Arabian Nights and Days (21 page)

“Thanks be to God, Lord of the Worlds.”

“Have you gained happiness, Ma'rouf?” asked the sultan with concern.

“Limitless happiness, Your Majesty.”

“Does not the past sometimes spoil your happiness for you?”

“What has passed was a series of unhappy occurrences that I experienced at the hands of others, but I myself did not do anything to regret.”

“Do you enjoy love, Ma'rouf?”

“Thanks be to God I do—I have a wife who gives me happiness with every breath she draws.”

“And all of this is by virtue of the ring?”

“By virtue of God, Your Majesty.”

The sultan was silent for a while, then asked him, “Are you able to grant happiness to others?”

“There is no limit to the power of the ring, but it cannot invade people's hearts.”

In the depths of Shahriyar's eyes there showed a listlessness that revealed his disappointment. However, he smiled and said, “Allow me to see you rise up into space until your turban touches the decorations in the dome of the hall.”

The request hit him like a mountain toppled by an earthquake. His hopes were scattered like dust and he knew for sure that he was doomed.

“It is not appropriate,” he said vehemently, “to act other than with decorum in the sultan's presence.”

“You will be flying only at my request.”

“Your Majesty, I am your slave, Ma'rouf the cobbler.”

“Do you owe me allegiance, Ma'rouf?”

“God is my witness to that,” he croaked.

“Then I am giving you an order, Ma'rouf.”

He got up from where he was sitting and sat cross-legged in the middle of the hall. He communed with his Lord secretly. “My Lord, let it be Your wish—don't let everything vanish like a dream.” From a wounded and despairing heart he murmured, “Rise up, body of mine, until my turban touches the ceiling.”

He closed his eyes and gave himself up to his black destiny. When
nothing happened he called out from a tortured heart, “Mercy, Your Majesty!” But before he could utter another word an inspired energy had stolen into his heart, he had grown light, and his fear had disappeared. Then an unknown force quietly and gently took him up as he sat cross-legged on nothing, until his turban touched the coral dome, while the sultan followed him with his eyes in helpless astonishment, his composure cast aside. Then, slowly, Ma'rouf began to sink down until he was again settled in his seat.

“How trivial is being a sultan! How trivial all vanity!” exclaimed the sultan.

Ma'rouf was unable to say a single word, for his own astonishment was even greater than the sultan's.

He was utterly incapable of taking in what was happening to him. He had tried to exploit his hidden power at home but it had not responded to him. However, he thanked God for his escape. Let his power be as it might. Let it disappear as it wanted so long as it hastened to his rescue in critical situations. He drove off his misgivings and put his trust in God.

He was sitting out in the sun in the garden of his house when a stranger came and asked to see him. Thinking he might be in need of something, Ma'rouf asked for him to be shown in. The stranger entered, swaggering in a fine Persian robe; he had a tall turban, a well-trimmed beard, and a haughty air; there was no doubt that he was a man of high rank. Ma'rouf greeted him and invited him to sit down.

“Who might our honorable guest be?” he asked.

“I am the owner of this palace,” the man answered brusquely, in a tone like the falling of a hammer on metal.

Ma'rouf, taken aback, said furiously, “What rubbish!”

“I am the owner of this palace,” the man repeated with even greater force.

“I am its sole owner.”

“You are nothing but a deceiving charlatan,” said the other, challenging him with an insolent look.

“You're a crazy, impudent madman,” shouted Ma'rouf angrily.

“You have fooled everyone, including the stupid sultan, but I know you better than you know yourself.”

“It is in my power to reduce you to chaff to be scattered to the winds.”

“You're good at nothing but patching and mending shoes. I challenge you to do me harm.”

His heart sank, robbing him of confidence. Then in a voice whose tone betrayed him despite its firmness, he asked, “Perhaps you did not hear of the miracle at the Café of the Emirs?”

“I did not hear of it because it was I who staged it, so don't try to deceive me. It was I too who saved you from failure in the sultan's presence.”

He pleaded inwardly to Solomon's ring to exterminate the man utterly. When nothing happened his body collapsed under the weight of his despair. “Who are you?” he asked fearfully.

“I am your master, your benefactor.”

He groaned and shrank into silence.

“It is in your hands to retain the blessing if you wish,” said the other.

“What do you want?” he asked in a voice that could scarcely be heard.

“Kill Abdullah al-Balkhi and the madman,” said the stranger quietly.

Overcome by terror, Ma'rouf said dejectedly, “I am incapable of killing an ant.”

“I'll arrange things for you.”

“Why do you seek my help when it is you who are the powerful one?”

“That's none of your business.”

He recalled the trap that Fadil had fallen into; he brought to mind, too, the tragedies of Sanaan al-Gamali and Gamasa al-Bulti.

“I entreat you by God to free me from your demands.”

“Nothing,” said the other derisively, “would be easier than for me to persuade the governor of your deception. People do not feel safe from you and would welcome your ruin in order that they may be freed from
your subtle subjugation. You will soon be called upon to perform a miracle in front of them and if you fail—as you must—they will pounce on you like tigers.”

A sad and blindly despairing look came to his eyes, but the stranger had no mercy on him and said, “I am waiting for your decision.”

“Get away from me,” he cried sharply. “I cannot think properly in your presence.”

“I shall leave you for a while,” he said, rising to his feet. “If you do not call me, the chief of police will come in my stead.”

Having said which, he made off.

He left Ma'rouf in a state of blazing hell. Was he to kill Abdullah al-Balkhi and the madman? Yes, he was keen to retain his good fortune, yet he was a good and weak man, also a true believer. Imagination pulled him this way and that, but always he held firm to the ground at the edge of the abyss. In the darkness of agony there shone a happy thought: why did he not escape with Husniya and the money?

He rushed home and ordered his wife to put on her cloak for going out, and he made his money into a package. His wife asked what it was all about and he told her that she would know once they arrived safely at their destination. They mounted two mules and went off, his intention being to go to the river quay. But, approaching the end of the street, he saw Khalil Faris the chief of police coming toward him at the head of a force of troops.

The scandal broke and the drumming of it resounded into the corners of the city. The gossips spread the news of Ma'rouf the cobbler's confessions. Some hearts were reassured, while others sank into the abyss. It was known that the execution mat would soon be receiving Ma'rouf and that he would be joining Fadil Sanaan and Aladdin. The poor and the
miserable left their huts for the city squares. They rushed off, following their anxious and deeply-rooted emotions. In vast gatherings they found themselves as one giant boundless body, roaring their protests and their fears for the future. With the demise of Ma'rouf their daily bread would disappear. Once again faces grew gloomy and groans of complaint were exchanged in hoarse whispers. Such force was engendered, such unrelieved anger, that they felt themselves to be an irresistible flood that could burst forth.

“Ma'rouf is innocent.”

“Ma'rouf is compassionate.”

“Ma'rouf must not die.”

“Woe to those that do him harm.”

No sooner had a voice called out that they should go to the governor's house than the crowds surged forth like a torrent unleashed from the highest mountain, letting loose a great roar. At the first street their way was blocked by heavily-armed troops. Quickly a battle ensued with arrows and stones, a battle waged fiercely under a cloud that threatened rain. Before sundown a rumble of drums was heard and a town crier shouted, “Stop the fighting—His Majesty the Sultan himself is on the way.”

The two sides pulled back and silence fell. The sultan's procession came with a large force of cavalry. Shahriyar entered the governor's residence surrounded by his men of state. The official inquiry went on the whole night. Before dawn the town crier emerged as drizzle was falling, softly washing the faces drawn with anxiety. Many were the expectations of the people, but what actually happened had never occurred to them in their wildest dreams.

“It is the wish of the sultan,” called out the town crier, “that the governor be transferred to take charge of another quarter and that Ma'rouf the cobbler should take command here.”

Cheers rang out as the people became intoxicated with their resounding victory.

M
a'rouf the governor of the quarter suggested with all modesty to the sultan that he transfer Sami Shukri the private secretary and Khalil Faris the chief of police to another quarter, and that he should be gracious enough to appoint Nur al-Din as personal secretary and the madman as chief of police under a new name—Abdullah al-Aqil, which is to say, “Abdullah the Sane.” It was extraordinary that the sultan should grant his request, although he did ask him, “Are you really happy about the madman being your chief of police?”

“Absolutely so,” answered Ma'rouf confidently.

He wished him all success, then asked, “What about your policy, Ma'rouf?”

“I have spent my life, Your Majesty,” the man said humbly, “mending shoes until mending has become lodged in my blood.”

The vizier Dandan was disturbed by this and said to the sultan after Ma'rouf's departure, “Do you not think, Your Majesty, that the quarter has fallen into the hands of a group of people with no experience?”

“Let us venture,” said the sultan gently, “upon a new experience.”

The habitués of the Café of the Emirs were whiling away the evening in merry conversation in keeping with the change that had happened in their quarter, when a stranger appeared at the entrance to the café. Of slender build, rather tall, with a black and elegant beard, he was dressed in a Baghdad cloak, a Damascene turban, and Moroccan sandals, while in his hand he held a Persian string of prayer beads made of precious pearls. The people were tongue-tied and all eyes gravitated toward him. In spite of the fact that he was a stranger, he let his smiling eyes roam familiarly among the people there. Then suddenly Ragab the porter leapt to his feet, shouting, “Praise the Lord, it is none other than Sindbad!”

The newcomer guffawed loudly and took his old comrade in his arms. The two embraced warmly, and soon hands were being grasped in friendly handshakes. Then he went to an empty place beside Master Sahloul, drawing Ragab with him, who protested in whispered embarrassment, “That's the place for the gentlemen!”

“As of now, you're my business agent,” said Sindbad.

“How many years have you been away, Sindbad?” Shamloul the hunchback asked him.

“In truth, I've forgotten time!” he said in confusion.

“It seems like ten centuries,” said Ugr the barber.

“You have seen many worlds,” said the doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni. “What did you see, Sindbad?”

He savored the great interest being taken in him, then said, “I have delightful and edifying tales, but everything in its due time. Have patience until I settle down.”

“We will tell you our own tales,” said Ugr.

“What has God done with you?”

“Many have died and have had their fill of death,” answered Hasan al-Attar, “and many have been born and have not had their fill of life. People have fallen down from the heights, and other people have risen up from the depths; some have grown rich after being hungry, while
others are begging after having been of high rank. Some of the finest and the worst of jinn have arrived in our city, and the latest news is that Ma'rouf the cobbler has been appointed to govern our quarter.”

“I had reckoned that wonders would be restricted to my travels. Now I am truly amazed!”

“It is clear,” said Ibrahim the water-carrier, “that you have become rich, Sindbad.”

“God bestows fortune upon whom He will without limit.”

“Tell us,” said Galil the draper, “about the most extraordinary things you encountered.”

“There is a time for everything,” he said, swinging his string of Persian prayer beads. “I must buy a palace and I must open an agency for putting up for sale the rare and precious objects I have brought from the mountains and from the depths of the seas and unknown islands, and I shall shortly invite you to a dinner at which I shall present to you strange foods and drinks, after which I shall recount my extraordinary journeys.”

Immediately his choice fell on a palace in Cavalry Square. He entrusted to Sahloul the task of furnishing and decorating it, while he opened a new agency in the market, over which Ragab the porter was put in charge from the first day. Meanwhile he visited the governor. They were no sooner alone than they embraced like old friends. Ma'rouf told him his story, while Sindbad related what had happened to him during his seven voyages.

“You are deserving of your position,” Sindbad told him.

“I am the servant of the poor under God's care,” answered Ma'rouf with conviction.

He visited Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi, his teacher when he was a young boy. Kissing his hands, he said to him, “I was under your tutelage only so long as was necessary for my primary schooling, but I gained from it some words that lit up the darkness for me when I was faced by misfortune.”

“It is useless to have good seed unless it is in good earth,” said the sheikh amiably.

“Perhaps, master, you would like to hear my adventures?”

“Knowledge is not gained by numerous narratives but through following knowledge and using it.”

“Master, you will find in them things to please you.”

“Blessed is he who has but one thing to worry about,” answered the sheikh with little enthusiasm, “and whose heart is not preoccupied by what his eyes have seen and his ears heard. He who has known God is abstemious about everything that distracts from Him.”

Having made his arrangements to settle down, Sindbad invited his friends to a feast. There he recounted what had happened to him on his seven voyages. From them the stories spread to the quarter and then to the city, and hearts were stirred and imaginations kindled.

One day Ma'rouf the governor of the quarter asked him to pay a visit.

“Rejoice, Sindbad, for His Majesty the Sultan Shahriyar wishes to see you.”

Sindbad was delighted and went off immediately to the palace in the company of the chief of police, Abdullah al-Aqil. As he presented himself before the sultan only at the beginning of the night, they took him to the garden. There he was shown to a seat in profound darkness, while the breaths of spring brought to the depths of his being a blending of the perfumes of flowers under a ceiling that sparkled with stars. The sultan talked gently, so he was put at ease and his sense of awe was replaced by feelings of love and intimacy. Shahriyar asked him about his original occupation, about sciences he had acquired, and about what it was that had caused him to resolve to travel. Sindbad answered with appropriate brevity, frankly and truthfully.

“People have told me of your travels,” said Shahriyar, “and I would like to hear from you what you learned from them, whether you have gained from them any useful knowledge—but don't repeat anything unless it is necessary.”

Sindbad thought for a time, then said, “It is of God that one seeks help, Your Majesty.”

“I am listening to you, Sindbad.”

He filled his lungs with the delightful fragrance, then began:

“The first thing I have learned, Your Majesty, is that man may be deceived by illusion so that he thinks it is the truth, and that there is no safety for us unless we dwell on solid land. Thus when our ship sank on our first journey, I swam, clinging to a piece of wood until I reached a black island. I and those with me thanked God and we set off wandering about all over it searching for fruit. When we found none, we gathered together on the shore, with our hopes set upon a ship that might be passing by. All of a sudden someone shouted, ‘The earth is moving.'

“We looked and found that we were being shaken by the ground. We were overcome with terror. Then another man called out, ‘The earth is sinking!'

“It was indeed submerging into the water. So I threw myself into the sea. It then became apparent to us that what we had thought was land was in fact nothing but the back of a large whale which had been disturbed by our moving about on top of it and was taking itself off to its own world in stately fashion.

“I swam off, giving myself up to fate until my hands struck against some rocks and from these I crawled to a real island on which there was water and much fruit. I lived there for a time until a ship passed by and rescued me.”

“And how do you make a distinction between illusion and truth?” inquired the sultan.

“We must use such senses and intelligence as God has given us,” he answered after some hesitation.

“Continue, Sindbad.”

“I also learned, Your Majesty, that sleep is not permissible if wakefulness is necessary, and that while there is life, there is no reason to despair. The ship crashed against some projecting rocks and was wrecked, and those on it moved onto an island, a bare island that had no water and no trees, but we carried with us food and waterskins. I saw a large rock not so faraway and I told myself that I could sleep in its shade for a while. I slept and when I awoke I could find no trace of my
companions. I called out but heard no answer. I ran toward the shore and saw a ship slipping beyond the horizon; I also saw waves surging and giving out an anthem of despair and death. I realized that the ship had picked up my comrades, who, in the ecstasy of being saved, had forgotten about their friend sleeping behind the rock. Not a sound issued from a living soul, not a thing was to be seen on the surface of the desolate land except for the rock. But what a rock! I looked, my eyes sharpened by terror, and I realized that it was not a rock, as it had seemed to my exhausted sight, but an egg—an egg the size of a large house. The egg of what possible bird? Terror seized hold of me at that unknown enemy, as I plunged into the void of a slow death. Then the light of the sun was extinguished and a dusk-like gloom descended. Raising my eyes, I saw a creature like an eagle, though hundreds of times bigger. I saw it coming slowly down until it settled over the egg. I realized that it was taking it up to fly off with it. A crazy idea occurred to me and I tied myself to the end of one of its legs, which was as big as a mast. The bird soared off with me, flying along above the ground. To my eyes everything looked so small and insignificant, as though neither hope nor pain pulsated there, until the bird came down on a mountain peak. I untied myself and crawled behind a towering tree, the like of which I had never seen before. The bird rested for a while then continued its journey toward the unknown, while I was vanquished by sleep. When I awoke the noon sun was shining. I chewed some grasses to assuage my hunger, while I quenched my thirst from a hollow that was full of clear water. Then I noticed that the earth was giving out beams that dazzled my eyes. When I investigated, the surface of the ground revealed uncut diamonds. Despite my wretchedness, my avidity was aroused and I tore out as many as I could and tied them up in my trousers. Then I went down from the mountain till I ended up on the shore, from where I was rescued by a passing ship.”

“It was the roc, which we have heard of but not seen,” said Shahriyar quietly. “You are the first human to exploit it to his own ends, Sindbad—you should know that too.”

“It is the will of Almighty God,” said Sindbad modestly. Then he went on with what he had to say.

“I also learned, Your Majesty, that food is nourishment when
taken in moderation but is a danger when taken gluttonously—and this is also true of the carnal appetites. Like the one before, the ship was wrecked and we found ourselves on an island which was governed by a giant king. He was nevertheless a generous and hospitable man and gave us a welcome that surpassed all our hopes, and under his roof we did nothing but relax and spend our evenings in conversation. He produced for us every kind of food and we set about it like madmen. However, some words that I had learned of old in my childhood from my master Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi prevented me from eating to excess. Much time was afforded me for worship, while my companions spent their time in gobbling up food and in heavy sleep after filling themselves so that their weight increased enormously and they became barrel-shaped, full of flabby flesh and fat. One day the king came and looked us over man by man. He then invited my companions to his palace, while to me he turned in scorn.

“ ‘You're like rocky ground that doesn't give fruit,' he said.

“I was displeased by this and it occurred to me that I might slip out at night and see what my companions were doing. So it was that I saw the king's men slaughtering the captain and serving him up to their ruler. He gobbled him down with savage relish and the secret of his generosity was immediately borne upon me. I made my escape to the shore, where I was rescued by a ship.”

“May He maintain you in your piety, Sindbad,” murmured the sultan. Then, as though talking to himself, he said, “But the ruler too is in need of piety.”

Sindbad retained the echo of the sultan's comment for a minute, then continued with what he had to say:

“I learned too, Your Majesty, that to continue with worn-out traditions is foolishly dangerous. The ship sank on its way to China. I and a group of those traveling with me took refuge on an island that was rich in vegetation and had a moderate climate. Peace prevailed there and it was ruled over by a good king, who said to us, ‘I shall regard you as my subjects—you shall have the same rights and the same obligations.'

“We were happy about this and gave up prayers for him. As a further show of hospitality to us he presented us with some of his beautiful slave-girls as wives. Life thus became easy and enjoyable. It
then happened that one of the wives died and the king had her prepared for burial and said to our comrade who was the woman's widower, ‘I am sorry to part from you but our traditions demand that the husband be buried alive with his dead wife; this also goes for the wife if the husband happens to die before her.'

“Our friend was terror-struck and said to the king, ‘But our religion does not require this of us.'