Reflections

What do you see in ink?

I mean that literally, dear readers. What do you see when you gaze into a bottle or a pool of ink?

In 'The Mirror of Ink', one of the tales in Jorge Luis Borges' A Universal History of Infamy, it is told that Yakub the Afflicted, a tyrannical governor of the Sudan in the mid-nineteenth century, was shown miraculous visions by a sorcerer named Abderramen al-Masmudi. More specifically, those visions appeared in a pool of ink poured into Yakub's right palm, which had first been adorned with 'a magic square'. Initially, what Yakub sees is fairly untroubling: horses run through green fields, for instance. But soon a mysterious figure known as the Masked One begins to haunt the visions. Because his face is hidden behind a veil, his precise identity remains unknown.

On the fourteenth day of the moon of Barmajat, however, something rather dramatic happens. As usual, Abderramen pours the ink into Yakub's palm. Yakub asks the sorcerer to show him 'a just and irrevocable punishment'. In the ink, a condemned man is brought forward for execution. It is the Masked One. The tyrant demands that the veil be removed, and 'the horrified eyes of Yakub at last saw the visage -- which was his own face'. He watches as, in the scene played out in the pool of ink, the sword falls upon his own neck. At this very moment, reports the narrator, the real Yakub 'moaned and cried out in a voice that inspired no pity in me, and fell to the floor, dead'.

Borges' brief narrative is attributed to Richard Burton's The Lake Regions of Equatorial Africa, but you will not find it there. Edward William Lane's Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians, which dates from 1837, has something that loosely resembles the tale, but it's far from a perfect fit. I'd always assumed, then, that Borges was, as he so often does, inkventing bibliographical sources and passing off fantastic fiction for fact. But a chance discovery has led me to believe that ink-gazing is more than imaginary.

For reasons that are now lost in mystery, I stumbled this week across an article published in 1916 in the Journal of the American Oriental Society. Its author is William H. Worrell -- the two syllables of the surname and the golden 'or' after the initial consonant curiously conjure up 'Borges' -- and the title of the piece is 'Ink, Oil and Mirror Gazing Ceremonies in Modern Egypt'. This fascinating text explains at length how the practice of seeing visions in ink (or some other suitable liquid, such as olive oil) was well known in Egypt across many centuries. (Worrell's article is nearly a century old now, of course; does the ritual still exist?)

At one point, he describes witnessing an inky seance in Cairo in March 1913. A magician sits with a young boy in front of him. Verses from the Qur'ân are written upon a piece of paper and placed beneath the boy's cap. The smell of burning coriander and resin fills the room, and sections of the holy book are read aloud. The magician knocks on the floor numerous times. A seal is drawn upon the boy's palm, and his hand is held over the smoke until the ink is dry. A pool of fresh ink is created in the child's palm. Smoke is fanned into his face, and the following conversation takes place:

Magician: See the ocean! Do you see a ship?
Boy: Yes.
After questions about the appearance of the ship.
Boy: I see a man sitting upon a chair.
Magician: Salute him.
Boy: Salâm 'alêkum!
After a pause.
Boy: I see a white appearance.
Magician: Say 'Bring coffee, O king!'
Magician: Has he drunk?
Boy: Yes.

Numerous readers of Ink Quest have collections of ink so vast that no bottle will ever be drained. Some, I know, have so many shades that they are unable to remember, when asked, if they own a particular colour. In short, inkthusiasts often have more ink than they can shake a magician's stick at. It sits there in bottles, pooling, reflecting, signifying nothing.

On reflection, then, it seems to me that we should take a leaf out of Borges' book and start looking for visions in our ink. The practice, I learnt from Worrell's article, actually has a name: scrying. The essay also reproduces the magic seal drawn in the palm of the boy who saw the ship, so we have all that we need.



Hold out your hand. Draw the magic symbol. Create a pool of ink in your palm. Gaze deeply into it.

- Do you see a ship?
- Yes. It has Penquod written on the side.
- What else do you see?
- I see a solitary figure on the deck. He looks grumpy.
- Salute him.
- I would, but he's shouting 'Go away and leave me alone'.
- Say 'Bring coffee, O king!' ... Has he drunk?
- No, he's spat it out and said that he doesn't drink instant. I think he's now shouting 'It's French Roast or nothing!'.
- We've conjured up a monster, a vile demon. Let the ink fall from your palm at once, child. Look away.

Yes, dear readers, ink-gazing has its risks. You have been warned. If you see visions that disturb you, don't come scrying to me.

Inks in palm today: Herbin Cacao du Brésil; Herbin Bleu Nuit.