pronker

THE BOOK OF FIXED STARS by pronker

Achernar smoothed his white beard and gathered his youngest granddaughter up from the rush of children. "This is a story for Mira only," he adjured the clamoring group of eight. They moaned and he added, "But if you are quiet ... "

"Right away, Grandfather!" They sat on the cool tiles before his rattan chair in an obedient semilunar form, mirroring the shape on Achernar's beloved former country's flag. It brought tears to his eyes and a pleased, profound ataraxia suffused him. He drew out the drama by nibbling on leftover halva from the Ottoman tray on the mosaic inlay table beside him. His grandchildren were in his orbit and he was in place to share today's life lesson. Mira's curls settled against his chest as he patted her delicate arm with one hand and with the other gestured grandly, powerfully, to the young ones.

"Tell me your names."

They stared at each other. As Achernar knew he would, the oldest, Almak, spoke out diffidently. "Erm, don't you remember us, Grandfather?" The boy's fingers fiddled with his kufi in that way that he had when he was discomfited.

"Do you want a story or don't you?" There was one morsel of luscious dessert left stuck to the tray, and Achernar moistened his right forefinger to gather the sapid tidbit. Mira looked at his finger, but even at three she knew her manners and didn't beg. He popped the digit into her mouth and she sucked it, giggling as if the sweetness were contraband and she the daring smuggler.

Almak shrugged, looked at his cousins behind him and said in a voice louder than normal, "Almak."

"Rigel!"

"Mizar!"

"Zubenelgenubi!"

"Zubeneschamali!" The twins, yes, perhaps those choices were unwise.

"Zaniya!"

"Deneb!"

"Mira!" bubbled the toddler bouncing in his lap. She exploded in excited squeals that did not ruffle his sense of serendipity. It was by happy accident that he discovered this means of teaching, so much more effective with a small group than his classroom with its drone of lessons. More effective, and more mantic of his future precious times with his offspring's offspring. Holiday gatherings like today's would be better for this new praxis of employing storytelling to teach. Onto the lesson, old fool. You'd better give them more than a lick and a promise.

"Arabic names, but where is our family from, in the long-ago times?" They knew this, he knew that they did. Anglicized names, well, what can one expect, living where we do now.

"Persia!" All as one, good, though Mira muffled "P'shah" around the fist shoved into her mouth.

"Excellent, my littles. And your names are ... "

"Stars!" Almak's voice was louder than the rest. Dear boy.

"Today we learn of Al Sufi, known as Azophi to some Westerners who have speech impediments." He expected derisive snorts, but the older ones' manners were well-honed, also, and they didn't laugh at his small joke. He reflected that humor was not his forte and set out to establish the zeitgeist of the fourth century Arabic world, or A.D. tenth century in their current country's reckoning. Achernar drew a long breath, settling Mira more firmly into his embrace. She will remember these words after I am gone. She will. "Al Sufi was a Persian astronomer in the court of a mighty Emir. Al Sufi possessed documents from a famous library, one that the West failed to keep safe. He translated and corrected some entries and brought them back to the larger world."

"Weren't these documents from Ptolemy the Greek?"

Almak, you astound me. "Yes, my enlightened one. Ptolemy wrote for the ages and Al Sufi preserved his work, added to it, and published his Book of Fixed Stars to describe the magnitude and even the color of stars. He was our forefather, yours and mine." Or so the legends say. "What he did for the Emir and the Arabs, I, and you all after me, will do for our new country. We will enlighten others to what we bring along to share and we shall preserve what is already here for East and West alike." Achernar encompassed all his grandchildren in his eagle-like gaze. "I expect you not to be fixed stars, but wandering stars, shining wherever your lives take you." He placed Mira onto the tiles and smoothed his dishdasha where she had rumpled it. "End of lecture number sixty-seven in a continuing series." This time they did laugh. "Who wants more dessert?"

THE END