eager to please him by reciting the Koran and helping his grandfather by fetching his prayer rug. He believes he is his grandfather's favorite grandchild.

One day, the narrator asks his grandfather why he dislikes their neighbor, Masood. The grandfather says Masood is indolent, and that he had once owned all the land the grandfather now owns. Masood had inherited the land from his father, but after years of living a lifestyle that involved marrying many times, Masood's wealth steadily winnowed, with the grandfather buying more and more of Masood's land when he was desperate to sell. The grandfather says he has two-thirds of Masood's original land, and plans to buy the final third before Masood dies.

The narrator feels pity for Masood and wishes his grandfather won't do as he says. He thinks of how his grandfather never laughs, while Masood has a beautiful singing voice and powerful laugh.

Masood approaches the narrator and his grandfather to ask if they would like to attend the date harvest. The narrator senses that Masood doesn't actually want the grandfather to attend, but the grandfather jumps up eagerly. Watching from the side, the grandfather sits on a stool while the narrator stands. He watches Masood and is the only one who seems to hear Masood when he tells one of the boys cutting down the date clusters to be sure not to cut into the palm heart.

After various people collect the dates and sort them into thirty sacks, everyone moves aside and allows four landowning men to evaluate the quality of the dates. The grandfather wakes up and joins them, handing the narrator a handful of dates to eat.

The men divide up the sacks, allocating ten for Hussein the merchant and five sacks each to the other men, leaving nothing for Masood. The grandfather tells Masood that Masood is still fifty pounds in debt to him.

As the sacks are loaded onto Hussein's camels and donkeys, the narrator feels the desire to reach out and touch Masood's garment hem. Masood makes a rasping sound in his throat, like a slaughtered lamb, and the narrator experiences a painful sensation in his chest.

The narrator runs into the distance, disregarding his grandfather calling after him. He feels hatred for his grandfather. He speeds up, feeling that he wants to rid himself of a secret. He reaches the river bank. Without knowing why he does it, the narrator puts his finger in his throat and vomits up the dates he had eaten.

A Handful of Dates Explanation

Short story published, originally in Arabic in 1964, in a collection of stories "The Wedding of Zein". The action of this story, as with many of the stories written by El Tayeb Salih, occurs in the fictional setting of the village of Wad Hamid, which is in Central Sudan. This short story is told through the eyes of a young boy as he experiences an epiphany, a critical moment of awareness that perhaps marks his passage from a child to an adult. The boy's love and admiration for his grandfather is diminished as the boy listens to his grandfather describe Masood and observes the treatment of the man, for whom the young boy feels a likeness.

I must have been very young at the time. While I don't remember exactly how old I was, I do remember that when people saw me with my grandfather they would pat me on the head and give my cheek a pinch - things they didn't do to my grandfather. The strange thing was that I never used to go out with my father, rather it was my grandfather who would take me with him wherever he went, except for the mornings, when I would go to the mosque to learn the Koran. The mosque, the river, and the fields - these were the landmarks in our life. While most of the children of my age grumbled at having to go to the mosque to learn the Koran, I used to love it. The reason was, no doubt, that I was quick at learning by heart and the Sheik always asked me to stand up and recite the Chapter of the Merciful whenever we had visitors, who would pat me on my head and cheek just as people did when they saw me with my grandfather.
Yes, I used to love the mosque, and I loved the river, too. Directly we finished our Koran reading in the morning I would throw down my wooden slate and dart off, quick as a genie, to my mother, hurriedly swallow down my breakfast, and run off for a plunge in the river. When tired of swimming about, I would sit on the bank and gaze at the strip of water that wound away eastwards, and hid behind a thick wood of acacia trees. I loved to give rein to my imagination and picture myself a tribe of giants living behind that wood, a people tall and thin with white beards and sharp noses, like my grandfather. Before my grandfather ever replied to my many questions, he would rub the tip of his nose with his forefinger; as for his beard, it was soft and luxuriant and as white as cotton wool - never in my life have I seen anything of a purer whiteness or greater beauty.

My grandfather must also have been extremely tall, for I never saw anyone in the whole area address him without having him look up at him, nor did I see him enter a house without having to bend so low that I was put in mind of the way the river wound round behind the wood of acacia trees. I loved him and would imagine myself, when I grew to be a man, tall and slender like him, walking along with great strides.

I believe I was his favorite grandchild: no wonder, for my cousins were a stupid bunch and I - so they say - was an intelligent child. I used to know when my grandfather wanted me to laugh, when to be silent; also I would remember the times for his prayers and would bring him his prayer rug and fill the ewer for his ablutions without his having to ask me. When he had nothing else to do he enjoyed listening to me reciting to him from the Koran in a lilting voice, and I could tell from his face that he was moved. 

One day I asked him about our neighbor Masood. I said to my grandfather: why you don't like our neighbor Masood?

To which he answered, having rubbed the tip of his nose: He's an indolent man and I don't like such people.

I said to him: What's an indolent man?

My grandfather lowered his head for a moment; then, looking across the wide expanse of field, he said: Do you see it stretching out from the edge of the desert up to the Nile bank? A hundred feddans. Do you see all those date palms? And those trees - sant, acacia, and sayal? All this fell into Masood's lap, was inherited by him from his father.

Taking advantage of the silence that had descended on my grandfather, I turned my gaze from him to the vast area defined by words. I don't care, I told myself, who owns those date palms, those trees or this black, cracked earth - all I know is that it's the arena for my dreams and my playground.

My grandfather then continued: Yes, my boy, forty years ago all this belonged to Masood - two-thirds of it is now mine.

This was news for me, for I had imagined that the land had belonged to my grandfather ever since God's Creation.

I didn't own a single feddan when I first set foot in this village. Masood was then the owner of all these riches. The position had changed now, though, and I think that before Allah calls me to Him I shall have bought the remaining third as well."

I do not know why it was I felt fear at my grandfather's words - and pity for our neighbor Masood. How I wished my grandfather wouldn't do what he'd said! I remembered Masood's singing, his beautiful voice and powerful laugh that resembled the gurgling of water. My grandfather never laughed.

I asked my grandfather why Masood had sold his land.

Women, and from the way my grandfather pronounced the word I felt that women was something terrible. Masood, my boy, was a much-married man. Each time he married he sold me a feddan or two. I made the quick calculation that Masood must have married some ninety women. Then I remembered his three wives, his shabby appearance, his lame donkey and its dilapidated (old and broken) saddle (a seat), his galabia with the torn sleeves. I had all but rid my mind of the thoughts that jostled (to push hard against somebody in a crowd) in it when I saw the man approaching us, and my grandfather and I exchanged glances.

We'll be harvesting the dates today, said Masood. Don't you want to be there?

I felt, though, that he did not really want my grandfather to attend. My grandfather, however, jumped to his feet and I saw that his eyes sparkled momentarily with an intense brightness. He pulled me by the hand and we went off to the harvesting of Masood's dates.

Someone brought my grandfather a stool covered with an oxhide, while I remained standing. There was a vast number of people there, but though I knew them all, I found myself for some reason watching Masood: aloof from that great gathering of people he stood as though it were no concern of his, despite the fact that the date palms to be harvested were his own.

Sometimes his attention would be caught by the sound of a huge clump of dates crashing down from on high. Once he shouted up at the boy perched on the very summit of the date palm who had begun hacking at a clump with his long, sharp sickle: Be careful you don't cut the heart of the palm.

No one paid any attention to what he said and the boy seated at the very summit of the date palm continued, quickly and energetically, to work away at the branch with his sickle till the clump of dates began to drop like something descending from the heavens.

I, however, had begun to think about Masood's phrase, the heart of the palm. I pictured the palm tree as something with feeling, something possessed of a heart that throbbed. I remembered Masood's remark to me when he had once seen me playing with the branch of a young palm tree: Palm trees, my boy, like humans, experience joy and suffering. And I had felt an inward and unreasoned embarrassment.

When I again looked at the expanse of ground stretching before me I saw my young companions swarming like ants around the trunks of the palm trees, gathering up dates and eating most of them. The dates were collected into high mounds. I saw people coming along and weighing them into measuring bins and pouring them into sacks, of which I counted thirty. The crowd of people broke up, except for Hussein the merchant, Mousa the owner of the field next to ours on the east, and two men I'd never seen before.

I heard a low whistling sound and saw that my grandfather had fallen asleep. Then I noticed that Masood had not changed his stance, except that he had placed a stalk in his mouth and was munching at it like someone sated with food who doesn't know what to do with the mouthful he still has.

Suddenly my grandfather woke up, jumped to his feet, and walked toward the sacks of dates. He was followed by Hussein the merchant, Mousa the owner of the field next to ours and two strangers. I glanced at Masood and saw that he was making his way toward us with extreme slowness, like a man who wants to retreat but whose feet insist on going forward.

 They formed a circle around the sacks of dates and began examining them, some taking a date or two to eat. My grandfather gave me a fistful, which I began munching. I saw Masood filling the palms of both hands with dates and bringing them up close to his nose, then returning them.

Then I saw them dividing up the sacks between them. Hussein the merchant took ten; each of the strangers took five.

Mousa the owner of the field next to ours on the eastern side took five, and my grandfather took five. Understanding nothing, I looked at Masood and saw that his eyes were darting to left and right like two mice that have lost their way home.

You're still fifty pounds in debt to me, said my grandfather to Masood. We'll talk about it later.

Hussein called his assistants and they brought along the donkeys, the two strangers produced camels, and the sacks of dates were loaded onto them. One of the donkeys let out a braying which set the camels frothing at the mouth and complaining noisily. I felt myself drawing close to Masood, felt my hand stretch out toward him as though I wanted to touch the hem of his garment. I heard him make a noise in his throat like the rasping of a sheep being slaughtered. For some unknown reason, I experienced a sharp sensation of pain in my chest.

I ran off into the distance. Hearing my grandfather call after me, I hesitated a little, then continued on my way. I felt at that moment that I hated him. Quickening my pace, it was as though I carried within me a secret I wanted to rid myself of. I reached the riverbank near the bend it made behind the wood of acacia trees. Then, without knowing why, I put my finger into my throat and spewed up the dates I'd eaten.