Later；　as　the　evening　azan　was　being　called；　in　the　half　dark；　after　exiting　the

gates of the palace； I hurried toward my neighborhood happily imagining

Shekure；　the　boys　and　our　house；　when　I　recalled　with　horror　the　story　of　the

contest　of　doctors：

One　of　the　two　doctors　peting　in　the　presence　of　their　sultan—the　one

often depicted in pink—made a poison green pill strong enough to fell an

elephant；　which　he　gave　to　the　other　doctor；　the　one　in　the　navy…blue　caftan。

That doctor first swallowed the poisonous pill； and afterward； swallowed a

navy…blue antidote that he’d just made。 As could be understood from his

gentle　laughter；　nothing　at　all　happened　to　him。　Furthermore；　it　was　now　his

turn　to　give　his　rival　a　whiff　of　death。　Moving　ever　so　deliberately；　savoring　the

pleasure of taking his turn； he plucked a pink rose from the garden； and

bringing　it　to　his　lips；　inaudibly　whispered　a　mysterious　poem　into　its　petals。

Next；　with　gestures　that　bespoke　extreme　confidence；　he　extended　the　rose　to

his　rival　so　he　might　take　in　its　bouquet。　The　force　of　the　whispered　poem　so

agitated　the　doctor　in　pink　that　upon　bringing　the　flower　to　his　nose；　which

bore　nothing　but　its　regular　scent；　he　collapsed　out　of　fear　and　died。

297

I　AM　CALLED　“OLIVE”

Prior　to　the　evening　prayers；　there　came　a　kno