The Arabian Nights (New Deluxe Edition) (55 page)

T
HE
O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
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HIRTY
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INTH
N
IGHT

The following night Shahrazad said:

I heard that when the king of China heard the Jewish physician's story, he shook his head and said, “No, by God, it is not stranger or more amazing than the story of the hunchback, and I must kill all four of you, for all of you plotted to kill the roguish hunchback, and you have told stories that were not more amazing than his. But there is still you, tailor, you who are the chief offender. Tell me a story that is more wonderful, more amazing, more diverting, and more entertaining than that of the hunchback, or I will kill you all.” The tailor replied, “Very well”:

 

5.
Literally, “the gardens of the blessed”—Paradise.

[The Tailor's Tale: The Lame Young Man from Baghdad and the Barber]

O KING OF
the age, the most amazing thing that ever happened to me occurred yesterday, before I met the roguish hunchback. I was invited to an early morning banquet, together with about twenty companions from the city. As soon as the sun rose and they set food before us, the host entered with a handsome stranger, a perfectly beautiful young man, except that he was lame. We stood in salute, in deference to the host, and the young man was about to sit down when, seeing among us a man who was a barber by profession, he refused to sit and started to leave. But the host stopped him and adjured him, asking, “Why do you enter my house and leave at once?” The young man replied, “For God's sake, my lord, don't hinder me. The cause is that ill-omened, ill-behaved, bungling, shameful, and pernicious old barber.” When we and the host heard this description of the barber, we took a look at him and began to feel an aversion for him.

But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she lapsed into silence. Then Dinarzad said to her sister, “What a strange and entertaining story!” Shahrazad replied, “What is this compared with what I shall tell you tomorrow night if I stay alive!”

T
HE
O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
F
ORTIETH
N
IGHT

The following night Shahrazad said:

I heard, O happy King, that the tailor said to the king of China:

When we heard this description of the barber, we said, “None of us will be able to eat and enjoy himself, unless the young man tells us about the barber.” The young man said, “O fellows, I had an adventure with this barber in my native city of Baghdad, and he was in fact the cause of my breaking my leg and becoming lame. I have sworn never to sit in the same place or live in the same city with him, and because of him I left Baghdad and settled in this city. Now suddenly, I find him here with you. Not another night shall pass before I depart from here.” We begged him to sit down and tell us what had happened between him and the barber, in Baghdad, while the barber turned pale and bowed his head. The young man said:

My father was one of the richest men of Baghdad, and God had blessed him with no other child but myself. When I grew up and reached manhood, he died, and the Almighty God took him under His mercy. He left me great wealth, and I began to dress handsomely and to live the best of lives. It happened that God had made me a hater of women, and one day, as I was walking along one of the streets of Baghdad, a group of women blocked my way and I fled from them into a blind alley. I had not sat long, when a window opened and there appeared, tending some flowers in the window, a young lady, as radiant as the moon and so beautiful that I have never seen one more beautiful. When she saw me, she smiled, setting my heart on fire, and my hatred of women was changed to love. I continued sitting there, lost to the world till close to sundown, when the judge of the city, riding a she-mule, came by, dismounted, and entered the young lady's house, leading me to guess that he was her father. I went home in sorrow and fell on my bed, consumed with passion. My relatives came in and wondered what was the matter with me, but I did not reply. I remained like this for several days until they began to lament over me.

One day an old woman came in to see me and, looking at me, guessed at once what was the matter with me. She sat down at my head, spoke gently to me, and said, “Son, be cheerful; tell me what ails you, and I will help you get what you desire.” Her words soothed my heart and we sat talking.

But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she lapsed into silence. Then Dinarzad said, “Sister, what a strange and entertaining story!” Shahrazad replied, “What is this compared with what I shall tell you tomorrow night if the king spares me and lets me live!”

T
HE
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NE
H
UNDRED AND
F
ORTY
-F
IRST
N
IGHT

The following night Shahrazad said:

I heard, O King, that the tailor told the king of China that the young man said to the guests:

The old woman gazed on me and recited the following verses:

No, by her radiant brow and rosy cheeks,

My eyes I turned not when she left the place,

But like an eyeless man, I rolled along,

In my confusion, stumbling in her trace.

She was a nimble deer, well-used to run,

A cruel mistress, with a heart of stone.

She set my heart and soul on hellish fire

And I became a misfit, alien and alone,

Cheeks in the dust and eyes flowing with tears,

Mourning the old days and love I did crave.

Helpless I grieve, but what avail the sighs?

I am dead without her, though not in my grave,

Haunted by everlasting memories

Of her face that showed neither joy nor rage.

Heart, break with grief and let my soul expire,

O heart of silver in a marble cage!

Consumed with love, impatient with my fate,

I watch my rivals pressing in their turn,

Unable to reproach them for their love.

O will the good old days ever return?

How can my soul forbear or how forget

Her slender body and her lovely face,

Which like the shining sun dazzled the world

As I held her in an ardent embrace

And in the dark tasted the night's delight,

Lying on green grass that felt like the down

That graces tender, plump, and rosy cheeks,

Fondling her cheeks like silk of high renown,

Clutching them as a miser clutches gold,

Feeling their softness like silk stuffed with flowers

Or with a tender heart throbbing unseen!

O let the watchman come; she had redeemed my hours!

My love is constant; I have never changed,

Unlike the others, never turned away,

But always loved and will forever love;

Keeping the pledge with honor is my way.

I swore that if I died from grief, I would not plead;

A stoic, lover does not need to sigh,

And I am not a heedless lover, quick to blame

Or to betray, for none knows love as I.

We lived in bliss and boundless happiness

Until I thought our Eden safe from blight,

Thought we would stay secure and never part.

Now all has died and vanished from my sight.

Alas for the days with that black-eyed deer!

If they return and bring her back to me,

I pledge eternal fasting all my days.

For without her I will an outcast be,

Living love's victim to eternity.

But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she lapsed into silence. Then Dinarzad said, “Sister, what an entertaining story!” Shahrazad replied, “What is that compared with what I shall tell you tomorrow night if I live!”

T
HE
O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
F
ORTY
-S
ECOND
N
IGHT

The following night Shahrazad said:

I heard, O happy King, that the tailor told the king of China that the young man said to the guests:

Then the old woman said to me, “Son, tell me your story.” When I told her, she said, “Son, that young lady is the daughter of the judge of Baghdad, and she is kept in strict seclusion. The place where you saw her is her private room, which she occupies by herself alone, while her parents live in the great hall below. I often visit her, and I will undertake to help you, for you will not get to her but through me. Gird your loins.” When I heard her words, I was encouraged and began to eat and drink, to the satisfaction of my family.

The old woman left and came back the following morning, crestfallen, and said, “Son, don't ask how I fared with the young lady when I mentioned you to her. The last thing she said about you was, ‘Wretched woman, if you don't stop this talk, I will punish you as you deserve, and if you ever mention him again, I will tell my father.' But by God, son, I must try her again, even if I suffer for it.” When I heard what she said, I felt even worse than before and kept repeating, “Alas, how cruel is love!” The old woman visited me every day, while my illness dragged on, until all the physicians and sages and my entire family began to despair of my recovery.

One day the old woman came in and, sitting at my head, whispered to me, out of the hearing of my family, “You must give me a reward for good news.” When I heard her words, I sat up and said, “The reward is yours.” She said, “My lord, I went yesterday to the young lady, who welcomed me and, seeing that I was brokenhearted and tearful, asked, ‘O aunt, what is the matter with you, and why are you unhappy?' I replied tearfully, ‘My lady, I have just come from a sick young man, who has been lying, now conscious, now unconscious. His family has given up on him, and he will surely perish because of you.' She asked, as she began to feel pity, ‘What is he to you?' I replied, ‘He is my son. He saw you some time ago, at your window, watering your flowers, and when he looked at your face and lovely hand, his heart was captivated, and he fell madly in love with you. These were the verses he recited:

By the rare treasure of your lovely face,

Don't kill your lover with your cruel disdain.

His heart is intoxicated with love,

His wasting body racked and torn with pain.

By your supple, curving, and graceful frame,

Your mouth that puts the perfect pearls to shame,

The piercing arrow from your arching brows

That found my heart without missing the aim,

Your slender, melting waist, which is as frail

As the sad lover who pines for you,

By the enchanting star of ambergris,

Gracing your cheek, your victim mercy show.

And by your curling sidelocks, have pity,

Be tender, and give him your love divine,

For by the pearls between your coral lips,

By your sweet mouth and its delicious wine,

Your belly, folded in poetic lines

That lacerate my heart; O painful dream!

And by your legs, which brought me death and doom,