Arabian Nights and Days (4 page)

Al-Salouli gave him a piercing glance and inquired with a smile, “I wonder whether he will come duly prepared?”

“Just as you envisage,” said Sanaan with shrewd subtlety.

Al-Salouli laughed and said jovially, “You're intelligent, Sanaan—and don't forget that we are related!”

Sanaan suddenly feared he would summon Buteisha Murgan, and he said to himself, “It's now or the chance will vanish forever.”

The man had facilitated things for him without knowing it by relaxing and stretching out his legs and turning over on his back, his eyes closed. Sanaan was immersed in thoughts about the crime and hurling himself into what destiny still remained to him. Unsheathing the dagger, and aiming it at the heart, he stabbed with a strength drawn from determination, despair, and a final desire to escape. The governor gave a violent shuddering, as though wrestling with some unknown force. His face was convulsed and became crazily glazed. He started to bring his arms together as though to clutch at the dagger, but he was unable to. His terrified eyes uttered unheard words, then he was forever motionless.

Trembling, Sanaan stared at the dagger, whose blade had disappeared from sight, and at the gushing blood. With difficulty he wrested his eyes away and looked fearfully toward the closed door. The silence was rent by the throbbing in his temples, and for the first time he caught sight of the lamps hanging in the corners. He also noted a wooden lectern decorated with mother-of-pearl on which rested a large copy of the Quran. In all his agonies he pleaded to Qumqam, his genie and his fate. The invisible presence enveloped him and he heard the voice saying with satisfaction, “Well done!” Then, joyfully, “Now Qumqam is freed from the black magic.”

“Save me,” said Sanaan. “I abhor this place and this scene.”

The voice said with sympathetic calm, “My faith prevents me from interfering now that I have taken possession of my free will.”

“I don't understand what you're saying,” he said in terror.

“Your fault, Sanaan, is that you don't think like a human being.”

“O Lord, there is no time for discussion. Do you intend to abandon me to my fate?”

“That is exactly what my duty requires of me.”

“How despicable! You have deceived me.”

“No, rather I have granted you an opportunity of salvation seldom given to a living soul.”

“Did you not interfere in my life and cause me to kill this man?”

“I was eager to free myself from the evil of black magic, so I chose you because of your faith, despite the way you fluctuated between good and evil. I reckoned you were more worthy than anyone else to save your quarter and yourself.”

“But you did not make clear your thoughts to me,” he said desperately.

“I made them sufficiently clear for one who thinks.”

“Underhand double-dealing. Who said I was responsible for the quarter?”

“It is a general trust from which no person is free, but it is espe-cially
incumbent upon the likes of you, who are not devoid of good intentions.”

“Did you not save me from my plight under the stairway of the elementary school?”

“Indeed it was difficult for me to accept that you should, by reason of my intervention, suffer the worst of endings without hope of atonement or repentance, so I decided to give you a new chance.”

“And now I have undertaken what I pledged myself to you to do, so it is your duty to save me.”

“Then it is a plot and your role in it is that of the instrument, and worthiness, atonement, repentance, and salvation are put an end to.”

He went down on his knees and pleaded, “Have mercy on me. Save me.”

“Don't waste your sacrifice on the air.”

“It's a black outcome.”

“He who does good is not troubled by the consequences.”

“I don't want to be a hero!” he cried out in terror.

“Be a hero, Sanaan. That is your destiny,” said Qumqam sorrowfully.

The voice began to fade as it said, “May God be with you and I ask Him to forgive both you and me.”

Sanaan let out a scream that reached the ears of Buteisha Murgan and the men of the guard outside.

T
he soul of Sanaan al-Gamali floated in the air of the Café of the Emirs, and its habitués were overcome with distress.

They had witnessed his trial and heard his full confession, and they had seen the sword of Shabeeb Rama the executioner as he chopped off his head. He had a good status among the merchants and the notables, and belonged to that minority that was held in affection by the poor. In front of all these his head had been cut off and his family made destitute. His story was circulated on every tongue, and the hearts of the quarter and the whole city were stirred. The sultan Shahriyar recalled it many a time, and in the café, whose atmosphere had been softened by the harbingers of autumn, Hamdan Tuneisha the contractor said, “God the Creator and Owner of Dominion, Who disposes as He will in His affairs, says to something ‘Be' and it is. Who among you would have imagined such a fate for Sanaan al-Gamali? Sanaan rape and strangle a young girl of ten? Sanaan kill the governor of the quarter at his first meeting with him?”

“If one regards the genie as far-fetched, the story becomes a riddle,” said Ibrahim the druggist.

“Perhaps it was being bitten by the dog,” said the doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni. “If that were the root cause, then the fantasies of some malignant disease that was not treated as it should have been become possible.”

“There is no one,” said Ibrahim the druggist heatedly, “more experienced than me in the treatment of dog bites, the last being Ma'rouf the cobbler. Isn't that so, Ma'rouf?”

To which Ma'rouf, from his place among the common people, answered, “Thanks be to God Who accomplished the blessing of the cure.”

“And why shouldn't we believe the story of the genie?” asked Ugr the barber.

“They exceed human beings in number,” said Ibrahim the water-carrier.

“Death has no need of causes,” said Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant.

“I have had so many experiences with genies,” said Ma'rouf the cobbler, at which Shamloul the hunchback, the sultan's buffoon, said, “We know that genies avoid your house in fear of your wife.”

Ma'rouf gave a smile of submission to his destiny, although the jest met with no success in the lugubrious atmosphere.

Galil the draper said, “Sanaan has been ruined, as has his family.”

Karam al-Aseel, the millionaire with the face of a monkey, said, “To extend a helping hand to his family would be regarded as challenging authority. There is no strength or power other than God.”

“The thing I fear the most,” said Ibrahim the druggist, “is that people will shun his family for fear of the evil power of genies.”

Hasan the son of Ibrahim the druggist said, “It is out of the question that anything will change my relationship with Fadil Sanaan.”

“He says to something ‘Be' and it is,” repeated Hamdan Tuneisha the contractor.

Gamasa al-Bulti the chief of police set off toward the river to indulge in his favorite pastime of fishing. He had given it up for forty days as an act of mourning for his superior, Ali al-Salouli. He was also sorry for the murderer, by virtue of their being neighbors and the long-standing friendship that had made the two families one. It had been he who had arrested him, he who had thrown him into prison, and he who had sent him to court and had finally handed him over to the executioner, Shabeeb Rama; he, too, who had hung his head above his house, had confiscated his possessions and had driven his family from their home to ruin. Though known for his severity and sternness, his serenity had been disturbed and he had been sad at heart—for he had a heart despite the fact that many did not think so. In fact, this heart loved Husniya, Sanaan's daughter, and he had been on the point of asking for her hand had events not intervened.

Today the weather was beautiful and limpid autumn clouds wandered in the sky. His love, though, had been trampled underfoot by the wheel of circumstance.

He left his mule with a slave, then pushed the boat out to the middle of the river and cast his net: drops of relaxation in the maelstrom of brutish and arduous work. He smiled. In no time a mutual understanding had grown between him and the new governor, Khalil al-Hamadhani. From where did Shahriyar get these governors? The man had given himself away at the very first test—the confiscated properties of Sanaan. He had taken possession of a not inconsiderable portion of them and had fed Buteisha Murgan on them; he had also given Gamasa his share. What remained was assigned to the exchequer. Gamasa had taken his share despite his sadness at his friend's fate, giving himself the excuse that to refuse would mean a challenge to the new governor: in his heart there was a place for emotions and another place for avidity and hardness. He said to himself, “He who's too decent goes hungry in this city.” And he asked himself in fun, “What would become of us if a just governor were to take over our affairs?” Had not the sultan himself
killed hundreds of virgins and many pious men? How light were his scales when measured against other great rulers!

He breathed deeply: it was truly a beautiful day, the sky dappled with clouds, the air mild and perfumed with the aroma of grass and water, the net filling up with fish. But where was Husniya? Sanaan's family was now living in a room in a residential building, after all that luxury, the jewels and the stables. Now Umm Saad makes sweetmeats that gladden the hearts of guests, while Fadil hawks them around. As for Husniya, she awaits a bridegroom who won't come. Did a genie really bring you down, or was it a dog's bite that destroyed you? I shall not forget your glazed looks and your appeal to me for help, “My family, Gamasa!” It is out of the question that anyone should stretch out a helping hand to your family. Your son Fadil, too, was born a man with his pride. You have perished, Sanaan, and what is past is past. If your genie is truly a believer, let him do something. What an extraordinary sultanate this is, with its people and its genies! It raises aloft the badge of God and yet plunges itself in dirt.

Suddenly his attention was drawn to his hand. The heaviness of the net boded well. Joyfully he brought it in till it was alongside the boat. But he saw not a single fish!

Gamasa al-Bulti was amazed. It contained nothing but a metal ball. He took it up dejectedly, turning it over in his hands. Then he threw it into the bottom of the boat. It made a deep resounding sound. Something strange happened: it was as though it were about to explode. What looked like dust emanated from it, swirling right up into the air until it embraced the autumn clouds. Once the dust had vanished it left a presence that crouched over him, and he was filled with a sensation of how overpowering it was. Despite his familiarity with dangerous situations, Gamasa trembled with terror. He realized that he was in the presence of a genie that had been freed from a bottle. He couldn't stop himself from calling out, “Protection from harm, by our Lord Solomon!”

“How sweet is freedom after the hell of imprisonment!” said a voice whose like he had not heard before.

With a dry throat al-Bulti said ingratiatingly, “Your liberation has been achieved at my hands.”

“Tell me, first of all, what God has done with Solomon.”

“Our Lord Solomon has been dead for more than a thousand years.”

His head swaying with elation, the other said, “Blessed is the wish of God, which imposed upon us the decree of a human being, whose dust does not ascend to our fire, and that human is the one who has punished me for a lapse of the heart, may God in His mercy forgive worse.”

“Congratulations on your freedom. Go off and enjoy it.”

“I see that you're keen to make your escape,” he said mockingly.

“Seeing that I was the means to your being liberated.”

“I was freed by nothing but destiny.”

“And I was destiny's instrument,” said Gamasa eagerly.

“During my long imprisonment,” said the other, “I became filled with anger and the desire for revenge.”

“Pardoning when one can is one of the natural characteristics of noble people,” implored Gamasa.

“You people are skilled at memorizing, quoting, and hypocrisy, and in proportion to your knowledge must be your reckoning, so woe to you!”

“We wage a continuous struggle with ourselves, with people, and with life,” said Gamasa al-Bulti entreatingly, “and the struggle has victims that cannot be numbered, and hope is never lost in the mercy of the Merciful.”

“Mercy is for him who deserves mercy,” said the genie sternly. “God's vastnesses are spread with the opportunities granted to those who have adhered to wisdom. Thus mercy is due only to those who strive, otherwise offensive smells would spoil the purity of the air illuminated by divine light, so don't make corruption an excuse for corruption.”

“We believe in mercy even when we are chopping necks and cropping heads.”

“What a hypocrite you are! What's your job?”

“Chief of police.”

“What titles! Do you perform your duty in a manner that pleases God?”

“My duty is to carry out orders,” said Gamasa apprehensively.

“A slogan suitable for covering up all sorts of evils.”

“I am in no position to do anything about that.”

“If you are called upon to do good, you claim you are incapable; and if you are called upon to do evil, you set about it in the name of duty.”

Gamasa was in a tight corner. The warnings fell upon him and he backed away to the edge of the boat, trembling. At the same time he felt the penetration of a new presence taking control of the place. He knew that another genie had arrived and he was convinced that he was lost. The newcomer addressed the first genie, “Congratulations on your freedom, Singam.”

“Thanks be to God, Qumqam.”

“I haven't seen you for more than a thousand years.”

“How short they are when measured against life, and how long they are if spent in a bottle!”

“I too landed in the snares of magic, which is like prison in its torture.”

“No harm afflicts us that does not come from human beings.”

“During the period of your absence many were the events that occurred, so maybe you'd like to catch up on what you missed.”

“Indeed, but I would like to take a decision about this human.”

“Let him be for now. In no way is he going to slip from your grasp if you need him, but don't take a decision while you're in a rage. No genie among us ever perished except as a prey to his anger. Let's go to the mountains of Qaf and celebrate your liberation.”

“Till we meet, O chief of police,” said Singam, addressing al-Bulti.

The controlling presence began to dwindle until it disappeared altogether. Gamasa regained the freedom of his limbs, but collapsed on the deck of the boat, his strength drained away. At the same time he was intoxicated with the hope of escape.

Gamasa al-Bulti jumped ashore and was met by a slave, who bowed down to him, then set about folding up the net.

“There's not a single fish in the net,” he remarked.

“Were you looking in my direction when I was in the boat?” asked Gamasa, his throat dry.

“All the time, master.”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw you casting the net, and then I saw you waiting and drawing it in. That's why I was astonished to find it empty.”

“You didn't see any smoke?”

“No, sir.”

“And you didn't hear a strange sound?”

“None.”

“Perhaps you nodded off.”

“Not at all, master.”

It was impossible for him to have doubts about what had happened. It was more real than reality itself. In his memory was engraved the name Qumqam, as was that of Singam. He recalled in a new form the confessions of Sanaan and it seemed to him now that his old friend had been an unfortunate victim. He wondered anxiously what the unseen could be holding for him.

He buried his secret in his bosom. Even his wife Rasmiya did not know of it. It was a secret that weighed heavily upon him, but what could be done? If one day he divulged it, he would harm his position and lose his post. He stayed awake nights thinking about the consequences and resolved to be cautious. Singam, it would appear, was a believing genie and would be mindful of the good turn he had done by freeing him,
even though by accident. He slept following the dawn prayers for a while, then awoke in a better mood. He was by nature strong and would defy difficulties and misgivings. He had got onto friendly terms with al-Salouli and al-Hamadhani, and Singam was no more intractable than they.

As they were drinking their morning milk, Rasmiya said to him, “Yesterday our old neighbor Umm Saad paid me a visit.”

Suddenly his nerves tautened. He appreciated the danger of the visit in the way a policeman would who knew the secrets behind particular circumstances.

“A poor widow, and yet…” he said with distaste.

He hesitated for an instant, then continued, “But her visiting us is harmful to my position.”

“Her situation is heartrending.”

“It's the situation of the world, Rasmiya, but let's leave to God what is His.”

“She came with the hope that you could help her in making a petition to the governor to return the family properties.”

“What a foolish woman!” he exclaimed.

“She said that God did not hold the sins of the fathers against the sons.”

“It is Shahriyar himself who pronounced the judgment.”

Then he said frankly, “Sanaan was my friend but what had been decreed came to pass. Perhaps the killing of the girl after raping her does not count as anything when measured against the killing of the governor of the quarter, for the sultan regards the blow directed against his representative as being aimed against his person, and the sultan is still a bloodthirsty ruler despite his unexpected change of heart. Do not, therefore, encourage her to pay you frequent visits, or a curse will descend upon us, a curse under which we shall be powerless.” Downcast, the woman kept silent.