Arabian Nights and Days (10 page)

He followed with his eyes the stream of veiled women. Could his beloved be one of them? She was to be found somewhere, of that he had no doubt: to be found somewhere, in this time now and no other. Maybe our yearnings roam about crazily as they strive after a meeting with the beloved. Maybe He Who had performed the miracle of the dream would work out, through some other dream, its interpretation and fulfillment. It wasn't possible that such a dream should simply vanish as though it had never been. It wasn't possible that yearnings so strong should blaze up without rhyme or reason. The lover must attain his goal—rationally or crazily, he must attain it. But how lost is he who searches without a guide!

The vizier Dandan was happy at the return of Dunyazad to his spacious house. As for the mother, she alone suffered—together with Dunyazad—the pain of living with the secret.

“You did wrong, Dunyazad,” she said to her daughter in sadness and anger.

“I resign myself to the will of the Lord of the Worlds,” said Dunyazad, weeping.

“The outcome will not be good.”

“I resign myself to the will of the Lord of the Worlds,” she repeated meekly.

When the signs of her condition became apparent, the woman set
about arranging her daughter's abortion, while asking forgiveness of her Lord.

“We are putting off the disaster, but what happens if a bridegroom presents himself?”

“I have no wish to marry,” exclaimed Dunyazad.

“What shall we say to your father if he finds a suitable person?”

“I resign myself to the will of the Lord of the Worlds.”

Once on her own, she forgot the dangers surrounding her and remembered only her departed lover. When she did so, death itself seemed of no account. Neither did she heed the disgrace, only asking herself agonizingly, “Where are you, my love? How did you find me? What's your secret? What's keeping you away from me? Has not my beauty taken you captive as yours has me? Has not the fire that burns in my soul seared you? Do you not take pity on my torment? Do you not miss my love and longing for you?”

An obstacle rose in the path of events and people's hearts were affected. The town crier had passed by on his mule calling out to the sultan's subjects, informing them of the attack of the king of Byzantium on one of the ports and of the army being put on alert for a holy war to repel the invaders. Anxiety spread and the mosques were crammed with worshipers; prayers were offered up for the sultan Shahriyar to be victorious. In the evening the habitués of the Café of the Emirs, the high and the low, congregated. One bench was shared by Hasan al-Attar the son of Ibrahim al-Attar, Fadil Sanaan, and Nur al-Din. No one had any subject of conversation except the war. The doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni was heard to say, “You have not witnessed an attack by the enemy—it is a storm of destruction that sweeps over cities and their peoples.”

“God's army is unconquerable,” said Galil al-Bazzaz the draper.

“God, too, has His underlying reasons for things.”

“Sindbad's ship may be captured,” said Ragab the porter.

To which Aladdin the son of Ugr the barber said, “You think only of yourself and your friend.”

At which Ugr the barber said, “I had an extraordinary dream.”

But no one asked him about his dream as no one trusted him to speak the truth and because they knew he liked involving himself in other people's affairs.

Nur al-Din shuddered at the mention of a dream. He said to his friends Hasan and Fadil, “Nothing is more remarkable in the lives of men than dreams,” and he heard a voice commenting on his last words: “You are right in what you've said, my son.”

He turned to the adjacent platform and saw Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant gazing at him with a smile.

“You're wise and experienced, sir.”

“He who is master of dreams is master of tomorrow,” said Sahloul.

He gave his whole heart to the conversation, but Fadil, recollecting what his absent friend Abdullah the porter had told him, quietly nudged him and whispered in his ear, “Stop talking to him.”

“But is he not a man of experience?” asked Nur al-Din.

“He's also as inscrutable as a dream,” whispered Fadil Sanaan.

And he heard the doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni say, “In my estimation the sultan's army will be victorious, but the owl will screech in the ruins of the treasury.”

Nur al-Din sighed sadly and asked himself when this yearning of his would end. His eyes were languid, his heart oppressed. He went roaming about in the streets, sometimes by day, sometimes by night, drawn in particular to places where women congregated in their favored markets. More than once he passed the house of the vizier Dandan at the time when Dunyazad was standing behind the wooden latticework looking out, but he did not notice her, nor she him. The unique experience appeared to him as an irrational phenomenon lodged far distant from the domain of hope, or it would whisper to him at times like some extraordinary truth that would be unveiled to him at such time as God's mercy willed. On another occasion, at the end of the night, he saw a specter approaching which, when it could be seen in the light above a doorway,
turned out to be the face of a dwarf—that of Karam al-Aseel the millionaire. What had brought him out of his magnificent house at such a late hour? What was keeping him awake? What was he searching for? He wondered whether the man had fallen captive to some dream as he himself had done and whether his wealth would be of help in discovering who had made him captive. His heart contracted at seeing him abroad for no apparent reason.

Karam al-Aseel liked to walk at night in the empty streets. He loved to wander about the quarter, and there was no part of the quarter without a house or a khan owned by him. In his spacious home he had a wife and tens of slave-girls, but he did not own their hearts in the same way as he owned human beings and things. It was in his power to change destinies, yet not to alter his own shape or form. Thus the world would often appear to him as drab as his own face. Business transactions forced him to mix with people, yet he loved the solitude of the night. He did not like singing and was bored by conversation, but he adored wealth and worshiped power. He had had the pleasure of being accepted as a confidant of the sultan. He would pay the alms tax but practiced no form of charity. He took care of his beard and was proud of it, for it was the most beautiful thing he possessed, with its luxurious growth. He had produced twenty daughters, but had not been granted a single male child. He owned millions and was the richest man in the quarter, in fact in the whole city.

He was also a lover of women and it was perhaps this that had made Nur al-Din follow his shadow with a dark and deeply agitated heart.

Karam was overcome with passion when the veil slipped from Dunyazad's face as she rode in her howdah at the celebrations for Ashura, the
anniversary of the martyrdom of the Prophet's grandson. His heart, immersed in business worries, shook as when lightning strikes in the dark clouds. He leaned toward Bayumi al-Armal, the chief of police, who was one of those in slavery to his handouts.

“Who's the slave-girl?”

“Dunyazad,” he answered, smiling, “the sister of the sultana.”

His chest tightened as he told himself that she was not to be bought for any money.

Thus he was proceeding at night in the company of musings that were not pleasant. When he spotted Nur al-Din he ignored him. He envied him his good looks, while protesting to himself angrily for envying another human being. Passing by the house of Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant, he said to himself, “That man will become my rival in wealth.” He regarded him as belonging to that rare minority that obliges others to show them respect, so he hated him more than he hated the others. As he made his way home, he said, “Karam al-Aseel or Abdullah al-Balkhi, which will read for us the unknown? My wealth should give me many times more happiness than I have.”

The doorman said to him, “Sir, Husam al-Fiqi, the private secretary, is awaiting your return in the reception hall.”

What had brought him at this late hour? At once he went to him. They embraced. The private secretary said, “My master, Yusuf al-Tahir, governor of the quarter, awaits you now at his house.”

“What urgent matter brings you?”

“I don't know, except that it's important.”

They went off in a hurry. When he was alone with him, Yusuf al-Tahir began in mock pomposity, “Commensurate with people's efforts…”

Karam al-Aseel looked at him with interest, and the other continued, “Our army has been victorious. You are the first man to be informed of the good news.”

He muttered in confusion, “A favor from the Lord of the Worlds.”

The governor gave him a long look, then said, “The treasury has had expenses beyond its means.”

His heart went cold as he grasped what it was all about.

“The sultan,” continued Yusuf al-Tahir, “is in need of a loan to be paid after the land tax has been collected.”

“And what,” he inquired half in jest, “has this to do with me?”

“The sultan,” said Yusuf al-Tahir with a laugh, “has singled you out for this honor.”

“How much?” he asked without enthusiasm.

“Five million dinars.”

There was no escape, no choice. Yet an idea flashed in his head that was so experienced at driving bargains.

“An opportunity to draw close to the sultan and to gain the reward of the Merciful.”

“Well done!”

“But there's a request I have which I did not know how to express,” he said quietly.

Yusuf al-Tahir kept smiling in silence, until Karam al-Aseel said, “The hand of Dunyazad, my ultimate hope of achieving the honor of being related.”

Though astonished, Yusuf al-Tahir did not show it. He recollected how much he would have liked to have Dunyazad for himself. He felt unimaginably irritated at the other man, but said calmly, “I shall put forward the request as you wish.”

“What was to be feared has occurred!”

It was with these words that the mother expressed herself, in a state of great agitation. Dunyazad, on the other hand, had been expecting it.

“The bridegroom has come—he has obtained the sultan's compliance and your father's agreement.”

Who could it be? Did fate have some new miracle stored up in which lay a remedy? Her eyes asked the question without her uttering a word.

“It's Karam al-Aseel the millionaire.”

Dunyazad frowned, and desperation wrested the blood from her cheeks.

“Scandal, like thunder, knocks at the door,” said the mother.

“I am innocent and God is my witness,” said Dunyazad, weeping.

“No one will ever believe your story.”

“God is sufficient for me.”

“With Him is forgiveness and pardon.”

“Do I not have the right of accepting or refusing?”

“It is the sultan's wish,” said the mother, rejecting the suggestion.

“Oh, that I could escape from this world!” she groaned.

“That would be an even bigger scandal, and your sister might not be safe from the consequences.”

As her weeping increased, her mother said, “Would that difficulties were solved with tears.”

“But my tears are all I possess!” exclaimed Dunyazad.

Sakhrabout said to Zarmabaha as he laughed joyfully, “The trick we played has become excessively complicated and will have exciting consequences.”

Zarmabaha, sharing his joy, said, “A rare entertainment!”

“Do you think the beautiful young girl will commit suicide, or be killed?”

“The best would be if she were to be killed and her father were to commit suicide.”

“Is there further scope for having fun?”

“Let's just let things take their course, seeing that they don't require our intervention.”

“The fact is that I'm afraid…”

“What are you afraid of, my darling?” she interrupted him.

“That goodness will sneak in from we know not where.”

“Don't be so pessimistic!” she said scornfully.

Sakhrabout laughed and said nothing.

The news of Karam al-Aseel's engagement to Dunyazad spread throughout the quarter, dragging in its wake a trail of joy, curiosity, and mocking remarks. The poor dreamed of a generous windfall of charity from a man who did not even know the joy of being charitable, while the people of distinction rejoiced at this relationship by marriage between the sultan and their quarter, although warning whispers were abroad about a monkey marrying an angel. Dunyazad, in her solitude, lamented, while communing with the unknown. “Where are you, my beloved? When are you coming to rescue me from ruin?”

Nur al-Din continued wandering about in the alleyways. The news of the marriage aroused his sadness as he too communed with the unknown. “Where are you, my beloved?” Meanwhile, Qumqam and Singam followed the whispered communings with deep sorrow.

“Look,” said Singam to his companion, “what time and place do.”

“The moans of mankind,” Qumqam said to him, “from of old gush forth into the river of sorrows among the stars.”

Under their tree Sahloul hurried by.

“He's off on some assignment,” said Qumqam.

“Sometimes,” said Sahloul in confusion, “I receive incomprehensible orders!” And off he went.

Sahloul ended up at the wall of the lunatic asylum where he stood in the darkness.

“Were it not that I have faith, I might ask myself the meaning of all this.”

He imposed his will on the ground between himself and the cell of Gamasa al-Bulti and a tunnel burst open which no humans could have cut through in less than a year. In seconds he was standing in the
darkness above the head of Gamasa al-Bulti and listening to his regular breathing. He gently shook him until he woke up and asked, “Who is it?”