A “wild man” from the island of Soqotra: a new text in its comparative setting

Abstract

The article presents an annotated edition of a newly recorded Soqotri text about a wild man. The authors attempt to locate the story within a wide range of “wild/feral” men narratives. The protagonist of the Soqotri story displays a set of features cross-culturally ascribed to wild men, and the narrative pattern of the account demonstrates a sequence of plot elements and motifs characteristic of this tale-type. The article includes a comparison of the Soqotri tale to the Enkidu narrative known from the Akkadian Epic of Gilgameš. Although both focus on the contact between human society and a wild outsider, the two stories develop the subject differently: while Enkidu loses his wild traits and becomes “civilized”, the Soqotri hero dies unable either to join the human community or to preserve his wild nature once people have interfered with his life.

1. Introduction

The aim of this article is to present to an interested readership (particularly, but not exclusively, folklorists and specialists in Modern South Arabian languages and cultures) a previously unknown thematic type of Soqotri narrative. The Soqotri story of a “wild man” was first recorded in Moscow in Summer 2021, as a part of the long-standing and ongoing Russian-Soqotri research project headed by Vitaly Naumkin.¹ The narrator is Ahmad ʿIsa al-Da‘arhi, who prepared a version of the story and then told it to us, with some minor changes to the wording.² Work on the text continued in December 2021 during a two-week fieldwork season on the island.

The genre of the text can best be defined as a legend, “a short, (mono)episodic, traditional, highly ecotypified, historicized narrative” (Tangherlini 1990: 385). The story is skilfully organized in terms of both structure and style, and the high concentration of complex metaphysical issues is striking. The tale invites listeners to reflect on such fundamental problems as the confrontation between an individual and society, the unconscious refusal to accept the Other, lack of understanding between parties trying to communicate, the inherent painfulness of the socialization process, unintentional infliction of harm and the dangers of attempting to improve a person's condition through force. Deep insights into human nature and interaction are rendered in a reflective and somewhat aloof, non-didactic and non-emotional tone, culminating in what is far from a happy ending. All this makes the story a true masterpiece of Soqotri oral literature.

The first part of the article presents the Soqotri text in a format established in earlier publications by the Russian-Soqotri team. Three renderings are given in three columns: (1) the Soqotri text in a conventional Semitological transcription; (2) a rendering in the Arabic-based Soqotri script; and (3) an English translation. As usual in our text editions, the composition is accompanied by linguistic and philological annotations, focused on hitherto-unknown Soqotri vocabulary as well as certain non-trivial grammatical features.

In the second part of the article, an attempt is made to look at the text from a folkloristic point of view, paying attention to the literary features of the tale and its position within a wide range of similar narratives throughout the world. After a brief overview of previous studies on “wild” or “feral” men narratives, we undertake a structural analysis and isolate episodes characteristic of this tale-type.

In conclusion, we will compare the structure, motifs and poetics of the Soqotri text with those of a famous – and by far the most ancient – account of a “wild man”, namely, the Enkidu narratives preserved in the Akkadian Epic of Gilgameš.

2. The text

Ṭáḥrɛr

3. Philological notes

Line 1. Throughout the text, the name of the protagonist (ṭáḥrɛr, masculine) contrasts with ṭáḥrər, pl. ṭoḥórhir (feminine). This is due to the fact that goats are typically conceptualized as female on the island.

Line 2. The adjective mə́ḳrəš “naked” exhibits a rather complex background. On the one hand, a structurally comparable form is attested several times in the Vienna corpus (LS 388),³ in each case with -š. In Müller (1902: 165, No. 9 and 183, No. 53), its meaning is “scarred, scratched (about one's feet)” (zerschunden), presumably < “peeled, deprived of its skin” (cf. Müller's informant's Arabic rendering مقشر ). In Müller (1905: 318, No. 620), however, the editor prefers the translation “der Zerlumpte” (= “ragged, wearing an old, torn garment”), coming close to the meaning “naked” attested presently, but also explained as مقشور by his informant. On the other hand, both the forthcoming CSOL III (No. 27) and Morris's corpus (2021: 2235, Text 28/17) feature mə́ḳraṣ̌ “stark naked” (with -ṣ̌) as the name of the pre-historical wise man. The relationship between the two terms is obscure to us.

The verb šə́drə (yəšdóri/ľišɛ́drɛ or ľišɛ́dri) “to be shy, to feel uncomfortable” is undoubtedly related to the well-known adjective də́rhi “foreign, strange; stranger” (LS 135, CSOL I 530, CSOL II 450). Maria Bulakh has kindly provided the following illustration for its use: mə́brəhe yəšdóri ḥə́yhe də́rhi yíboš ke édof ˁəy aḷ-yəšḳabíľin toy “A child feels shy and uncomfortable with a stranger; he weeps if a stranger touches him, and he is not happy with him.”

Line 3. máṭif (du. maṭífi)⁴ “plain” has been illustrated as follows: sέmsomk tóˀo nəfέgo ére mən ri di-fə́dhon ˁaf tóˀo ḳəríb təftəḳéḥən ḥte ṭérobk id-máṭif bɛs aḷ-ˁak éˀtoḷk wa-šéˁəd énhi wa-ˀaḷ-sərέko tho órəm “I set off trotting when the moon appeared from the mountain peaks, and when the night reached its middle, I came down to the plain, and I was no longer afraid: it became easier for me to walk and the road did not confuse me anymore.” The word, previously unattested, is now also found in a lullaby published by Morris: bɛs ḥe mən saḥilíyə wa-máṭif / bɛs ḥe mən taṭwír di-máṭif “I have had enough of the coast and the lowlands! I had my fill of the ‘development’ in the lowlands!”⁵ (Morris 2021: 913; see also the Glossary, 127).

The adjective ḳánšər (LS 379, Naumkin et al. 2015: 76)⁶ is known to designate a long-horned cow. The masculine form ḳánšɛr can also be substantivized with the meaning “mountain peak”: ḷaḷ nəḳánəm fə́ḷho bɛr eˀḷhítən nəródyhən ˁaf ľišérəd óuˁəẓ̂ yhen ḷə-ker ŝ^əraḥ kor yáḥŝeŝ ḷə-nö́foy mən ḳə́ṣho wa-yəšróḳəḥ ˁaf ľikéb ḷə-ri di-ḳanšérhɔn “When we begin to accustom calves, sons of cows,⁷ to grazing, we water them until they quench their thirst, then they are driven to the foothills so they can graze on grass, then they go up until they reach the mountain peaks.” This lexeme is not identical to Leslau's qanéšehéten “sommet de montagne” (LS 378), which seems rather to render ḳanəṣ̌áˁyhon, pl. of ḳónṣ̌iˁ (du. ḳónṣ̌íˁi) as “mountain top”.⁸

Line 5. The double n-marking in tšərέdnɛn (instead of the expected tšərédən) is noteworthy, but difficult to explain, as šérəd (yəšérod/ľišérɛd) “to be watered, to drink” (LS 73) is not an intensive-base verb. Moreover, the expected regular form is once attested in the Vienna corpus: géḥi di-mešoíten šésen // máḥtirémoh gibˀéleh // tšeréden wa-ˁá-tḥayémen // wu-min ḥámreh ˁáfedóken “Ein Wādi fließenden Wassers ist bei ihnen // Und eine schmutzige Pfütze // Sie (die Schafe) trinken und verschmähen's nicht // Und das trübe Wasser schlürfen sie” (Müller 1905: 332_10–13).

For ḥáľmi (du. ḥaľmíti, pl. ḥíľhɛm) “water source” (LS 177) cf. the following verse from the Vienna corpus: il-ˀérəḥ tri ŝigeríti // ṭey ŝígreh wål-ḥémalótšen // il-šírid tri ḥalemíti // ṭey ḥálemih wål-ridótšen “Die zwei Bergpässe bestiegen // Weil sie ein Bergpaß nicht trägt // Die aus zwei Quellen trinken // Weil sie eine Quelle nicht tränken kann” (Müller 1905: 347_13–16).

Line 6. The newly detected verb ḷáḳaˁ (yəḷáḳaˁ/ľiľḳáˁ) “to stick, to adhere” has been illustrated by the following examples: éḳdomk ˁáže di-ḥaníˀo ḷə-ˀíˀidi wa-ḷə-ŝérhon wa-ḷəḳóˁo ˁəs ḥánna wa-ˀətéḳfo wa-tšəẓ̂óri mən šk^əro “I saw a woman who dyed her hands and feet with henna, and the henna stuck to her so well that one could admire her beauty”, ŝínik ˁag di-šərɛˀə́yhotš ḫaṭíbe wa-se ˁəmέro ḥúmra ˁaféro wa-ḷəḳóˁo ˁəy ḥúmra bə-náṣar wa-ˀaḷ-ẓ̂əḷóˁo həy bər ḷəḳóˁo ˁəy ḥúmra wa-tóˀo égaḥ di-métro ŝénə έˀɛfo məy bə-náṣar tóˀo ŝíbhɛ wa-bet έˀɛfo bər ˁáže ˁádo məy ˁaf náṣar wa-tóˀo éraḥ díˀyhe ḳáˁar ŝíni nhɔfš bə-mérə tóˀo míľi ḥúmra wa-hέbən yəsáḥam ḷə-nhɔfš mən f^əzaˁ mən dəš ˁézmo “I saw a man who was kissed by his fiancée, and she had put red lipstick on her lips. So the lipstick stuck to his cheek, but she did not tell him that the lipstick stuck to him. When he took the subway, people saw something like lips on his cheek and they realized that a woman had touched his cheek. When he came home, he saw his cheek full of lipstick in the mirror, and nearly wet his pants out of fear, out of such disgrace.”

Line 7. The pious genitive attribute di-áḷḷa “belonging to God” that modifies nɛyf “cliff” cannot be separated from the Arabic nominal phrase iyyámat áḷḷa “days of God” (CSOL I 691)⁹ and especially rího di-ˀáḷḷa “water of God”, designating natural bodies of water used for household needs (see Naumkin 2012: 257).

Line 10. The expression maḥrím ˁank as a curse on the devil is attested already in Müller (1905: 99₁₁). Judging by the shape of maḥrím, it may be an early borrowing from Mehri məḥrīm “deprived” (ML 186), in turn borrowed from Arabic maḥrūm- (the vocalic correspondence is regular in this pattern; see Bittner 1909: 29). The expression is used here as an euphemism for the devil, “the one about whom ‘maḥrím ˁank!’ is said”, cf. the following example featuring a by-form di-baḥrím ˁank (with the same meaning): wa-yhéhən ˁouyέghɛn yíšaˁ mən ŝə́ṭrəhər di-ŝə́ṭrəhər wa-yəṣ̌óˁor wa-sáˁa yəẓ̂óḥok wa-yənɛṣ̌íḳin tóˀo di-baḥrím ˁank wa-yənɛfíḳin tóˀo mə́ṭrəd wa-yóˁod mənáḷ ˁod wa-yəkténaḥ díˀyhe di-ḥaḷf mənáḷ díˀyhe ḳáˁar “That boy was running from tribe to tribe and shouting, and from time to time he was laughing and yelling like the devil, and running around like one possessed, moving away and then coming back to the neighborhood where his house was.”

Line 13. The verb ˁádfər (yəˁádfor/ľiˁádfɛr) means “to throw, to hurl”: ˁádfork ŝ^əḳa e-ˁáže kor tškoḷ ḷə-nhɔfs kor aḷ-ľiŝné έˀɛfo məs ḷə-ri “I threw a mantle to a woman so that she сould cover herself and people would not see her head.”

Line 14. The verbal noun əbége “rumble” is derived from ö́bog (yoˀóbəg/ľibέg) “to rumble, to rattle”, very often about thunder: əbέgo¹⁰ bəraḥtétən bə-šed ˁaf yətέbər fə́dnhin “The day before yesterday it thundered so loudly that an echo was heard.”¹¹

bέdər “falling star, meteor” is used as a paragon of high speed: wa ľhe di-ˁad bə́yhən bar ḥérə liṭréd wa-ˀaḷ-ḳérbo dəy ˁar ḷaḷ yíšaˁ yíkən tóˀo bέdər “Those who still had some strength tried to catch him, but couldn't get near him, for he was as quick as a meteor.” The word is an Arabism, cf. bādir “eilig” (Behnstedt 66).

Line 16. The form nətéṣal “let us help each other” is derived from the inherently reciprocal verb (VIII stem) with the meaning “to help each other”: atéṣaḷ ˁəghétən díˀsen bə-nέfaˁ ˁaf yətétə “The women helped each other with their work until it was completed.” The singular forms are not attested, but can be reconstructed by inference as *atéṣaḷ (*yətéṣaḷ/*ľitéṣaḷ).

The verb ŝégor (yəŝógər/ľiŝgέr) “to set a trap; to sit in ambush, to lure into a trap” is well attested in the Vienna corpus (LS 425). An additional illustration: ŝégork ḷə-tɛr di-ḳáˁar mən ˁag kor ḷaḷ yəšráḳaḥ mən ḳáne wa-yəḥárof tho áˀamt əgámaḥš mən ḥérhən “I was lying in wait for a man outside the house so that when he would go out and turn his side towards me, I would seize him from behind.”

Line 18. For the idiom áˁṭəb ˁárho “to utter a cry, to call out”, cf. ṭáhɛrk aḥáṭab ṭírob mənáḷ ətobírin hímaˁk əẓ̂ˁέyrhər di-ˀóˀoz tóˀo ḷaḥágo bə-ḳáṭbe ¹² áˁṭobk ˁárho kə-ˁəyyúg kor yəroḳéḥəs mən ḷέḥɛg “I went out to gather some firewood, and while I was breaking it, I heard the shriek of a goat as it got stuck in a net. I yelled for people to get it out of the trap.” The same expression can use ḥərése (pl. ḥərəsétən) “cry, scream”: áˁṭobk ḥərése ˁaf yətéḳaṭ ke íno di-démə “I uttered a scream so that anyone who might be sleeping would wake up.”

Line 21. The verb ətrέbbəš is a borrowing from dialectal Arabic: “to be or become confused” (Piamenta 1990: 172).

The verbal expression kóḷə nhɔfš (cf. CSOL I 577) seems to be used here with the meaning “to restrain oneself” > “to give up, to surrender”, cf. tóˀo érəmk ṭəy ˁéno ṭad ˁouyέghɛn bédə ḥe wa-ŝórif ḥe mudarrəsín kor yəẓ̂óḥok wa-ḷaṭ tóˀo hímaˁk ŝórif ḥe wa-yhe ḥa še hέmən əḷáṭamš kóḷək nɔ́fin wa-ˁámok bismiľľá də ˁag di-ḥa diyáˁ ˁégəb énhi múškiľa wa-ḷoyk bə-nɔ́fin “As it happened to me one year, a boy was spreading lies about me and slandering me before our teachers to make fun of me. When I heard him slander me and he was near me, I almost gave him a slap in his face, but restrained myself. And I said to myself: ‘Dear God! this is a bad man! He wanted to create problems for me’. But I got a grip on myself (and didn't beat him).”

ľayḫ (pl. ľiyóḫ) “net” is widely attested in the Arabic dialects of the Gulf, as well as in Mehri and Jibbali (al-Salimi and Staples 2019: 572; Qafisheh 1997: 552; ML 259). Its ultimate origin is obscure to us.

For a similar image, cf. Isaiah 51:20: “Your children are lying helpless at the end of every street like an antelope trapped in a net (kə-tō mikmār).”¹³

Lines 22–31. These segments feature a dense concentration of impersonal passives (Lonnet 1998: 78–79), mostly with experiencers encoded by prepositions with pronominal suffixes (ṭírab dəy, ḷö́wə bəy, íˁbɛr ˁəy əḳníyo, ḥərö́wə ḷəšö́mtoḷ, ídɛf ˁəy). Particularly interesting is ṭírab dəy “they went down to him”, with an intransitive verb of movement.

Line 27. The word gɛľído (du. gɛľidóti, pl. gέľyod) “skin, hide; body”, previously recorded by Simeone-Senelle and Lonnet (1991: 1457), is evidently related to the well-known gad with the same range of meanings.¹⁴ What is meant here is Ṭáḥrɛr's firm, coarse skin that is loathsome to the touch. For the meaning “skin, hide”, cf. ṣáre waľľá ḥánžɛhɛr də di-ḥóuzoz bəy ə́ľľəhe ľázim yíkən ḥéḷɛf béne bər gɛľído di-ˀə́ľľəhe ˁíẓ̂o aḷ-tóˀo ŝə́rhi di-ˀóˀoz wa-di-tέˀɛ “A knife or a dagger with which one slaughters a cow must be very sharp, because a cow's hide is tough, unlike a goat's or a sheep's hide.” For the meaning “body”, see the following example (about a TV wrestling show): éḳdomk ˁag ḥáhar di-yoˀóugɛ wa-yhe aḷ-ˀóḷə ˁámok dəš gɛľído di-boḳ aḷ-toˀóḷə bə-bíľe əgö́wə bə-kúrsi di-ḥéṣhin ḥa ébdəd ə́nṭən wa-ľákin ṭámaˁ bə́yhən wa-zéˁe díˀyhe gáˀiza “I saw a black man who was hit (by one of his rivals), but did not care. I said (to myself): ‘That body won't be bothered by anything.’ Then he was hit with an iron chair and did finally feel a little bit. Still he overcame them all and got the prize.”

The anatomic term rokt (du. rókti, pl. érkot) designates the rough skin on the sole of one's foot (or, metonymically, the sole itself):¹⁵ ḷaḷ róukot tɔ́mər róukot bə-ˀérkot di-ŝérhon “When dates are trampled, they are trampled with the sole of the foot.”

Line 35. The verb áˁdə (yəˁódi/ľáˁdɛ) “to put, to set” has been illustrated with the following examples: tóˀo tətéˀən ľáḥi di-fö́ḷho áˁdɛyn mən ḥóyhi íľľiḥan áˁanhɛ id-zórif ˁan nóyhər “When we finished feeding our calves¹⁶ we took our leather vessels from the ground and put them among zórif-trees (to protect them) from (scavenger) birds”, ḷaḷ yəfóŝə έˀɛfo n^aḥaṭ šérhom yənokéˁən méraḥt wa-yənóuẓ̂af wa-ḷaṭ yóudaḥ bəs ṣáḥan di-ˀírhɛz wa-tɛ wa-ḷaṭ yəfóŝə wa-báˁad-aḷ fŝə ke íno tɛ di-kíˀi yəzóugod mən méraḥt id-ṣáḥan wa-ḷaṭ yəzóugod ṣáḥan id-naṣf wa-méraḥt yəntəgéfən məs e-suwáˁid wa-ḷaṭ ˁóudɛ ḷə-ṭádaˁ di-ṣáḥan wa-kóḷə ˁəs méraḥt óbən mən ˁáľɛ aḷ-ḷərbók əḳníyo wa-ˀέˀɛfo yəṭómək ˁaf ḷə-ˁisírhin yəˁóṭəf díˀyhən ḷə-ˀəḳníyo “When people have lunch under the trees¹⁷ they fetch an eating mat and spread it, and then a plate of rice and meat is put on it. People have their lunch, and after they have it, if there is any meat left, it is taken from the mat to the plate, and the plate is put aside. As for the mat, they shake it for the vultures, and then it is placed over the plate, and a stone is put on the mat to prevent the food from spoiling. Then people take a nap before getting back to their food in the evening.”

Line 37. The verb nɛtéḳat (yəntéḳat/ľintéḳat) seems to be used here as a modifier in a hendiadys construction with the meaning “to do something one after another”. Its basic meaning is “to go/come one by one, to disperse”, as in the following examples: gédəḥ έˀɛfo di-maṭár wa-notéḳət kuľľə ṭad díˀyhe di-ṣáľe “People got to the airport and went each to his waiting area”, tóˀo ebróḥo ṭáˀira bə-maṭár wa-ḳəˁö́wə tɛr di-ṭáˀira notéḳət έˀɛfo ˁáľa ṭad ṭad id-tɛr ˁaf yəkéˀə ṭayyár wa-muẓ̂ayyifát “When the plane arrived at the airport and the door of the plane opened, people began to go out one by one, until only the pilot and the cabin crew were left”, éḳdomk ˁag di-yəḥóḷəb bə-ḳáne di-míṣ̌hər yəḳənɛḳínin díˀyhe ḷə-ˀérhon wa-yhe ézˁəm bə-ˁamḳ di-míṣ̌hər wa-ˀérhon təntéḳat idə́y ˁáľa ṭəy ṭəy təróˀomən wa-yhe yəḥóḷəb “I saw a man milk his goats in his pen: he was singing to his goats while he was sitting inside the pen, and the goats would come to him one by one, fawning over him, and he would milk them.” The following example illustrates the meaning “to die one by one, to disappear gradually” (coming rather close to the passage under scrutiny): tóˀo kɔn fírus kuróna bə-ľ-ˁálam notéḳət έˀɛfo bə-mi ˁaf hέbən yətétə ˁan régom bɛ ˁad áḷḷa mən ˁálɛ zəgέdəš wa-ḫáffəf ˁan έˀɛfo “When the coronavirus struck the world, people were dying one after another until they nearly disappeared – if not for God who took the virus away and relieved the people.” Still another, rather divergent, meaning – “to come off, to drop off” – features in the following example: nɛtéḳat máˁabhər mən ri di-fə́dnhin ˁaf yəbáraḥ di-ḳánə di-ˁíṣ̌e wa-régom díˀyhe ˁíṣ̌e mən ʕáḳar “A stone slid off from a mountain peak, landed into a pond and covered the pond, being so large.”

4. The “wild man” narrative: towards a theoretical framework

The overall structure of the text, some characteristic details of its plot and the main character's image come close to those found in the stories of “feral men”¹⁸ – adults or children who are found in the wild, display animal-like behaviour and cannot be introduced into society. Known images of “wild men” range from purely fantastic, indeed not quite human, creatures (similar to fairies or gnomes) to “true” human children who became wild in isolation from society. Across this spectrum, common clusters of motifs can be observed permeating a disparate variety of narratives, from academic texts to non-textual sources.¹⁹

The credibility of accounts describing contact with “true” feral men has been debated by scholars (and laymen) for centuries,²⁰ alongside such issues as the origin of “feral men” and the nature of their “wildness”.²¹ As of today, it seems that the reality of the phenomenon can be neither proved nor disproved conclusively, but it is safe to assume that at least part of the stories that found their way into academic and documentary discourse are highly coloured by or even wholly rooted in folklore.

This conclusion is supported by the fact that folkloric stories about “feral men” often exhibit conspicuous commonalities with the “scientific” accounts. For instance, Dennis (1941: 427) points to the fact that supposedly “real” records of children reared by wolves come from India, whereas “bear-boys” were found only in Lithuania, “although bears, like wolves, have a very extensive geographic distribution”. It means that the informants who reported the respective cases were actually influenced by images and concepts characteristic of local folkloric traditions. It is possible to establish a common repertoire of the characteristic features of the “wild man” and related plot elements that are applicable to both folkloric stories and documentary reports.

In her detailed survey, Benzaquén (2006) focuses primarily on the presence of “feral men” in non-fictional writings (mostly in accounts left by travellers and journalists) and suggests approaching them as a type of narrative and setting aside the issue of credibility. She traces the history of the scholarly and philosophical debate on the subject and shows that the kernel of most of the pertinent works is formed by lists of “wild children” cases known to this or that author. Descriptions of individual cases tend to be standardized and form a kind of narrative pattern with characteristic motifs and images, often overlapping with those found in folkloric and literary accounts. This is, of course, only natural, as many accounts pretending to be “real” have been in fact either influenced by oral and/or written literature or can be appropriately qualified as folkloric. Benzaquén (2006) then describes the narrative pattern characteristic of most of the documented “wild men” accounts. As we will see below, her results can be used to analyse literary narratives as well.

Both academic and literary narratives often mention a number of characteristic traits of “feral men”. Lists of such traits have been compiled in scientific works from as early as Carl Linnaeus, who based his description on the eight cases that were known at that time: a “wild man” must be mutus, tetrapus, hirsutus – mute, quadruped and hairy (Linnaeus 1758: 20).²² This list became classical in later literature, but subsequent authors tried to expand it. Eventually, such lists became a common structural element of this narrative pattern in documentary and academic reports. But it is interesting to note that the folkloric accounts, too, tend to highlight the peculiarities of the “wild man”, making the respective segments stylistically different from the rest of the text.²³

Examination of documentary reports allows one to detect the following additional features thought to be typical of a “wild man” (Dennis 1941: 430–1; Zingg 1940: 504–14; Benzaquén 2006: 58–9):²⁴

• • can produce animal sounds;

• • is untidy in relieving his bladder and bowels;

• • has strange eating habits – consumes raw meat or grass, refusing “normal” food, eating in an animal-like manner;

• • is insensitive to cold and heat;

• • does not wear clothes (at times may have some articles from previous contacts with people), refuses to dress or tears off clothes put on him upon capture;

• • avoids people, shows no attachment to them;

• • has inhibited or peculiar sexuality;

• • possesses unusually acute senses – sharp vision, hypersensitive hearing or smell;

• • can be angry and impatient;

• • prefers the company of animals to humans, especially the kind of animals he was found with;

• • suffers (and eventually dies) of illness(es) caused by the society's efforts to “civilize” him.

5. The Soqotri narrative as a specimen of its kind: commonalities and differences

We will now enumerate the key elements of the narrative pattern described by Benzaquén (2006: 66–70) and examine our story against this structural background, paying attention to the typical “wild men” features and characteristic details.

1. Encounter/discovery

This element may coincide with the next element, namely capture, “but usually some time elapses between discovery and capture, filled by astonishment and confusion” (Benzaquén 2006: 66). The “feral man” may be spotted in the wilderness by an individual or group of people, but sometimes he or she suddenly appears among “civilized” people. The first one to find the “feral man” may himself be a socially marginal person frequenting the areas which lie outside the realm of civilization such a hunter, a soldier or a native.

2. Capture/rescue

“Сivilized” people decide to track down and capture the “feral man”. The act is often seen as a kind of rescue operation motivated by their concern for the situation of the “wild man” and his future. Usually the aim is to make him or her “normal” and introduce them into society. Ethically, the episode can be ambiguous, as the wish to rescue a human being often disguises mere curiosity about a wild, unusual creature, whose eventual fate is rarely considered beforehand.

3. Curiosity/concern/diagnosis

The story then usually moves to the impression the “wild man” makes upon common people and/or researchers (whether professional or self-proclaimed). The former typically have a very emotional reaction, whereas the latter aim at a kind of scientific account. Both groups of observers may compile lists of the distinctive features of the “wild man”: nakedness, muteness, strange habits. He is tested and examined in various ways, alongside initial attempts at socializing and “civilizing”.

4. Response/care/treatment

“Something is always done to and with the [feral] child” (Benzaquén 2006: 68). Authorities and organizations try to determine further treatment for the “wild man” and he might be placed in a teaching and/or socializing institution. Ways of treating the “wild man” vary widely and naturally depend on the historical and geographical setting of the story.

5. Knowledge production/controversy

Scientists and philosophers study the “wild man”, looking for an insight into human nature. Their involvement may interfere with the care and treatment procedures, but occasionally there is no direct contact between the two: research into the “wild man” may be done indirectly, via reports, sometimes years or even centuries after the event.

6. Disappointment/indifference

The “wild man” may escape or die shortly after the capture. The story may then involve a debate on whether the event was true or not. But if there is no quick, dramatic solution, he is forgotten by the public and left to live the rest of his life under human/institutional care. The researchers and philosophers are unable to get any valuable information from him, and all attempts to socialize him yield no results or a very modest one.

It turns out that our story exhibits almost every of the aforementioned plot elements, except for 4 and 5, since in our case the interaction was too brief to establish any long-term treatment for Ṭaḥrɛr, and no researchers were present to conduct the experiments.

Lines 1–7 describe Ṭaḥrɛr and his way of life before his direct interaction with “civilized” people, when he could only be seen, rarely, from a considerable distance (line 7). He roams with “wild goats”²⁵ high in the mountains. Though it is not explicitly stated that he was reared by animals, he demonstrates some diagnostic features of animal-nurtured children: keeps company with goats, walks their paths in the mountains, drinks with them at their watering places, avoids people. He is even said to be “grazing” (yəšégəŝ, line 5).²⁶ Ṭaḥrɛr's animal-like appearance and behaviour are further emphasized later in the story (lines 18–20 and 27). Some of the prototypical “wild man” features, such as nakedness (line 2) and unusual skin colour (line 6) are also mentioned.

Lines 8–14 deal with his first encounter with “a strong man” (ˁag ḷáfi) who was hunting “wild goats”. He thought Ṭaḥrɛr to be a devil (di-maḥrímˁank, line 10) – quite a typical detail for the “feral man” stories (Benzaquén 2006: 67). The hunter tries to make contact with the strange creature, but gets no answer so that another classical feature of the “wild man” – his dumbness – becomes apparent (line 12).

Lines 15–22 deal with the capture. The people of the village decide they should catch Ṭaḥrɛr. The background of this decision is not explained, as the story is more concerned with the technical details of setting the trap and ambush,²⁷ as well as with Ṭaḥrɛr's animal-like behaviour: he is captured along with wild goats on an animal path, acts like one of them during the capture and makes sounds similar to those of a wild goat (line 21).

Lines 23–29 describe the villagers’ reaction to the appearance of the “wild man” in their midst and their attempts to interact with him. They are curious: women and children come to see him upon his arrival. They attempt to communicate with him and “civilize” him, but all in vain. This segment catalogues people's actions and Ṭaḥrɛr's very passive – yet always negative – reactions: they offer him “human” food, but he refuses it; they try to talk to him, but he doesn't understand; they wash him and cut his hair, only to find him later afflicted by an unknown and fatal disease. As surmised by the narrator, this could be caused by the loss of some of his genuine features: the characteristic goat smell and the rough skin (line 27) disappeared when he was washed and touched by people.

Lines 30–36 describe Ṭaḥrɛr's death: as with many other “wild men”, he could not survive after being torn from his natural environment. He was unable to return to his old life or to remain in the community. The villagers set him free, but it is too late. After his death, they seem to regret their incautious actions and organize a kind of funeral – undoubtedly one last, post mortem act of “civilizing”.

Lines 37–38 represent a legend-like conclusion, probably of an etiological nature: Ṭaḥrɛr's story explains why the wild goats ceased to live in the area. At the same time, the way this concluding part is incorporated into the narrative seems to make sense on the level of the text's integrity. Throughout the story, wild goats are strongly associated with Ṭaḥrɛr: they accompany him during his everyday activities such as roaming and visiting watering-places (lines 3, 5); side by side with him, they experience the fear and confusion of the capture (in line 21 Ṭaḥrɛr's stressful reaction to the violence of the hunters is directly compared to that of a wild goat) – after all, they are the animals after which he is named. The wild goats are Ṭaḥrɛr's lifetime companions and indicative of his own condition, so their presence in the story is closely connected to and depends on Ṭaḥrɛr's whereabouts.²⁸ It is no wonder that, in the end, the goats share Ṭaḥrɛr's fate by dying out upon his death. Their sudden extinction comes as a consequence of Ṭaḥrɛr's end, reinforcing the association of Ṭaḥrɛr with wild goats²⁹ and thus shoring up the story's internal coherence. The skilful arrangement of the etiological coda aptly meets this challenge.

6. In lieu of a conclusion: Ṭáḥrɛr and Enkidu

The Babylonian Enkidu is the oldest “wild man” attested in a written source. He has often been seen as a precursor of later European heroes of this type (Bartra 1994: 55–6; Wells 1975). As noted by Mobley (1997: 220–3), Enkidu and his story share numerous commonalities with the medieval pattern of the “wild man” story outlined in Bernheimer (1952). In his wild state, Enkidu is quite close to the “feral man” type:³⁰ nurtured by gazelles,³¹ naked and hairy, he lives in the wilderness with the animals and behaves like one of them. His later story exhibits many motifs shared by medieval “wild man” legends: he is civilized by a woman after sexual intercourse and becomes a great warrior and a faithful companion of King Gilgameš.

Enkidu's image as a “wild man” may have developed independently in the Mesopotamian oral tradition, to be later incorporated into the broader literary framework of the epic. The Sumerian legends about Gilgameš do not portray Enkidu as a “wild man”: here he is merely a junior companion of the protagonist or his servant (George 2003: 140–4). And, conversely, the image of Enkidu as a “wild man” is present in at least one Akkadian text other than the Gilgameš Epic (Westenholz and Westenholz 2000: 438, n. 7), namely, in the mannam lušpur (“Whom should I send…”) formula of the Old Babylonian lullaby-incantation OECT 11, 2. In this formula, which is a widespread element in a variety of Old Babylonian and Old Assyrian incantations, the narrator addresses one or several mythological figure(s) with a plea to help him or her to achieve the goal of the incantation. Here the formula is addressed to Enkidu, who is expected to calm the baby “as he calmed the gazelle and her fawn in the steppe” (Farber 1990: 303, 309).³² Enkidu is not only associated with gazelles and the wilderness, but can also be seen as their patron.

The Soqotri story of Ṭaḥrɛr and the Enkidu narratives in the Gilgameš Epic are both prominent representatives of the “wild men” story type, which makes them suitable for comparison in terms of plots, motifs and ideas. The number of parallels between the two stories is remarkable, although it is impossible to decide whether there could be any direct influence.

Both characters live among wild ungulates (“gazelles”) and roam with them in the wilderness, eating grass and drinking from their watering places. A structural similarity between lines 3 and 5 of our text and Enkidu's description in the Hittite Gilgameš Epic I ii 9–12 (Tigay 2002: 199)³³ is noteworthy:

Enkidu is explicitly seen to be responsible for rescuing wild animals from traps (SB Gilg. I 130–3, 157–60 = George 2003: 546–7) – a prominent trait of the “master of animals”³⁴ (for Ṭaḥrɛr's background as a “master of animals” see fn. 28). However, Enkidu is no longer a mighty supernatural being of a higher rank, but comes closer to the “wild man” proper. This is the reason why, instead of trying to placate him, the hunter decides to devise a plot and actually succeeds.

At the same time, Ṭáḥrɛr is explicitly called “naked” (mə́ḳrəš) in line 2, but nothing is said about his hairiness. Moreover, some details of the plot suggest that his body was not hairy: the villagers only cut the hair on his head³⁵ (line 28) and his skin is described as rough (line 27) and unusually coloured (line 6), but not hairy. Ṭáḥrɛr is thus perceived more as a human being than a fantastic creature. Enkidu's “all body” is “matted with hair” (SB I 105 = George 2003: 544–5) and he is said to be “clad in a garment like Šakkan's” (SB I 109 = George 2003: 544–5). This is usually interpreted as a reference to his nakedness or hairiness, or both (George 2003: 790, Lambert 2013: 519).³⁶

Both characters are torn away from their normal life in the wild after an encounter with a hunter. It is remarkable that “the strong man” in the Soqotri story is unnamed, like the hunter in the Gilgameš Epic.³⁷ The hunter then takes counsel with his fellow villagers (Ṭaḥrɛr) or with his father and the king (Enkidu), before a plan to lure the “wild man” into a trap is devised.

The initial contact between the “wild man” and the civilized people is quite different in the two cases: while Ṭaḥrɛr is hunted and trapped like a wild animal, Enkidu is lured into abandoning his wild nature by Šamḫat who first seduces him³⁸ and then convinces him to go to the city, where she introduces him to a civilized lifestyle. No direct violence is involved, and the process of introducing him into society is gradual: at first Enkidu interacts only with the harlot, then she brings him into a shepherds’ camp and after that to the city; at each stage he learns new things. Conversely, Ṭaḥrɛr is caught by surprise and physically taken into captivity, where he is forcibly washed and his hair is cut. In contrast to Enkidu, who actively interacts with Šamḫat (even if he has no idea about her ultimate intentions), Ṭaḥrɛr is presented as extremely passive.³⁹ He is static both physically and mentally and does not undergo any transformation, in contrast to Enkidu's dynamic involvement and curiosity. If Enkidu's predominant emotion – from his first meeting with Šamḫat until his confrontation with Gilgameš in Uruk – can be described as genuine interest, in Ṭaḥrɛr's case it is nothing but shock, fear, dismay and insecurity.⁴⁰

This distinction can be demonstrated by a comparison of the scene in both stories, corresponding to the third stage in Benzaquén's narrative pattern. When brought among civilized people, the “wild man” is given human food and expected to learn how to eat and drink as a human, then undergoes grooming procedures.

The initial events are structurally quite similar in the Epic (Gilg. P 87–93 = George 2003: 176–7) and the Soqotri text (lines 24–5) as they involve the people's action – the character's perplexed reaction to it – an explanatory remark:⁴¹

The background of this startled response is different, however. While Enkidu just awaits instructions, Ṭaḥrɛr remains shocked and unresponsive throughout the villagers’ manipulations.

After eating and drinking, Enkidu feels merry – either because of his introduction to human practices or as a result of plentiful drinking⁴² or both. Either way, he is now at ease and comfortable. When treated by the barber, he actively participates in the process, then anoints himself and “becomes a man” (awīliš īwe, Gilg. P 109 = George 2003: 176–7).⁴³ Having put on some clothes, he acquires a new occupation: chasing wild beasts and protecting the herds. This is the point at which Enkidu's character takes on the features of an epic hero (as opposed to the “wild man”⁴⁴). Conversely, Ṭaḥrɛr refuses to eat and interact with people and, right up to his tragic end, continues to behave like a wild animal in captivity (lines 24–29).

The distinction between the outcomes of the two stories (socialization versus death) is complicated to some extent if the broader perspective of the Enkidu narrative is taken into consideration. Contact with Šamḫat puts an end to Enkidu's wild state, but this transition to a “civilized state” has its price: the wild animals grow estranged from their former companion (SB Gilg. I 195–200 = George 2003: 548–51), who has lost the abilities he previously possessed as a part of the natural world. After Enkidu meets Gilgameš in Uruk, the narration focuses on their joint heroic adventures and the theme of Enkidu's wild background is set aside – only to re-emerge bitterly in the description of Enkidu's death in Tablet VII of the standard version of the Epic.⁴⁵ When death approaches, Enkidu curses the hunter and the harlot (SB Gilg. VII 94–99 and 102–31 = George 2003: 638–41),⁴⁶ that is, those who were responsible for his socialization and whose disruption of his uncivilized existence “was the first link in the chain of events that led inexorably to his doom” (George 2003: 479). Not unlike Ṭaḥrɛr, Enkidu's identity as a “wild man” is inevitably lost through close contact with people. But while Enkidu, for the most part, manages the transition, for Ṭaḥrɛr the termination of his wild modus vivendi signals the termination of his life.