Arabian Nights and Days (16 page)

“Don't remind me of it. I have not slept a wink since it was committed,” she replied with feeling.

“I am not taken in by your act,” he said sharply. “Answer my questions truthfully. What is your name?”

“Anees al-Galees.”

“A suspect name. From what country do you come?”

“My mother is from India, my father from Persia, and my husband from Andalusia.”

“You're married?”

“Yes, and I have just received a letter from my husband informing me that he will be coming shortly.”

“Is it with his knowledge that you practice debauchery?”

“God forbid! I am an honorable woman.”

“And what are the men doing who so frequently visit you?”

“Friends from among the gentlemen of the town who enjoy discussing canonical law and literature.”

“God's curse be upon you—is that why they go bankrupt and fight among themselves?”

“They are generous, and that is not my fault. It is not a part of good manners for me to refuse their gifts. I do not know how it was that the Devil crept in among them.”

“I have an order to confiscate your illegal wealth,” he said, his patience exhausted.

He motioned to his men, who spread out through the house searching for pieces of jewelry, precious stones, and money. During all this time the two of them remained alone and silent. He sent inquiring glances through her veil, but without effect. She showed no concern. She resigned herself to fate—or so it appeared.

“Shall I, as from today, live from selling off my furniture?” she asked in rebuke.

He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully as she removed the veil from her face, saying, “I'm sorry, but the summer heat is unbearable.”

Bayumi looked at her and was stupefied. Though not believing his
eyes, he was thunderstruck. He gazed at her intently, unable to avert his eyes. He swam in a tumultuous sea of madness. He lost power, function, hope. With his own hands he buried the chief of police and from his grave there emerged a hundred and one genies. Thousands of hands pushed at him and he would have collapsed had it not been for the noise of his assistants as they roamed round the rooms. The observers and spies were arriving as well. But Bayumi al-Armal was lost forever.

“I ask you to behave generously, chief of police,” she once again pleaded.

He wanted to give her a rough answer, an answer that would be suitable to the situation. At the same time he wanted to give her an answer that was gentle. However, he sank into silence.

At midnight he lost his self-control and rushed secretly to the Red House. He appeared before her submissively, telling himself it was a question of fate, against which one could take no precautions and for which there was no precedent. Pretending not to see the state he was in, she said sadly, “O chief of police, I have nothing further for you to confiscate.”

“I have done my duty,” he said humbly, “but there is a part of me that is merciful.” And he threw at her feet a bulging purse. She smiled sweetly and muttered, “What a gallant man you are!”

He knelt down in humility, wrapped her legs in his arms, then prostrated himself and kissed her feet.

Complaints began to rise from those who were claiming money from the treasury. Its clerks whispered among themselves that the money was not being spent on its lawful purposes as al-Zeini had ordered. The news reached the governor, who sent out spies and tightened control. He charged the private secretary, al-Fadl ibn Khaqan, and his chamberlain,
al-Mu'in ibn Sawi, to undertake a secret investigation. Finally he decided to call in the chief of police and faced him with reliable reports. Bayumi al-Armal appeared submissive and indifferent. Surprised at him, the governor said, “I see in you someone else, someone I don't know.”

“The old structure, sir, has been demolished.”

“I did not imagine that you would make off with the money of Muslims.”

“It is the madman who has taken up residence in me who has made off with them,” he said in an even tone.

Sentence was passed on Bayumi al-Armal and he was beheaded. His place was taken by al-Mu'in ibn Sawi, and once again the wealth of Anees al-Galees was confiscated and a guard mounted permanently at her door to prevent any man from entering.

Her case was referred to the mufti, but he gave a judgment to the effect that there was no legal evidence of her moral depravity. Al-Mu'in ibn Sawi was performing his job at police headquarters when a woman sought permission to see him. He looked at her heavy veil without interest and asked, “Who are you and what do you want?”

“I am Anees al-Galees, who has been wronged,” she answered with spirit.

The man turned his attention to her. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely.

She removed her veil and said, “You have confiscated my money and I have become entitled to alms and charity, so include me among those who are so entitled.”

The man comprehended nothing of what she said. He forgot countless things, including himself. In vain he tried to find some strength in his conscience. His foot slipped and he tumbled into the abyss. He heard her voice repeating what she had said but again without understanding it.

“What did you say?” he finally asked her, breathing heavily.

“Include me among those entitled to alms and charity,” she said, ignoring the state he was in.

“When shall I send you your needs?” he asked, hurling his reputation through the window.

“I'll be waiting for you,” she said coquettishly, “just before the noon prayer.”

She burned with energy and vitality, saying that it was the day of decision and victory. She laughed at length, just as Sakhrabout did. At once she went to see the private secretary, al-Fadl ibn Khaqan. The same game and tragedy were repeated. She made an appointment with him for before the sunset prayer. As for Suleiman al-Zeini, his appointment was for before the evening prayer. Nur al-Din, the spirit-loving man and son-in-law of the sultan, agreed to go two hours after the evening prayer; he had also penned for her a note requesting a meeting with the vizier Dandan and another with the sultan Shahriyar, on the plea that with either of them she would achieve justice and fair treatment. All men toppled and each awaited his appointment, deprived of all good sense—even Dandan and Shahriyar.

Al-Mu'in ibn Sawi came to his appointment with cosmic accuracy, his eyes reflecting the preoccupation of an old lover. He threw down the purse with the zest of a happy young child, seeing nothing in splendid existence but his own brilliant star. He was drunk with rapture when he came to rest at her feet. There was nothing but the false flashes of happy promises, and no place for consequences. Sometimes he would drink from the hand of the slave, at others from her own hand. He reached such heights of passion that he tore off his clothes, reverting to a primitive state. But as he was rushing with her toward the bed, the slave hurried in and whispered—it would seem—some dread secret in her
ear. She jumped up and covered her voluptuous body with her flowing robe.

“My husband has arrived,” she whispered in fevered tones.

The man awoke from his drunken state in an instant. She pulled him by the hand into an adjoining room and let him into a cupboard, which she firmly locked.

“You will leave safely at the appropriate time,” she told him, trembling with agitation and terror.

“Bring me my clothes,” the man called out.

“They are quite safe,” she told him, as she moved off. “Now be quiet—not a sound or a movement or we're done for!”

The men followed one after the other: al-Fadl ibn Khaqan, Suleiman al-Zeini, Nur al-Din, Dandan, Shahriyar. They all submitted to the captivating call. Drunk with boisterous frenzy, they were led off naked to cupboards. The voice of Anees al-Galees came to them as she laughed scornfully, and they realized that they had fallen into a well-contrived snare.

“Tomorrow, in the marketplace,” she told them, “I shall put the cupboards up for sale—with their contents.”

Once again she laughed, and continued, “The people of the marketplace will witness their sultan and his men of state being sold naked.”

When she returned to the reception hall she saw before her the madman, standing there quietly. She trembled in alarm. What had brought him? How had he invaded her house? Had he heard what she had said to the men?

“How did you enter my house without invitation or permission?” she demanded.

“I saw the men following one after another, and my curiosity was aroused.”

She clapped her hands to call the slave, but he said, “He has gone.”

“Where to?” she demanded angrily.

“Let's not worry about him, but be hospitable to your guest.”

His long hair was parted and he was heavily bearded; barefoot, he was dressed in a flowing white gown which was open at the neck and revealed the hair of his chest. Should she lure him into her snare? She moved forward, but listlessly. For the first time her face could make no impression. It was a temptation, but only to the sane, not to madmen. She approached the table with a gliding motion.

“If you want food,” she said, “then eat.”

“I am not a beggar,” he said with disdain.

“There's drink for you,” she said, refusing to admit defeat.

“My head is full with jugs of it.”

“You don't look drunk.”

“You're merely blind.”

“What do you want?” she asked him, frowning in distress.

“How is it that you live in a deserted palace devoid of all the comforts of life?” he asked in his turn.

She looked around with a dejected heart.

“Does not all this beauty please you?” she asked.

“I see nothing but walls between which the breaths of the ancient plague rebound.”

Her turn came to strip naked like the others. Weakly she submitted before his defiant madness. All wiles and ruses had come to naught. She turned her back on him in order to think. His lips uttered some faint words. Desperate resistance did not come to her aid. Something like heavy slumber swept over her. Her nerves grew slack. She let the forward movement of change sweep on. The features of her face began to melt and spread out until they became a mass of swollen dough. The svelte figure collapsed, the grace and elegance were wrenched from her. With extraordinary speed there was nothing left of her but disparate parts, which themselves were transformed into smoke that simply disappeared and left no trace. Then the couches, the cushions, the rugs, the objets d'art—all were obliterated. The lamps were extinguished then
ceased to exist, and darkness reigned. He took up the heap of men's clothes and threw them from the window. Then he went toward the room where the cupboards were.

The madman, addressing the men in the cupboards, said, “I shall not exempt you from punishment, but I have chosen for you a punishment that will profit you and will not harm God's servants.”

He quickly opened the locks, then left the place.

The men warily crept out of the cupboards, staggering with exhaustion. With feelings of subjection and shame not one of them opened his mouth; naked in body and in self-esteem, they stumbled about in the darkness. They were looking for their clothes—for any clothes, anything with which to cover their nakedness. Time was passing, merciless time, the light of day was drawing nearer, and scandal flashed in the darkness. They wandered about searching the place with arms outstretched. No sign of anything. No sign of a life, an illusion, or a nightmare. As for the scandal, that was real enough. It meant humiliation and despair. They guided themselves along the walls toward the outer door, time creeping behind them. As soon as they breathed in the air of the street they muttered a prayer, and some of them broke into tears. The city was empty. What a great relief! They rushed off naked and barefoot into the darkness of the night. Honor had spat them out and ignominy overwhelmed them, while sin cloaked their faces with a layer of pallid grayness.

T
oward the beginning of autumn the madman was intoning the dawn Quranic verses under the date palm, when he heard the voice of the water-dweller calling. He hurried to the riverbank, saying, “Greetings to my brother, Abdullah of the Sea.”

“I am amazed at you,” said the voice.

“Why?”

“How often have you killed the deviant for his deviation—so why is it you spare sinners scandal?”

Said the madman sorrowfully, “I was sorry that morning should come and the citizens should not find a sultan or a vizier or a governor or a private secretary or a chief of police. They would have been taken by the strongest of the wicked.”

“And has your wisdom been of use?”

“I see them with their hearts full of shame and having experienced the weakness of man.”

“In our watery kingdom,” whispered Abdullah of the Sea, “we regard a sense of shame as one of ten conditions that must be present in our rulers.”

“Woe to people under a ruler without a sense of shame,” said the madman with a sigh.

It was late for Ragab the porter as he stood outside the gate. On returning in the darkness he had seen shadows of people opening up a burial place and going inside. He wondered what would induce them to do this before dawn and his heart had tempted him into intruding on no easy mystery. He had soon scaled the wall, and, stretched out flat on his stomach, was looking toward the courtyard of the burial place, which showed up in the dim light of a candle held by one of the spectral figures. He saw a group of slaves opening a grave that stood on its own, as though made for servants. Then he saw them carrying a box and placing it in the grave and piling earth over it. He waited until they left. He too thought of leaving, but the box urged him to investigate. What did it contain? Why had they buried it at this late hour? Sparing himself no pains, he jumped down into the courtyard. With eager determination he opened up the grave and took out the box. Were it not for his strength and his experience in carrying weights, he would not have been able to do it. He applied himself to the box until he was able to open it. He then lit the candle that he always had with him on his trips. Casting a glance, he shuddered in pity and terror. It was a young girl, as beautiful as a full moon, her face uncovered and dressed in a robe rather than a shroud—dead, no doubt, but looking as if she were asleep. He realized that the circumstances of the burial indicated some sort of crime; he also realized that he had involved himself in a predicament that he could well do without. At once he prepared to flee without even thinking of returning the box to its grave or of closing it.

When he jumped down into the empty space outside the burial ground he found a form in front of him and his heart contracted. However, he
heard the voice of Master Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant, inquiring, “Who's there?”

Concealing his confusion as much as he could, he answered simply, “Ragab the porter, Master Sahloul.”

“What were you doing inside?” he asked, laughing.

“Our Lord ordered that one should be discreet, master,” he answered him spontaneously. He wanted to give the impression that there was some woman behind the wall. Sahloul laughed and asked scornfully, “Is there not a single upright man in this city?”

Fear held him in thrall. He had not had previous experience of dangerous situations. The leather execution mat loomed up as a gloomy outcome. Though performing the dawn prayer with his body, his mind was taken up with misgivings. The corpse would be discovered. Sahloul would give witness to the fact that he had seen him jumping over the wall of the cemetery, and he was a porter who had been trained to carry such boxes. It was a question of either fleeing or confessing to the truth before it was revealed. He was tied to people and to place; he was not like his companion Sindbad, who was away at sea. Besides which, he was one of those to whom al-Mu'in ibn Sawi, the chief of police, was favorably disposed. He should therefore go to him and confess everything.

After prayers he decided to meet al-Mu'in ibn Sawi. However, he saw him hurrying along on his mule among his guard. He followed after him and found him going toward the house of the governor. Suleiman al-Zeini was in a rage and his house was in utter disorder. The governor met the chief of police in a bad mood and said angrily, “See what's happened at the residence of the governor? Have we returned to the days of chaos?”

Al-Mu'in was speechless and asked what had happened, to which the governor answered, “There's not a trace of my slave-girl, Qut al-Quloub—it's as if the earth had swallowed her up.”

“When did this happen?” asked al-Mu'in in shock.

“I saw her yesterday and now she's nowhere to be found.”

“What do the people living in the house say?”

“Like me, they wonder and are overcome by fear.”

Al-Mu'in thought a while, then said, “Perhaps she has fled.”

The face of Suleiman al-Zeini flushed angrily and he shouted, “She was the happiest of girls—you had better find her!”

He uttered the words in a fit of rage that was clearly threatening.

In front of the door of the house al-Mu'in ibn Sawi found Ragab the porter waiting for him. With lowered head he advanced toward him.

“Sir,” he said, “I have something to say.”

“Get out of my sight,” he interrupted sharply. “Is this the time for words, you fool?”

“Please have patience, sir,” insisted the porter. “There's been a murder—the body is outside the gateway and it wouldn't be right to put off burying it.”

The man took note of his words and asked, “What murder and what have you to do with it?”

Ragab hurriedly related the story, while the other followed it with increasing interest.

With the first rays of light the box was carried to the reception hall of the governor's residence. Suleiman al-Zeini, al-Mu'in ibn Sawi, and Ragab the porter stood round it.

“I was led to the whereabouts of Qut al-Quloub and have brought
her here,” said the chief of police. “But I am sorry to say she is a lifeless corpse.”

Under the pressure of his emotions Suleiman al-Zeini trembled in spite of himself. Al-Mu'in ibn Sawi opened the box. Al-Zeini bent over it with a face that overflowed with sorrow, mumbling, “Verily we are God's and to Him do we return.” Al-Mu'in closed the box as he muttered, “May God lengthen your survival and lessen your sorrows.”

“Woe to the criminal,” Suleiman shouted. “Uncover for me the secrets that have swept away my happiness.”

“Sir, it is still a mystery. How did she leave the house? Where was she killed? Who killed her? Here, sir, is a testimony that this porter volunteered.”

He told him the testimony and al-Zeini glared fiercely at Ragab. “You filthy creature,” he said. “It is you who are the murderer, or else you know who it is.”

“By the Lord of the Heavens and the Earth,” exclaimed the porter, trembling with fear, “I have not kept from you a single word.”

“You have invented a tale with which to shield your deed.”

“Had I not been telling the truth I would not have gone of my own volition to the chief of police and admitted what I had witnessed.”

Al-Mu'in ibn Sawi, however, gave him an unexpected surprise. “In that, you have lied, man.” Then, turning to the governor, “He was arrested at the scene of the crime.”

Ragab was amazed and could not believe his ears. “What did you say?”

“You were arrested and did not come of your own accord,” al-Mu'in repeated.

“How can you say that?”

“Duty comes before mercy,” he said with feigned scorn.

“You shall not escape God, you liar,” Ragab shouted.

“Confess and spare yourself the horrors of torture.”

“The chief of police is a liar,” said Ragab in despair. “I have no knowledge of anything beyond what I have told you.”

Remembering the sole circumstance that he had not revealed, he continued, “Bring Master Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant, for I saw him close by the cemetery.”

Master Sahloul was brought. Nothing was changed in his habitual calm. Asked what had induced him to go so close to the cemetery at that hour of the night, he said, “By reason of my work, all times and places are the same for me.” And he related to them the story of having come across Ragab by chance as he was jumping from on top of the wall.

“Do you believe he is the killer?” al-Mu'in asked him.

“I have no evidence of that,” he said quietly. “Also there can be no killer unless someone has been killed, and where is that person?”

“In this box.”

He gave a mysterious smile and said, “Allow me to see him.”

Al-Mu'in opened the box and Sahloul looked at the corpse for some time, then said, “The girl is still breathing.”

Hope gleamed in the eyes of al-Zeini and Ragab, but al-Mu'in shouted, “Are you making fun of us, you criminal?”

Addressing al-Zeini, the man said, “Hurry and bring a doctor or the chance will be lost.”

The doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni came and at once proceeded to examine the “corpse.”

“She's still alive,” he said, raising his head.

A sigh of joy came from al-Zeini, while al-Mu'in ibn Sawi's face became as pale as a ghost's.

“She was given enough sleeping-draft to kill an elephant,” went on Abdul Qadir.

He continued to attend to her until she brought up all the contents of her stomach. When she moved her head the porter shouted, “Thanks be to God, Lord of the wronged.”

Receiving a furtive glance from the chief of police, Sahloul said, “She will reveal to us the secret of the story.”

A tense period charged with silence and agitation passed until Qut al-Quloub regained consciousness. The first thing she saw was al-Zeini's face and she stretched out her hand to him in an appeal for help.

“Fear nothing, Qut,” he said to her gently.

“I am frightened,” she whispered.

“You are in safe hands, so smile.”

Spotting al-Mu'in ibn Sawi, she became agitated and called out, “That monster!”

There was an astonished silence.

“I do not know,” she said, “how it was that he took me to an empty house, where he threatened to kill me unless I gave in to his base desires. Then, from that moment on, I remember nothing.”

All eyes were fixed on the chief of police.

“You treacherous dog!” al-Zeini shouted. He stripped him of his sword and dagger. “How quickly corruption spreads anew!”

He ordered al-Mu'in to be imprisoned so that he might question him himself, and he declared the porter's innocence and that of the bric-a-brac merchant. Asking Master Sahloul to stay behind for a while, he said to him, “I am much indebted to you, Master Sahloul, but tell me: have you any experience of medicine?”

“No, sir,” he answered, smiling, “but I have experience of death.”

Suleiman al-Zeini spoke to al-Mu'in ibn Sawi. “I never imagined you would be a traitor. I thought that the ordeal we all went through had cleansed us and that our life would be founded upon justice and purity, and yet you betray trust, treat generosity with disdain, and plunge recklessly into debauchery and crime.”

“I do not deny any of what you say,” said al-Mu'in. “We announced our repentance, but the Devil has not yet repented.”

“You have no excuse and I shall make an example of you for everyone who needs a warning.”

“Not so fast—I am not such easy prey. The evil emanated from your house.”

“Curse you!”

“I have an accomplice—Lady Gamila, your wife.”

“What are you saying?” he shouted, shaking with anger.

“She called upon me through jealousy and urged me to get rid of your favorite slave-girl, Qut al-Quloub.”

“Traitor and liar!”

“You should first of all check with your wife.”

“A false allegation will not save you from being beheaded.”

“I shall demand a fair investigation,” said the man defiantly. “And I demand that the punishment I receive be meted out to her too. No one is above the law.”

Between one day and the next Suleiman al-Zeini became an old and broken man. He did not waver about forcing his wife Gamila to confess. She admitted to plotting the crime. He resisted facing up to the truth and was utterly bewildered. To announce the truth meant bringing about the ruin of the mother of his children; it also meant ruining his own position. The truth was evident but it seemed to him that he was too weak to take the right decision. He found himself inclining toward pardoning the two of them so that Gamila might remain in his house and al-Mu'in in his post. Taking the easy decision, however, he lost his honor.

Qut al-Quloub also let it be known that she would not remain in his house from that day on, that she was not safe in it. He was forced to set her free and to provide her with money. He allowed her to go and to take his heart with her.

Hearts beat with sorrow. Qumqam and Singam communed together, while the madman and Abdullah of the Sea were saddened at the downfall of those who had repented. As for Qut al-Quloub, she went to live on her own in a beautiful house; she lived in want of nothing but was wrapped by loneliness. Though her master had granted her request and been generous to her she had not freed him from the blame of his excessive treatment of her, and the bitterness of solitude set a hellfire ablaze with frustrated love. Many were those who came seeking marriage, out of love and greed, but she refused them all. She refused Hasan al-Attar, just as she refused Galil al-Bazzaz. Others, like al-Mu'in ibn Sawi, desired her from afar, while Ragab the porter inquired of himself, “Is it not the right of someone who has brought a corpse to life to own that person?”