Arabian Nights and Days (7 page)

“I am going to ask for the hand of Akraman,” said Fadil.

“Were you not thinking it best to wait a while?” Abdullah said in astonishment.

“No, I've changed my mind—and I shall ask on your behalf for the hand of the lady Rasmiya.”

Abdullah stayed silent in thought. No doubt she was in need of a man in her ordeal, and she could not hope for someone better than him.

“How lovely for mother and daughter to marry on the same night,” said Fadil joyfully.

Having come to like and trust him, Fadil began to recount to him the stories of Sanaan al-Gamali and Gamasa al-Bulti.

When Fadil had finished his exciting tale, Abdullah commented, “God honors those He wishes to honor and humbles those He wishes to humble.”

“Each in accordance with his zeal,” muttered Fadil Sanaan.

The sentence hit him like the smell of pepper, and he wondered whether Fadil had learned the words from the same source. Preparing the way for a new direction in the conversation, he said, “And part of the perfection of zeal is caution.”

Each of them turned about in his mind his own thoughts for a while, then Abdullah said, “We are on the point of becoming one family, and so I tell you that a porter enters houses that are open only to the elite.”

Fadil guessed that his friend was about to deliver himself of a confidence. He gave him an inquiring look and Abdullah said, “In the houses of Yusuf al-Tahir the governor and Adnan Shouma the chief of police there are sometimes whisperings about the enemies of the state.”

“It's only to be expected,” said Fadil, feigning indifference.

“No one imagines that I understand the meaning of what is going on or that I am paying any attention to it.”

“You're an unusual man, Uncle Abdullah, and you continue to astonish me.”

“There is nothing astonishing about the astuteness of a man who has moved about in different places and circumstances.”

“I'm truly happy to be with you,” said Fadil.

Abdullah continued with what he had to say. “They are people obsessed with delusions. The more they go to excesses of criminality, the more they conjure up the specters of Shiites and Kharijites.”

“I know that only too well.”

“So it was that I said that part of the perfection of zeal is caution.”

Fadil gave him a questioning look and asked, “What do you mean?”

“You're intelligent enough to know.”

“You seem to be warning me.”

“There's no harm in that.”

“I am nothing but a seller of sweets—is there anything about me to cause you disquiet?”

He gave an enigmatic smile and said, “I like caution as much as I like the Shiites and Kharijites.”

“To which group do you belong?” Fadil asked him eagerly.

“Neither to these nor to those, but I am the enemy of evildoers.” Abdullah found himself before an open invitation, but, as a former policeman, he preferred to proceed in his own fashion.

Abdullah the porter darted out like an arrow into the sky of his perceived holy war. Calling upon his strength of former times, he subdued it on this occasion to his pure and firm will. Immediately, Buteisha Murgan, the private secretary, was felled, murdered. It happened as he was making his way among his guards from the house of government to his own house after midnight, when, from out of the darkness, an arrow struck him, lodging in his heart. He was sprawled across his mule among the lances and lanterns of his guards, who swooped down on the surrounding quarters, arresting every passerby they came across, the loafers and those sleeping about in corners. His house was consumed with grief and the house of government was rocked, with Yusuf al-Tahir going out like a madman at the head of his forces. The news reached the vizier Dandan, who was made sleepless with terror till morning. And with morning the news had spread through the quarter and the whole city.

People were in a state of agitation and rumors were rife. It was a new link in the chain of the violent deaths of al-Salouli and al-Hamadhani, a new confirmation of the mysterious world of genies. Or was it the Shiites or the Kharijites? Or perhaps it was an isolated incident behind which lay concealed a woman's jealousy or a man's envy?

The skies opened up with heavy rain, which continued for the whole day so that mud piled up and water covered with scum flowed in the alleys and lanes, spoiling the arrangements for Buteisha's funeral and burial, and warning of a cruel winter. Abdullah the porter slipped in among the common folk at the Café of the Emirs, his senses alert with concealed attention. The murder became the subject of all conversation, views differing between the declared thoughts of the elite and the whispered exchanges of the common folk. Abdullah spotted Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant engaged in a long conversation with Karam al-Aseel the millionaire and his heart tightened. He did not forget the penetrating look Sahloul had given him under his suspended head and he remembered seeing him circling around the retinue of the private secretary when he, Abdullah, had been about to shoot the arrow. So how was it that he had not been arrested? How had he vanished from the sight of the guards? Abdullah's heart contracted with fear. He was surprised that, during the whole of his time as chief of police, the only man in the quarter about whom he had not come to know some secret was Sahloul. He was conversant with the circumstances of all the persons of position, with what was known and what was hidden, except for this man, who was a closed riddle.

The fever heat of those in positions of responsibility did not abate, nor the harsh measures taken by them. As for the rest of the people, they became used to the incident, grew bored with talking about it, then forgot about it. Soon the demands of life took over from the events of history, and Umm Saad, the widow of Sanaan, said to the lady Rasmiya, the widow of Gamasa al-Bulti, “With the blessing of God and His wisdom, my son Fadil would like to marry Akraman.”

Amid general rejoicing agreement was reached. They were all living in the real world and did not let a bygone dream spoil it. Then Umm Saad said, “You too, Lady Rasmiya!” And she made known the wish of Abdullah the porter to marry her. Rasmiya gave a slight laugh of surprise; she was neither pleased with the news, nor did she welcome it.

“Marriage is for Akraman and Husniya, not for us,” she said shyly. Then, after a silence, she continued, “Gamasa has not died, his memory is still alive in me.”

Fadil and Abdullah were both happy, each with the news he had received. Yes, Abdullah was upset at having to bury his emotions, but the Gamasa who was hidden inside him was overjoyed.

The wedding was celebrated in Umm Saad's room. The two families were in attendance. Abdullah the porter was invited, and he brought as a present for the couple some amber and incense with the money he had earned during the day sweeping the courtyard, which he did with the same ardor he had employed when he embarked upon killing Buteisha Murgan, being intoxicated with the burning fragrance of the family, which had transfused into his limbs a lasting state of drunkenness. His heart boiled with the emotions of being a father and a husband, while at the same time love was humbled under the control of piety and love of God the Merciful. He regained the riches of an old emotion and took delight in being so close, burying his secret in a well that overflowed with sadness.

Husniya volunteered to enliven her brother's wedding, relying on her mastery of poetry and singing and her fine voice. To handclapping she sang melodiously:

They were all moved. So moved was Abdullah that his heart filled with tears. Rising to put wood on the fire, he heard a knocking at the door. As he opened it there loomed up in the cold darkness three spectral figures.

“We're foreign merchants,” said one of them. “We heard some beautiful singing and told ourselves that noble people don't turn away strangers.”

Fadil motioned to the women, who hid themselves behind a screen that bisected the room.

“Enter in peace,” he told the strangers. “It is just a wedding that is restricted to the simple people involved.”

“We want only to enjoy a friendly atmosphere with good people,” said one of the strangers.

“It's beautifully warm here,” said another.

Fadil brought them a dish of the sweet
baseema
and another of
mushabbik
with the words: “We have nothing but this—it's what we make our living from.”

“We praise God, Who has provided us with these delicious things to eat and has made our evening so enjoyable.”

The leading man leaned over and said something into the ear of one of the others, who left the place in a hurry. Abdullah caught some glances from the leading man and it seemed to him that it was not the first time he had seen him. He tried to remember where and when it had been, but his memory failed him. Then the man came back loaded with fried and grilled fish. People's appetites were sharpened with the prospect of such delicious food.

“Our dwelling is not worthy of someone of your rank,” said Fadil in thanks.

“A dwelling is known by those who live in it,” said the man courteously, then made the request: “Let us hear some music, for it is this that has given us joy in making your acquaintance.”

So Fadil went behind the screen and before he was seated again the voice of Husniya came to them as she sang:

Everyone was moved and one of the strangers called out, “Praise be to the Great Creator!”

The leading man asked Fadil, “How did you come to own this slave-girl if you are as poor as you claim?”

“She's just my sister.”

“She has a trained voice that bespeaks a noble origin.”

Fadil was speechless, and it was Abdullah the porter who said, “He is in fact of noble origin but his path was obstructed by the perfidy of time.”

“What's the story of that perfidy?”

“There is no one in our city,” answered Abdullah the porter, “who does not know the story of the merchant Sanaan al-Gamali.”

The merchant was silent for a while, then said, “It is one of the extraordinary tales we have heard of your city.”

“But do you believe what is related of the genie?” inquired one of his comrades.

“Why not,” asked Fadil in his turn, “when such catastrophes have been brought down upon us?”

“But the ruler cannot summon genies to give evidence or be interrogated, so how can justice be done?”

“It is for the ruler to dispense justice from the beginning so that genies don't intrude on our lives.”

The leading man of the strangers asked him, “Do you suffer injustice in your lives?”

The caution he had acquired from his past experience in the police force came to his aid.

“We have a just sultan, praise be to God, though life is not devoid of ordeals.”

The conversation continued for a while till the strangers rose and left.

The three of them plunged silently into the darkness. The second merchant turned toward the first and said, “Hopefully Your Majesty found the entertainment he had wished for?”

“A viewing of the afflictions of the heart,” muttered the other.

Then, after a while, “The company of poets no longer exhilarates me, nor do the antics of Shamloul the hunchback make me laugh.”

“May God keep you in His care, Your Majesty.”

“A short and baffling dream,” he said, addressing himself. “No truth shows itself but it vanishes.”

The other waited for the sultan to throw some light on his words, but he kept silent.

Fadil and Akraman took a room, while a second room did for Rasmiya, Umm Saad, and Husniya. Despite the simplicity of their life, the two newlyweds enjoyed a serene happiness, and Fadil wished for Husniya the same sort of happy outcome as he had had.

He was more successful in forgetting the past than the women were, for he had things to occupy him, while for them the bygone days with their glory and bright lights were not erased from their memory.

He spent time alone with Abdullah the porter exchanging the thoughts of mind and heart. The man was made of sound metal and had a noble soul; his attention was drawn to the worries of mankind, as though he were a man of religion rather than a porter. Had a passerby listened in to the conversation that took place between them, he would have been taken aback and would have thought them to be men of consequence disguised as peddler and porter.

One day Fadil said, “I have opened my heart to you, but you have kept yours closed.”

Abdullah denied this with a movement of his head.

“There's a secret in your life,” he went on, “and you're no simple porter.”

“I had a spiritual guide in my native land,” Abdullah said, reassuring him. “There's no secret about that.”

“That explains it.”

“In any event we both quench our intellectual thirsts from one and the same source.”

“And so I'd like to ask you one favor,” said Fadil boldly.

Abdullah fixed him with an inquiring look and Fadil said significantly, “By reason of your work you come and go in all sorts of houses.”

Abdullah gave a knowing smile and was silent while he waited for him to continue.

“Do you sometimes agree to carry messages?”

“There are people who find meaning to their lives by pursuing troubles,” he said smiling, remembering Akraman affectionately.