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Hoca was strolling through the market of Konya. His eyes and his nose were full with the colourful multitude of people and the mouth-watering treasuries of the stalls. The selling and the buying went on in noise and excitement but a heavy shadow hung over the busy crowd. People were too worried to open their purses, with Tamerlane's soldiers roaming the country. "What will befall us?" asked a man with a half undone turban who was selling a heap of ripe melons. "Tamerlane is looting everything, even the graveyards," added a cobbler waving a pair of worn leader shoes. "He burns towns to the ground and builds minarets of severed heads," added a voice from behind a Persian carpet. A party of strangers, with faces veiled in dark cloaks came closer and listened to this. "Have trust," stepped in Nasr Eddin " that lame duck with his bloody rattling sabre will rot before he reaches this sunny place. Allah's whip makes no noise." One of the strangers, tall and dark, stepped forward: " You who speak of Allah's whip, do you know who I am?" The Mullah did not know. "It happens that I am Emir Timur, the lame sabre rattling duck you desire to see blasted." "And you," replied Nasr Eddin, looking straight into the man's eyes, unaffectedly, " do you know who I am?" "No." said Timur. "Allah be praised" exclaimed Hoca and disappeared in the crowd, without delay.

(c) Copyright 1998-2004 Ioan Tenner