Wrulf VonGlashaus was born in St. Maries, Idaho. He lived in Pueblo, Colorado, for 22 years before taking up residence in Ankara, Turkey, in 2004. He is a composer, as well as a published poet and short fiction writer.

He first learned about Nasriddin Hoja through friends among the Turkish community in Pueblo during the 80’s, when he began creating Nasriddin Hoja stories of his own. He has expanded the compilation to the works contained in this collection.
 

For those unfamiliar with the canon of stories about him, Nariddin Hoja was an enormously famous wise man/fool and all-around funny man, born in Akshehir, Turkey, around the turn of the 13th.-14th. centuries A. D., and who is always shown riding his donkey backwards in pictures of him.

Often, the Hoja (“the Teacher”) is the “butt” of stories portraying him as helping solve other peoples’ problems when he doesn’t know what he is doing. No matter: Nasriddin always has something quick, often witty and sometimes absurdly funny to say under all circumstances, much like the answer he gave in a traditional story, about the wee morning hours when a policeman found him walking the streets. “Why are you wandering around town at 4 o‘clock in the morning, Nasriddin?” the policeman wanted to know, to which the Hoja replied, “If I knew the answer to that, I’d have been home a long time ago!”

Scholars consider the oral tradition of stories concerning Nasriddin Hoja to be the largest body in history of such material about a real-life figure. The exact number is unknown, but there are 1,000’s of them, since the tradition‘s flexibility allows a person to tell traditional stories and variations thereof, to create new ones on the spur of the moment, include anyone desired, and move the tales backward and forward in time.

The VonGlashaus anecdotes can be classified in 3 categories within the general genre : (1) Those created along the lines of traditional stories, (2) those oriented toward Western sensibilities of what constitutes humor, and/or (3) those oriented toward modern times, While there doubtlessly will be those who’ll disallow his works as traditional, there are a number
of things about them which deserve consideration.

First and foremost is that Nasriddin Hoja is a figure to whom people can relate in a wide variety of countries. Moreover, a sense of humor is not precisely the same in all cultures, and there are precedents of Nasriddin Hoja tales in various cultures, with non-Turkish-specific orientations, as relatively slight as the variations might be.

It also is characteristic of traditional folktales in all cultures to undergo transformational adaptations to changes in circumstances and historical periods. Such transformations keep storytelling traditions alive and fresh, and without them, stories pay mere lip-service to a shadow of tradition.

Another aspect of the stories in this collection is that Nasriddin Hoja often functions to point out and poke fun at human short-comings of various types. All of that is very much in line with the
tradition.

Most importantly, Nasriddin Hoja remains the Hoja, and is portrayed in the triple literary role of “everyman/wise man/fool” in this collection. By turn, among other things, he is subtley witty, slyly clever, wise and foolish, as is characteristic of the Turkish-specific tradition, and this compilation of neo-tales is therefore rooted in centuries of that tradition. In other words, these stories can be said to be extensions thereof.

And it is with that in mind that “The Neo-Nasriddin Tales” are offered to the reader.

Özkul Çobanoðlu Ph. D.
Chairman, Department of Turkish Folklore Studies
Hacattepe University, Ankara, Turkey

* * *

”Nasriddin, Newton And The Apple”

One hot summer day, Nasriddin Hoja and Isaac Newton were reclining in the
shade of an apple tree, more than happy to relax until the air cooled.
However, they fell into a mutually hard-headed argument when Newton explained
his theory of gravitation, while Nasriddin obstinately disagreed with him.
“Why, my theory most certainly is correct!” Newton protested, “Do you see that
apple?” and he pointed overhead. “Pretty soon a breeze will come along, shake it
loose from its branch, and it will fall straight to the earth.”
“No way, no way!” Nasriddin insisted. “When the breeze shakes the apple loose
from its branch, it will fly straight up in the air!”
The two men got so lost in their opposing views that they started screaming at one
another at the top of their lungs. Finally, they cooled off enough to decide to wait
and see what transpired.
For three days they sat under the tree and the apple was still dangling serenely from
its branch. On the fourth day, however, a hard wind suddenly came up and blew the
apple straight out of tree in a horizontal direction until it disappeared from sight.
The men sat in silence for a second before Nasriddin looked at Newton and said,
“May Allah ever keep his watchful eye on it, but I must say that was a most
uncooperative piece of fruit!”

* * *

“Winning or Losing”

Nasriddin found a friend melodramatically moaning and sighing while sitting crosslegged
in the plaza in front of the jami (mosque).
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, Nasriddin!” said the friend, “I’m afraid I’m getting old. I know it’s terrible,
though while I’m not sure, I think I’ve even started talking to myself.”
“That’s alright,” the Hoja cheerfully replied, “Hey, it’s even alright if you want to
argue with yourself, unless you can’t tell if you’re winning or losing !”

* * *

“Nasriddin And Stupid Hearts”

The man was tired of his bad luck in romance and finally came to Nasriddin Hoja
seeking advice.
“I am continually falling in love with only the most beautiful women,” he sighed
mournfully, “But there is always a great difference in social status or age, the
women aren’t interested in me, are already engaged to other men or their parents
aren’t willing for them to marry me. Despite that, I continue falling in love with
such women, anyway. Is there any hope for my poor, stupid heart?”
“Yes, there is!’ the Hoja replied without hesitation, “Try falling in love with an ugly
woman!”

* * *

“Argument in The Forest”

One day, a husband obviously in trouble, went to Nasriddin’s house seeking help.
“I have an interesting question for you, Nasriddin,” he said.
“What’s that?” Nasriddin wanted to know.
“If a man has an argument in the forest with no women around, does he win?”
“Ah, yes!” the Hoja replied with a sly look on his face, giving his wife a side-long
glance, then lowering his voice, “That IS an interesting question. And the obvious
answer is, just don’t ask the women!”

* * *

“Allah And The Mirror”

“By Allah, you’re uglier everytime I look into your face, Nasriddin,” a man said,
while passing the Hoja on the street, one day.
“Just thank Allah that I’m not a mirror, or you’d look even uglier,” Nasriddin Hoja
said without batting an eyelash.
A second or so later, he tripped over an uneven place in the pavement, fell and cut
his face.
Angry and in pain, he looked back and yelled: “Hey, man, maybe you should thank
Allah again! You’re very lucky! Allah just cracked the mirror!”

* * *

“The Hoja Exercises Critical Judgment”

One summer day, Nasriddin Hoja went hunting with a friend throughout a long,
exhausting day with no success. Darkness was approaching when they headed
homeward, suddenly realizing they were lost.
“Oh, Nasriddin, this is bad! What are we going to do?” said the Hoja’s friend in
fear.
“All is not lost,” Nasriddin calmly said, removing a map from his hunting pack.
After carefully looking at it, however, the men realized that the map was old,
unreadable and completely useless in showing them the way home. They were as
lost as ever.
The friend became even more frightened.
“This is terrible, a terrible situation!” he said, “What do we do, now?”
“Clearly, we must criticize our paper guide,” the Hoja responded, raising his bow
and arrow, and his friend watched in speechless astonishment as Nasriddin shot the
map: “There, now! What a relief ! We’ll never get lost again!”

* * *

“Crazy World, Ain’t It?”

The Hoja had a mind of keen curiosity, which he’d use – at the right time. If in the
right mood, he even would have tried flying a kite in a tornado – just to find out
what that was like, of course.
He finally died and went to be with Allah, though it was only a matter of time
before he passed into his first reincarnation, as – what else? – but himself.
At one point in his reincarnation, he vacationed in New York City. Day after day, he
walked the streets taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds. He found the
Americans to be a bit crazy, but fascinating.
Upon his return to Anatolia (Turkey), Nasrriddin tried everything he could think of
to feel American – just to find out what that would be like, of course.
He wore a tie, a three-piece business suit and discussed the stock market like a Wall
Street broker; talked with an affected Continental accent like an Off-Broadway
actor, and wore cowboy boots, a pair of six-shooters and a ten-gallon hat like a
Texas cowboy he’d seen swaggering down the street in Manhattan. But nothing
worked; he just didn’t feel American.
However, the effort put the Hoja in a silly mood, one day, when he met a man on
the street.
“Ya’ don’t happen ta’ have a quarter on ya’, do ya’?” he asked, putting his best
American “street” twist on his Turkish.
“Why, yes, I think I do,” replied the man, reaching in his pocket and handing one to
Nasriddin.
The Hoja inspected the coin as he turned it over in his hand, then returned it: “Bet
ya’ really like quarters, don’t ya’?”
“Why, yes, I suppose I do,” the man admitted.
“Well, just don’t say that nobody’s ever given you anything,” Nasriddin replied.
“Y-y-yeah, b-b-but t-t-that was my money!” the man spluttered in astonishment.
“Yeah-h-h, crazy world, ain’t it?” Nasriddin said, suddenly feeling quite American
as he left the man speechless and continued walking down the street!

* * *

“Great Dude, No Address!”

Some American street talk was starting to creep into Nasriddin Hoja’s language by
the time he passed a Salvation Army in New York City.
But he didn’t understand why a woman stormed on down the street in a funk of
righteous indignation after she came out of the Salvation Army and asked, “Do you
know Jesus?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah – great dude,” Nasriddin said, “But I haven’t seen him in a long
time. I think maybe he moved and didn’t leave a change of address. Too bad,
babe!”

* * *

“Saving Money”

One day, the Hoja was holding onto his walkman CD player so tightly that a friend
could hardly pry it out of his hands when he asked to listen to the music Nasriddin
was playing.
“Why are you holding onto your player so tight?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, I need to save money and was just making sure I squeezed all the
power out of the batteries,” Nasriddin said.

* * *

“A Slingshot of Truth”

Nasriddin had begun understanding the role of money in America before he made
friends with a New Yorker who explained the American system of justice.
“Oh, come on, now!” the Hoja exclaimed, “Justice couldn’t be blind or it wouldn’t
be able to see the money coming its way!”
But no one could’ve predicted what would happen when the friend took Nasriddin
to meet Dolly Parton at her hotel when she was in town for a concert.
Nasriddin walked up to her, viewed her famously large breasts and said, “Oh sista’,
put one of those things in a sling and you could kill a lot more than Goliath!”

* * *
“Don’t Even Ask!”

Nasridden drew some insightful parallels and noted some interesting differences
between the good, old days of his first life and the good, new days of his first
reincarnation after he came back to Turkey from his vacation in New York City.
He was walking down the street, one day, when a taxi pulled up beside him and
honked.
“The donkeys don’t look at all like they used to, but by Allah, they sure sound the
same!” he observed.
“The donkey drivers, now? – don’t even ask!

* * *

“Nasriddin Hoja And Einstein”

Perhaps it was due to all the caffeine in the tea they’d drunk at a brush chai (tea)
house, one day. Nevertheless, Nasriddin Hoja and Einstein began engaging in
animated conversation as they came out and headed toward home on their donkeys.
For some time, both men had been wanting to buy photon-rockets.
But they were uncertain about the best make and model to buy, though Einstein
thought that the Ford 1,000 LTD was good one, since it had 1,000 digital recordings
of every music style known to mankind, a 5,000-channel television with remote
control, and air conditioning that was functional in the most sweltering portions of
space.
Nasriddin favored the Honda 186,000 Expo because, not only did it have 3,000
digital recordings, a 7,000-channel remote-control television, functional air
conditioning and toilets that actually worked, but laser communication capabilities
that could reach every CD player, radio, TV, computer and cellphone on earth that
was tied-in to the same system.
Now, Einstein had found refuge from Hitler in the United States, feeling grateful
and mighty doggone proud of the Americans for their skillful dalliance with
technology. And he was thoroughly miffed that the Hoja would even consider
buying un-American.
“Yeah, but those Japs are so much smarter than the Americans,” Nasriddin
countered in self-defense.
That only added fuel to the fire, and the men started arguing so heatedly they
almost came to blows.
About then, Jimmy Carter came ambling along on his donkey.
“You guys sound worse than two cats hanging from a clothesline by their tails tied
together,” he drawled, climbing down to give his animal a rest. “What are the two of
you squabbling about, anyway?”
Though Nasriddin Hoja and Einstein were still in the heat of friction between one
another, they were humble enough to confess a need for a clear resolution to their
difference of opinion.
“Well, I’d hurry up about it if I were you, because it looks like it’s fixin’ to rain,”
Jimmy advised, feeding a handful of peanuts to, jumping on and kicking his donkey
in the ribs before the beast could chew his food.
Being towering figures of wisdom – or more precisely, not wanting to get wet,
Nasriddin and Einstein calmed down and decided that each should purchase the
photon-rocket of his choice. The model that first reached the speed of light would
be declared superior.
Consequently, Nasriddin went to the local dealership and got a whale of a bargain
on a used Honda 186,000 Expo in good condition. He climbed in, and tried sitting
backwards until he realized that the seats were designed for sitting forward. So, he
turned around, cranked the ignition over, stomped the photon-pedal to the metal
and went zooming off into space.
Einstein, too, went to the Ford dealership and got a decent price on a brand-new
Ford 1,000 LTD.
But no matter how much he fiddled with the photon-choke and pumped the
photon-pedal, the junker wouldn’t muddle along at much more than 66,600 miles
per hour.
Suddenly, he looked up and saw the entire horizon of the universe filled with the
body of Nasriddin Hoja.
Concerned, he radioed his friend: “You haven’t started gaining weight again, have
you, Nasriddin?”
“You little scamp!” the Hoja chuckled, “I’ve attained the speed of light and
achieved infinite mass!”
Nothing but an embarrassed gurgle came back from Einstein over the airwaves.
“I really hate to repeat myself,” Nasriddin went on, “But what did I tell you about
them Japs?”

* * *

“The Same Size”

There was a time while attending college as a young man early in his first
reincarnation, that Nasriddin kept hearing a lot of psycho-babble about “growing
as a person.”
He wasn’t sure what all of that meant, but found it intriguing.
One weekend, he went home for a visit.
“How are things going in college?” asked a friend.
“Very well, especially since I’m growing as a person,” the Hoja replied, happening
to think of that phrase.
“What the hell does that mean?” his friend enquired.
Nasriddin thought for a second: “Not a hell of a lot since my sexual equipment is
the same size it always was!”

* * *

“Donkey Ride”

Some of his friends saw Nasriddin Hoja making the motions of riding an animal
while sitting backwards on a new computer at the bazaar.
“Why are you sitting on a computer, Nasriddin?” they asked.
“Oh, my friends!” the Hoja sighed, “Because my last donkey is getting old and
useless, I came to the market to buy another one. And I did, successfully. But it’d
seem this is my last ride. You see, the merchant said my little donkey is adorable
enough that I’d want to hold it in my lap. And I have a terrible feeling that instead
of it carrying me, I’ll be carrying it for the rest of its pathetic, unnatural life, the
dumb ass!”

* * *

“The Hoja And Capitalism”

There was a period when the reincarnated Nasriddin was a schoolteacher in a
village a few miles outside Akshehir.
One morning, eight of his pupils came to school talking excitedly about capitalism.
They’d recently heard of it and thought that it must be a mighty great and grand
thing.
“Hoja, will you teach us about capitalism?” they asked.
“That I will,” Nasriddin replied.
Nonetheless, that day, two days, a week, two and three weeks passed and he still
hadn’t said a word on the subject.
In exasperation, the children finally enquired, “When will you teach us about
capitalism, Hoja?”
The Hoja thought for moment, then said, “When a good opportunity arises, I will
do so.”
That Saturday, the same students heard that Nasriddin was going into Akshehir and
went to his house.
“Will you do us a favor while you are in Akshehir, Hoja?” they said.
“What’s the favor?”
“Will you buy us a rubber ball?” they asked.
“Of course. Do you have any money?”
They gave him ten cents apiece, eighty cents in all. The Hoja jumped on his animal
and was off. Sure enough, when the village heard the braying of his homewardreturning
donkey, Nasriddin had a new rubber ball with him.
“Now, children,” he said as they gathered eagerly around, “I’ll teach you about
capitalism.”
He took a sharp knife out of his pocket, cut the ball into eight pieces of equal size
and gave one piece to each of his pupils.
“Hoja, why have you done this to our ball?” they exclaimed in astonishment.
“I believe you gave me ten cents apiece, eighty cents in all?”
“Yes,” the children reluctantly agreed.
“And I gave each one of you a piece of the ball equal in size to all the others, did I
not?” the Hoja went on.
“Y-y-es-s,” the pupils sorrowfully admitted.
“Hey, kids!” the Hoja exclaimed, “In capitalism, you get what you paid for!”

* * *

“Well-Insured”

Nasridden was discussing American culture with some friends after he returned to
Turkey from his vacation in New York City.
“Do the Americans have any traditional magic words they use to keep evil away
from their children as we Turks do?” one friend asked.
“Oh, no, no, they just take insurance out on ‘em!” the Hoja replied with a
mischievous smile.

* * *

“Bring Me My Donkey!”

One time, the Emperor Timur (Tamerlane) was silly enough to command
Nasriddin Hoja to demonstrate that his donkey could read, giving the Hoja a book
of very, very bad poetry – which he was stupid enough to like – and which he
insisted the donkey should read: “Be prepared to show me what your animal can do
at nine tomorrow morning, Nasriddin. Now, be off with you,” and the Emperor
dismissed the Hoja.
Nasriddin took the book and repaired to the courtyard to mount his donkey then
taking the Hoja homeward.
In the first place, his face was red with embarrassment over Timur’s taste in lowquality
literature – and much worse, he needed to think of a way to teach his
donkey reading skills by nine o’clock the next morning, or it could be off with his
head.
He’d hardly arrived at home when he had a idea. He put spots of wet sugar on the
bottom right-hand corner of each page of the book and let them dry.
Precisely at nine o’clock the next morning, he presented himself and his donkey
before Timur.
“Are you ready to prove that your donkey can read?” asked the emperor.
“Yes, my lord,” Nasriddin replied.
“Then, proceed, by all means.”
The Hoja held the book of bad poetry very close to his donkey’s nose.
Naturally, the animal smelled the spots of sugar, and his tongue came flickering out
to lick them. The pages flew by, and within seconds the book was ‘finished.’
“Boy, that was fast!” Timur observed.
“Yes, yes, it was, my lord,” Nasriddin said.
All of a sudden, the donkey started loudly braying.
“What is that beast making all the racket about?” Timur wanted to know.
The Hoja thought for a second, then respectfully replied, “He is critiquing the
book, my lord.”
Many years later, Nasriddin passed to the other side.
Many centuries after that, Karl Marx died, and to his surprise, found himself in
heaven with Nasriddin Hoja.
Of course, Marx had a serious, philosophical mind, and Nasriddin a quick-witted
sense of humor. Still, the two men got along very well. Karl Marx told Nasriddin
about writing “Das Capital”, and the Hoja told Marx about teaching his donkey to
read, with the animal critiquing an emperor’s choice of bad literature.
The men got a good laugh out of that.
Meanwhile, Allah had nothing to do, mostly because of the negotiations between
Reagan and Gorbachev. There was absolutely no trouble in the world that the
archangels Michael and Gabriel couldn’t handle on their own.
As a result, Allah became bored and started twiddling his thumbs.
Suddenly, it occurred to him: “You know, it might be fun to resurrect Marx in the
flesh so that he can see what he thinks of the socialist societies remaining on
earth”, and with the thought came the deed.
Marx found himself wandering from one socialist country to another, becoming
more and more peeved because his theories had been very badly misused.
Eventually, he arrived at the Kremlin for a chat with Gorbachev.
Meanwhile, a soldier stood by, ready to serve them food and drinks.
“What do you think of socialism in Russia, today?” Gorby asked, of course
meaning ‘glasnost’ which he’d initiated with Reagan’s encouragement.
That really put Marx in a dark mood, since he viewed ‘glasnost’ as the worst insult
of all to his ideas. But he couldn’t think what to say, until he happened to recall how
the Hoja’s donkey had once critiqued a book of bad poetry.
He looked at the soldier and said, “Bring me my donkey.”
The soldier looked puzzled, then grinned and left the room. He soon returned,
leading Ronald Reagan by the hand! – and Marx was finally able to smile because
he knew that somewhere in heaven, Nasriddin Hoja was smiling, too!

* * *

“Intimate”

During his 1st. reincarnation, a friend from another country asked Nasriddin why
Turkish drivers are so noisy with their car horns.
“It’s a national trademark. The Turks are highly sexed – in the extreme – so much so
they often feel compelled to have sexual relations with their horns, and their
partners are always crying for joy!” the Hoja replied with a sly smile.
Sometime later, he was asked why the Turks are always minding everybody else’s
business.
“Because that’s the only mind they have!” he said.

* * *

“With People Like These”

There was a man in Akshehir with no wife, family or friends. Not even the urchins
at the market would talk to him.
He’d finally had more than he could take, went to Nasriddin’s house and detailed
the situation for the Hoja.
“Yes, I see, that is a terrible problem,” said Nasriddin Hoja when the man was
finished, “but I believe I have a solution.”
“What’s that?” the man asked.
“You have a mind. Use it. You must think,” the Hoja told him.
The man didn’t find that to be particularly solid advice, but went home determined
to follow it anyway.
After three days of consideration, it suddenly came to him: “People admire skill.
Maybe they’ll respect me and become my friends if I learn to walk with an apple
balanced on my head.”
He spent the next three days walking around his house with that particular fruit on
his head.
Once he felt he’d acquired the needed skills, he left his house for a stroll to the
market with a shiny new apple perched on his cranium. It wasn’t long until people
started pointing and entertaining themselves by laughing at him. His head was
shaking with so much anger by the time he reached the market that the apple
forthrightly fell into a watering trough.
The man still was in a mighty stew when he returned to Nasriddin’s house to vent
himself: “That was the most ridiculous, awful piece of advice you’ve ever handed
out, Nasriddin!” he shouted.
“Still, you must think. Think, think,” the Hoja said.
Exasperated, the man went home for several more days of thought. At last, he said
to himself, “People respect piety. Maybe they will start talking to me if I act very
religious.”
He went out into the street for a public walk, and with every five steps, bowed three
times toward the four corners of the earth with exaggerated gestures of piety.
More quickly than before, people started pointing and laughing at him even more
uproariously.
The man was in a towering rage when he made a second trip to berate the Hoja.
This time, Nasriddin simply pointed at his head.
Desperate, the man returned home, finally arriving at the conclusion that people
love beauty: “Perhaps they will admire the beauty of my manly body and start
talking to me if I walk out and about in the nude.”
Thrilled by the prospect, he removed his clothes and stepped into the street.
Within seconds, people were fully indulging themselves with mirth while children
rained stones down on his head and shoulders.
Battered and bruised, he managed to make his way to Nasriddin’s house and groan
out the latest turn in his woes.
“Hey,” exclaimed the Hoja, “with people like these, who needs friends!”

* * *

“Just Marry One!”

The man was faced with an unusual dilemma in his love-life and asked Nasriddin
Hoja’s help in resolving it.
“I’m in love with three very beautiful women, and I can marry any of them, though
they’re all so beautiful I can’t make up my mind as to which should be my wife,” he
said.
“Ah-hem, a very interesting but rather difficult problem to solve, indeed,” the Hoja
observed. “But do you love one of them more than the others?”
“Oh, Nasriddin, how could you ask such a thing?” the man protested, “Of course I
love all of them equally!”
“I see,” the Hoja replied, pausing a moment for thought. “However, bring all three
women to my house tomorrow morning and I’ll help you.”
The man arrived right on time with the women.
Nasriddin had him send one of them into the house. He was very impressed with
her loveliness.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, taking a cross-legged position on the floor a few feet
in front of her.
He just sat, not saying a word.
In a few minutes, the woman stood, began walking through every room of the
house and inspecting all of the Hoja’s belongings in a very disrespectful manner.
In a few minutes, Nasriddin said, “You are dismissed,” and asked the man to send
the second women into him.
He was amazed to see that she was even more beautiful than the first.
Again, he followed the same routine of silence.
It wasn’t long at all before the second woman took a hairbrush and mirror out of
her handbag. Every hair on her head was perfectly in place, yet she started primping
herself in a flaunting and self-absorbed manner, as though Nasriddin didn’t even
exist. He soon dismissed her, as well.
He could hardly believe that, if anything, the third women was more ravishing than
the first two.
Within only a few minutes of his silence, however, she began rocking back and
forth, playing with her toes and singing in an irritating, high-pitched voice.
Even more quickly, the Hoja dismissed her and went outside to render his decision.
“Which one is it, which one is it?” the man cried, rushing up to the Hoja.
Nasriddin gave the three beauties a lengthy, final look of longing and sighed, “Oh,
you stupid man! Just marry one of them! She’ll be more than enough to drive you
crazy!”

* * *

“Empty Brain, Full Mouth”

The Hoja was eating at a restaurant at the same time as an impolite, over-bearing
traveler from unknown parts. The man kept talking very loudly, but couldn’t be
understood because his mouth was always full. The other customers were becoming
quite appalled over his rude behavior by the traveler suddenly let out a thunderous
belch that resounded to every corner of theestablishment.
In a second or two, Nasriddin stood, walked over to the man’s table and said, “It
certainly is gratifying to meet someone so fluent in his native language.”
Sensing that he’d been criticized, the man cleared his mouth enough to mutter,
“You couldn’t do any better, now could you?”
“No – no, I confess that I couldn’t,” the Hoja continued, “especially not with a
brain emptier than your mouth!”

* * *

“Idiot”

There was a time when Nasriddin couldn’t decide if a business deal had fallen
through because of foolish mistakes he’d made or details of the situation beyond
his control.
He was walking through the market a short time later when he heard a vender
yelling something that sounded like, “The idiot, the idiot, the idiot!”
“Could it be that I’m an idiot?” the Hoja asked himself, then raised his eyes
heavenward with an astounded look of higher awareness and said, “Allah, Allah,
you loveable fool, you!”

* * *

“The Fault of All”

One day, Nasriddin and a friend were strolling through the market when a man was
walking right behind the Hoja . Suddenly, the man elbowed Nasriddin aside so that
he could scurry past him.
“Nasriddin, why did you let him do that to you?” the friend asked.
“Hey, don’t blame him,” Nasriddin said. “It’s not his fault that all Turks are never
in a hurry until somebody gets in front of them!”

* * *

“A Tale of Fruit”

No one in Akshehir knew much about the man who moved to town, for a long time, not even his name. All they knew for sure was that he was immensely wealthy.
He built a large, expensively showy mansion, bought big vegetable and fruitgrowing
fields outside the city, and employed a large number of workers. But he
didn’t know a single one of them in person or by name – much less by sight –
because they’d been hired in an impersonal fashion by the man’s accountant.
Despite the man’s wealth, though, his workers’ living conditions were bad and their
wages so low they could barely feed themselves and their families – in fact, to the
point that they sometimes became so faint with hunger they could hardly stumble
through their long days of exhausting labor.
One of them finally had enough. Fearing his employer’s wrath if discovered, the
worker went to Nasriddin’s house after dark and laid the sorrowful situation out for
the Hoja.
Now, Nasriddin had known poverty and hunger, particularly as a young man while
studying law at Akshehir University. And, quite frankly, the wealthy man’s
exploitation of labor made him a little crazy.
“Come!” he said, with a wild look in his eyes.
Bewildered, the worker followed him out into one of his employer’s fields.
“Eat!” said the Hoja, pointing at a big, juicy fig ready for harvest.
About then, the rich man happened along during a moonlight stroll to view the
prime state of his fields and congratulate himself upon his success and ill-gotten
wealth.
“Ho, who goes there?” he gruffly called out.
Nasriddin paused in eating long enough to casually answer, “Oh, just two of your
employees.”
“You don’t look like two of my employees to me,” the man responded, becoming
sulky with displeasure.
“Now just wait a twitch of camel’s whisker!” Nasriddin said, licking fig juice off his
fingers. “Do you know all your employees by name?”
“Uh-h, no,” the man reluctantly responded.
“Alright, then, do you require them to wear uniforms to identify them?”
“N-n-o-o,” the man said.
“Well, how do you know we aren’t your employees? You look like a man to me, but
what gives me the right to decide you’re human?” Nasriddin asked.
The man was about to reply when the Hoja went on:
“When you can prove you are human, we will prove that we are two of your
employees.”
Bettered at his own game, embarrassed and not knowing what to say, the wealthy
man turned to leave, while Nasriddin and the man’s worker had a fine time relishing
a sumptuous meal!

* * *

“Big Dog”

There was a man in Akshehir who was thoroughly unhappy with his marriage. And
while it must be said that he was discreet about it, he went so far in his complaining
as to scandalously mention women – some of them married – whom, he insisted,
would make better wives than his.
The Hoja heard about that, finally decided to set the man straight, and went to his
house.
“You have a garden in terms of your marriage, don’t you?” he asked.
“Wel-l, yes, I suppose so, though mine is pretty weedy,” the husband said.
“Forget the weeds and listen to some
advice,”
Nasridddin went on.
“Be glad you even have a garden:
Cultivate your garden: Enjoy cultivating your garden, and stop looking over the
fence into somebody else’s, or you might find a big dog with a mouth open and full
of sharp teeth just waiting to make friends with your face!” – and with that, the
Hoja turned on his heel and was gone!

* * *

“Secret”

One afternoon, the Hoja was visiting his friend Ahmed’s carpet booth in the market
at two o’clock, when the latter insisted that pre-arrangements had been made for his
friend Mustafa to come by to purchase a new carpet. However, one, two and three
hours went by and there was neither hide nor hair of Mustafa in sight. Ahmed was
starting to get colorfully vocal about the situation when Nasriddin asked, “Are you
absolutely sure Mustafa was supposed to meet you at two?”
“Well-l, umh-h, come to think of it, er-r – uh-h, maybe,” Ahmed said.
“Oh, my friend!” the Hoja exclaimed, “You really mustn’t get so excited, for even
the secret name of Allah is*maybe!”
(in Turkish: “böyle böyle”)

* * *

“Musical”

One night, Nasriddin and a friend went to listen to a chai (tea) house musician
who’d been overrated by the Hoja’s listening companion.
However, the musician had a sore throat, only performing a long series of
instrumental pieces on his lute – and Nasriddin obviously had a different view of
the matter when his friend finally said, “The musician’s quite good, isn’t he,
Nasriddin?”
“Yes, quite” the Hoja replied, “especially the lyrical movements of his hands away
from his instrument – as often as possible, pray Allah!”

* * *

“Damn Coffee!”

There was a period in his young manhood when Nasriddin had an obssession with
exploring the unusual and drinking large amounts of coffee sometimes not letting
him sleep.
One day, some friends found him lying next to the street with his eyes screwed
tightly shut, and not moving a muscle.
“What are you doing, Nasriddin?” they asked.
Not a single whisker of the Hoja’s twitched in response.
Concerned, his friends decided to keep an eye on him.
A few hours later, Nasriddin suddenly opened his eyes and sat up.
“Why were you lying next to the street like that?” his friends wanted to know.
“Thank Allah I’ve come to realize that death is best done on an empty stomach,”
Nasriddin said. “You see, I’ve heard that dying is like falling asleep and decided to
find out, but couldn’t fall a-dead – though I would’ve if it hadn’t been for breakfast!
… damned coffee!”

* * *

“The Impossible”

One day, in the market, Nasriddin heard a pseudo-intellectual haranguing a crowd
of people: “Impossible is nothing!” he dramatically declared.
The next day, the pseudo-intellectual saw Nasriddin sitting next to the street.
“Oh, Nariddin, can’t you find a better way to occupy yourself ?” he exclaimed.
“You’re just sitting there doing nothing!”
“Yes, indeed, I am,” the Hoja calmly replied, “doing the impossible!”

* * *

“In Reverse”

One day, some friends saw the Hoja walking backward down the street, wanting to
know why.
“Well, now, you know I have trouble remembering – just like when I was trying to
master the alphabet as a kid, and a wise friend told me it’d help me learn it forwards
if I learned it backwards. Now, I can’t remember the way home and thought it
might help if I tried it backwards, too!” the Hoja said, as he continued on his way in
reverse.

* * *

“Theological Studies”

At one point in his life, it dawned upon the Hoja that there wasn’t a universal belief
about God. He found that puzzling and felt that the matter needed exhaustive study.
So it was that he spent a long time on the road, traveling to many countries and
talking to hundreds of people of all religions and all colors thereof. The longer he
talked the more amazed he was to realize that God didn’t live with any particular
religion or set of individual beliefs.
He was feeling kind of down when he ended his travels, though he was back to his
old self by the time he arrived home.
“What did you find out about God?” asked a friend.
“Poor guy!” the Hoja sighed, with an impish smile, “I looked and looked but
couldn’t find his address, though I have a sneaking suspicion he hasn’t the slightest
idea where he lives, may Allah help himself !”

* * *

“Too Good To Die!”

The pompous, self-absorbed and extremely wealthy Osman became incensed about
what he thought was an overly severe judgment rendered by the Hoja for a relatively
minor offense when Nasriddin was serving as judge.
“I’ll kill you, Nasriddin!” he muttered on his way out of court.
The Hoja’s assistants urged him to have Osman arrested because of the threat.
“No, leave him be,” Nasriddin said, “Someday, his bad attitude and behavior
themselves will execute judgment upon him.”
While Osman never tired to carry them out, he occasionally made ominous remarks
about the Hoja’s life when the two men met on the street thereafter.
Some months later, Osman gave a lavish garden party for everyone in Akshehir, rich
and poor alike.
The garden was already full and – sitting with the poor folk on their side of it –
Nasriddin saw a friend when he arrived a few minutes late. He’d just decided to
chat with his acquaintance when he saw Osman strutting up and down among,
flaunting his fine, expensive clothes in front of, and embarrassing the poor people
by boasting about his wealth.
“No, I don’t think I want to die,” Nasriddin said to himself, avoiding Osman by
taking the only place left, with the wealthy people on their side of the garden.
After helping himself to hefty portions of the main courses, Nasriddin had just
started delighting his tastebuds with dessert when a shadow fell on him and he
looked up to see his enemy standing over him.
“So, I see you’re too good to eat with the poor folk, Nasriddin,” Osman said with a
condescending smirk.
“I may as well be completely honest since I’m probably about to die anyway,”
Nasriddin thought, then said, “Yes, indeed, quite too good to embarrass the poor
folk by showing off my fine clothes like a strutting peacock and bragging about
how filthy rich I am – and, come to think of it, I’m too good to die, too!” the Hoja
hastened to add.
Chagrined under Nasriddin’s rebuke, Osman walked away in silence – and it was
said throughout Akshehir that he never threatened the life of the Hoja again!

* * *

“A Laughing Matter”

The Hoja was about to leave for home after a difficult day of selling no pots at the
bazaar when a friend stopped by his booth and started running on about the small
way in which another acquaintance had done him wrong.
However, the man fancied himself a brilliant intellectual, capable of analyzing the
situation from every possible angle. Meanwhile, Nasriddin became more and more
bored and exasperated as the man went on and on, finally ending with a sigh: “I feel
there’s something absurdly funny about this whole affair if I could only see it.”
“Ahem, yes,” the Hoja replied, “But you must wait at least two years before you
start laughing. Meanwhile, you can cry if you like. I say, may I join you?”

* * *

“Perfume of Heaven”

Some friends met Nasriddin wandering around with a dazed look of bliss on his
face.
“What are you doing?” they enquired.
“Looking for Allah,” he said in a far-away tone of voice.
“What makes you think Allah wants to be anywhere near you? You smell like you
haven’t taken a bath for a week,” one friend observed.
“Oh-h – well, I sometimes do that, because the smell of not bathing for a day or two
tells me I’m still here,” Nasriddin said. “But now I’m really happy and thinking
Allah must be somewhere near around, because this time I smell more dead than
alive,” and he turned to continue wandering: “Now if I can only find Allah and I’ll
never have to take a bath again!”

* * *

“No Hurry”

One day, Nasriddin slowly crossed the square wearing a new suit while watched by
a small group of bitter old men drinking chai at a table outside a chai house.
They felt that life had dealt them a rough hand, that they’d had to work harder than
anyone else just to survive and were quite rankled that the Hoja should prosper
seemingly at such leisure.
Some days later, they saw him unhurriedly cross the square in the new suit and with
a frisky, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed young donkey pulling his cart. That made the
old men even angrier.
They’d had all they could take about a week after that when they saw Nasriddin
ambling along as leisurely as ever in a new suit, with a new donkey – and a new cart
piled high with luscious, ripe fruit.
“Come here, Nasriddin,” one of them called out.
“Yes, what is it?” the Hoja enquired, as he approached the table.
“Two and a half weeks or so ago, my friends and I saw you walking across the
square in a new suit. A few days later, you had a new suit and a new donkey. Today,
it’s a new suit, a new donkey and new cart filled with delicious-looking fruit. How is
it that you live so well, yet are never in a hurry?” the man asked, not keeping the
irritation out of his voice.
“Ah, my friends,” the Hoja said, “Life is short and I am far too busy to be in a
hurry… besides, one of my uncles sells suits, another one is a cart-maker, and the
third uncle is a fruit-grower and donkey-dealer!”, with Nasriddin then turning and leaving the
embittered cronies speechlessly confounded as he went back to his cart, donkey and
the “leisurely” busy good life!

* * *

“So Rough About It!”

At a chai house, one day, Nasriddin got into a debate about Islam with a hardcore
infidel. Beyond the sincerity of his beliefs, however, Nasriddin was a much better
debater than the infidel, who could do nothing but descend to bald-faced argument
by spluttering empty rhetoric. He became more and more embarrassed, red-faced
and irritated the longer he argued, finally becoming so angry that he stormed out of
the restaurant.
A couple of days later, Nasriddin was sitting at the same chai house when the
infidel came in. He walked up to Nasriddin’s table, abruptly slapped the Hoja
across the face, and in a bitterly sarcastic tone said, “There, I feel better already, in
fact, so much better I might even convert to Islam!” then turned and stalked out the
door.
Nasriddin sat rubbing his cheek in silence for a few seconds, then raised his eyes
heavenward and murmured, “My dear, sweet Allah, I want to thank you for
honoring me with the privilege of defending your faith. But did you have to be so
rough about it, by Allah?”

* * *

“A Little Poison”

Nasriddin didn’t have it easy while studying law at Akshehir University as a young
man, since he received a barely sufficient student allowance from the government.
Nonetheless, he always paid full rent a month in advance, often leaving him hardly
enough money for food until he received the next installment of his allowance.
Despite his care about rent payment, his little, old widow landlady was never
satisfied. She kept walking into his quarters unannounced and without even
knocking, sticking her busy-body nose into his general affairs and harassing him in
a scratchy voice to pay rent even further in advance. She was such a ceaseless
nuisance that Nasriddin sometimes thought she’d be the death of him.
One evening when a friend dropped by, he’d just started preparing soup for supper
when she made another one of her unwanted and unwarranted visits.
“What are you making, Nasriddin?” she asked.
“Soup,” the Hoja replied. “I have water, salt and three scrawny potatoes, but no
sugar, tomatoes, onions, beans or spices. Do you happen to have a little poison I
could throw in?”
For the first time, the landlady realized what an aggravation she was. Embarrassed,
she scurried out the door.
It wasn’t terribly long, though, before she returned with two platters heaped with
delicious, steaming-hot food for Nasriddin and his friend to enjoy – and never
bothered the Hoja again!

* * *

“Used Sandals And Flies”

There was a period when a group of self-important pseudo-philosophers didn’t like
the Hoja so much. They kept finding fault with him in every way possible, on the
one hand, and on the other, trying to trick him by bugging him with foolish
questions, like “where is the center of the earth?” – at a time when people believed
that the earth was flat, of course.
For a long time, Nasriddin ignored them, finally deciding one day, that it was time
to get them off his back.
“The center of the earth is wherever you are,” he told them, with a sly grin.
The men were too ignorant to realize that meant there simultaneously was more
than one center of the earth, and so flattered that they stopped criticizing the Hoja
and began praising his wisdom to the highest heavens. In fact, a few of them even
started selling their used sandals as souvenirs from the center of the earth –
whereupon the Hoja observed, “Well, maybe the smell of the used sandals will at
least keep the flies away from the poor, unsuspecting customers, pray Allah!”

* * *

“Flexible”

One day, Nasriddin ate at a restaurant with some friends from another bigger city
where the customs were a bit different than in Akshehir.
The friends were surprised and perturbed when Nasriddin bowed to the waiter on
their way out.
“Why did you do that, Nasriddin? He’s just a waiter,” they said.
“Yes, but he is human. Besides, I’d be so burdened that I wouldn’t have the strength
left to bow to anyone whether I was master or slave, and I’m neither,” the Hoja said,
bowing to his friends, then adding: “Be happy and grateful for as long as you’re
flexible enough to bend!”

* * *

“The Stormy Firmament”

Nasriddin was familiar with the Jewish Bible, having read a Turkish translation of
it.
One day, he made a small mistake that, for some reason, sent his wife into a
screaming rage that went on and on, until the people living around them began
wondering what was wrong. Nasriddin was astounded by the scope of her wrath.
“What was all the noise about?” a neighbor asked an hour or so later.
“Well, I can’t remember if it was the 1st. or 2nd. day. But whichever it was, instead
of the starry firmament, I think God created the stormy firmament otherwise
known as my wife,” the Hoja replied, “But what I can’t figure out is how he
managed to create the entire universe in only 6 days. My wife alone would’ve taken
at least seven!”

* * *

“Wrong Way Hoja”

“You can’t see the road, so why do you ride your donkey the wrong way?” a friend
once asked Nasriddin.
Nasriddin replied, “Why not? – since life is a blind road and happiness an assbackwards
affair, anyway, while my donkey* certainly understands nothing of the
difference! Does that answer your question?” and the Hoja continued down the road
on his donkey, as much the wrong way as ever!
* (ass)

* * *

“Funny Bone”
(tribute to a cultural legend)