The lid lifted. I went in like an eel, lowered the lid over me, and began my wait. In the dark.
5
Abdullah
I was scared three ways, the hours I lay in that chest. First, because of what I knew I was going to have to do; second, I thought a guard might find me and think I was one of those creeps who steal paintings from museums; and third, I was afraid for Sam. I could imagine him padding out from the bushes and looking up the stairs for me. But I trusted Sam. He always usually does what he’s told.
For the first few hours I could hear the charwomen sloshing and slopping around on the floor. I only hoped that nobody thought to clean inside an antique. And they didn’t.
Then there came an itchy time when I was dying to lift the lid and look out, but didn’t dare. A good thing, too. The guards were making their rounds, and every half hour or so I’d hear a man’s step going klomp klomp klomp through the Renaissance rooms—much harder than the sloshing of the charwomen.
But then came the worst time of all: a dead silence. I still didn’t dare to lift the lid. I had to, though—I was getting buggy.
Through the crack I could see that there was a little weak light drifting in from somewhere into the room outside. The room was empty. I guess the lid didn’t really creak like breaking wood as I squeaked my way out, but it sounded that way to me.
The most important thing, at this point, was that I didn’t want to be alone. I went downstairs to the first floor—the Renaissance rooms are on the second—then traced my way down to the basement. I heard a guard adjusting his chair beside the main entrance, but I didn’t see him and he didn’t see me. There were little stand-up lights left on here and there, so I could see my way. I judged about where I was and began to look for a window. The one I found was pretty high up, and I had to drag a chair over—very quietly!—to reach it. I was praying it would have an inside lock, and it did. But the bolt was huge, and every tug sounded just like a thunderbolt.
I got it open at last and lifted the window. Then I whistled softly and called, “Sam—”
In a minute I heard him sniffling and shuffling, and there he was! I was so glad to see him that I kissed him and stroked his head even before I lifted him in. Then came another crisis, because he’s so heavy I was certain I’d drop him.
But I landed him all right. “Now be quiet, Sam. And really be quiet!” I ordered. “This is serious.”
We made our way upstairs, Sam padding close behind me. It was easy to avoid the guards who were still awake, because now that the museum was empty, they were laughing and cracking jokes and talking very loud to each other. But it sounded as if there were two of them up in the Renaissance rooms, so we took the back staircase.
Which meant that we had to go through the Egyptian wing. I wasn’t too happy about that. There’s this enormous statue of the god Thoth—the God of Wisdom and Magic—the one with a falcon’s head on top of a human body. His stone eyes seemed to be looking at us. They followed us all the way across the room.
We went past a seated Buddha in the staircase, too. I couldn’t figure out his smile. It might have been encouragement—it might have been some secret that he knew of in advance. He wasn’t telling, though.
There was no secret about the frowning bronze Roman gladiator at the top of the stairs. He was telling me to turn back.
But I didn’t … I went into the Al-Hazred rooms.
There was one of those little stand-up lights the guards put around in the first room. But none in the second. I could barely make out the tapestry. But what I saw was enough to make me wish I’d never even found that spell.
There was a genie up there on the wall, all right, inside the tapestry, and framed by this very elaborate border of curlicuing leaves and flowers. But what a genie! I was expecting some Hollywood type, with a smirk on his face and his arms crossed over a big bare chest. But this genie was fully clothed, from the turban on his head, with a red jewel in the center, right down through a white blouse and black pantaloons, to gray slippers on his feet. He was standing in front of a desert landscape woven into the tapestry. Very barren and awful—just sand and sand and sand. In the sky were a couple of stars, with a very thin crescent moon, like a little silver grin in the night. But the awful thing was his attitude. His arms were raised, as if he were lunging right out of the fabric, and his face was all twisted in a terrible rage. If ever I saw fury and hatred, I saw it in that tapestry.
And those eyes!—just burning out at me, as if they were already alive. It’s a wonder his eyes didn’t set the whole thing on fire.
Even Sam panicked. He took one look, and his tail slumped down between his legs, and he slunk away off in a corner, behind a big urn.
I was all alone in front of the tapestry, carpet, whatever it was. I took out the spell, and by the little light I read it.
I’m not going to put down the Arabic. I’m pretty sure it’s safe now. But I’m not going to put it down anyway.
For a second there was nothing. And I have to admit I was almost relieved. I don’t honestly know what I was expecting. Thunder, maybe. And lightning. But it wasn’t like that at all. Looking up at those eyes, I suddenly realized they were alive. It would have been a big relief if there had been thunder. The genie figure from the tapestry was just there, all at once, in front of me, with his arms still lifted above his head and that awful expression on his face … And big!—was he big—about six foot six, as big as in the tapestry.
I thought to myself, If he clobbers me with one of those hands—
But he didn’t. In one single movement—a very beautiful, graceful movement—he brought his hands together, the right over the left, glided down on his knees, with his hands outstretched till they touched the floor, then touched the floor with his forehead as well. And then he whispered something in Arabic.
“Sir,” I gulped. “I don’t know that much Arabic. Do you speak any English?”
With his head still lowered, he said, “Master, I speak all the tongues of Earth, the Dark World, and Glorious Paradise.” Then, very slowly, he lifted his face, and for the first time I saw that secret smile of his. “What I said was, ‘Lord, I come from endless servitude to do your bidding.’”
“You mean you’re not going to hit me—?”
“I would plunge my fist in the fire that knows no quenching first.”
“And—and you’ll help me?”
“Master, to satisfy your will was I created.”
“—And do what I ask?”
“Were it even to steal the seven precious eggs of the Giant Roc that nests on the summit of Jabal Aja!”
“Sam!” I forgot where we were and shouted, “Sam! You can come out. He’s safe!”
Sam came tearing from behind the urn, put his paws up on the Genie’s shoulders, and started to lick his cheek. I thought that was going a little far, and it might make him angry. It didn’t, though. His smile got even longer, and he put his arm around Sam and let him go right on licking his face. Sam caught even more of my excitement and began to bark like mad.
“Shh, Sam!” I remembered. “You’ll wake the guards!” Sam whimpered a little, because he was enjoying his barking, but then he shut up.
And me—I was just bug-eyed! “Um—do you have a name? My name is Timothy Farr.”
“Yes, Master Timothy. But may I rise first?”
“Oh, gosh, yes! Please! I didn’t know—” You get flustered when you realize a genie is waiting for your orders.
He stood up, towering over me and Sam and everything else in the room. “The Wizard, Al-Hazred, who made me, called me Abdullah.”
“Did he really make you—?”
“Yes, master.” What a wonderful voice he had, too! As rich and deep and dark as his skin. “Over a thousand years ago he kneaded my flesh from the golden sand of the burning desert, mixed with the darkness of starless night. From the running salt tides of the sea he drew my blood, and carved my bones from granite mountains. Moonlight he filtered for my eyes, and
he tore my voice from the throat of the roaring simoom. Upon my finger he placed the Ring of Immortality.” Abdullah held out his left hand. On the longest finger a beautiful silver ring softly glowed in the dark. (I never did find out whether it was silver or platinum or some magical metal.) “And when he had made me, he said to me—‘Live!’ And I lived. I stood up and I laughed—I laughed!—because I was alive.” A big boom of laughter began in his chest.
“Shh, shh! Please,” I warned.
“Pardon, master. But to laugh is bliss, after all the centuries when my soul was imprisoned amid the threads.” He turned to look at the tapestry. His figure was still there, but different now—just a little bit changed. The eyes looked as if they were woven now, not real eyes, trapped. “Oh, the fury I felt when I knew my fate! I believe I would have destroyed the Master of Magic himself.”
“I could see. But why did the Wizard lock you up in the rug?”
“I offended him, master. I fell in love—with one of the women from Al-Hazred’s harem. A mortal failing in one created to be immortal. As punishment the Wizard confined me to the frightful carpet.”
“But I let you out—”
“You did, my master.” Abdullah could bring his hands together in an obeisance and bow his head, and still be dignified and noble. “May your beard be blessed!” He could also glance up with that smile and add, “When you have a beard. What service may I perform for you?”
“As a matter of fact,” I explained, “I do have a little problem. Sam.”
The Genie stroked Sam’s head. There was a chuckle riding inside his voice. “I take it that this is Sam.”
“Yes. He’s my dog, Sam. My Aunt Lucy wants me to get rid of him.”
Abdullah stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger, and then matter-of-factly announced, “I will turn Aunt Lucy into a fly and summon a toad from the nearest garden to appear and eat the fly.”
“Oh, for gosh sake,” I said, “don’t do that! She’s my father’s only sister. And she means well—only she doesn’t know how. But I don’t want to have to get rid of Sam.”
Abdullah paced up and down. I could see he was thinking of different solutions. Finally he stopped and said, “Oh, master, this is difficult. If it were only to move a mountain or build a palace, I could perform the task as easily as the dove constructs her simple nest. But how can Sam both go and stay?” He brooded a minute more. “I must observe the situation. Let me come to you again.”
I got a bit nervous at hearing that, after being so sure at first. Maybe this Genie wouldn’t work out after all. “Can you find your way around New York? I live way over in Sutton Place—”
“New York, master—?”
“The city where we are. Look—” There was a window in the Al-Hazred room, but the shade was drawn. I lifted it for him a crack. Far off you could see the buildings of Central Park South, and beyond that the Empire State Building. I love New York when it’s lit up at night.
“Oh, master,” Abdullah murmured. “’Tis bigger even than Baghdad and the pinnacled cities of the Farthest East. But yes, my little master Timothy, give me a single night—to prowl and explore—and I shall be able to find my way—even in this most magnificent of cities.”
“Well—all right then. If you’re sure.” I gave him the address. “Now, can you get us out of here without waking anyone up?”
“Come, master. And Sam.” Abdullah put his hand on my shoulder and steered me out of the tapestry room. What a whopping hand, too! I don’t know if it was that he was so big, or the genie magic in it, but I felt my shoulder tingling.
We didn’t meet any guards till we got to the front door of the museum. One was tipped back in his chair, asleep, against the latch. I think he heard us in his sleep, because he began to mumble something and his hands made little jerky motions; but Abdullah just rested his fingertips on the guard’s forehead and whispered softly, “Peace, mortal. And dream of thy delight.”
That really turned me on! I mean, somebody else would have said only, “Stay asleep,” or “Conk out, man.” But not Abdullah. I love a person who knows his words, and, believe me, there’s nobody who knows how to talk the way a genie does.
“I guess they locked the door—” I began.
But Abdullah reached out his hand toward the lock and kind of chanted, “Thou mighty bolts—apart! I know thy tightened secret art.” I got another look at that genie smile of his as the bolts slowly separated and the door swung open.
Oh, boy, I remember it still … At this point you can imagine where my head—and my heart, too—was at. A place where the impossible turns real …
When we got to the bottom of the stairs, Sam and I both looked back. There he stood: Abdullah—my Genie—silhouetted in the dim light from the museum behind him.
The second most exciting day in my life …
* * *
But it ended badly, drearily predictable—after all that magic, too.
I was hoping against hope that Aunt Lucy would be asleep. But as soon as the cab pulled up in front of the apartment house, the doorman rushed out and said, “Timothy Farr, where have you been? Your aunt’s half crazy—”
It was one o’clock in the morning, and from a grownup’s point of view, for a kid my age that’s a very bad time to be still at large.
“Timothy—!”
The whole apartment was bubbling with worry. Rose was still up, and Mr. Watkins was also there.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Lucy.” I really was sorry, too. If it wasn’t something critical, like conjuring a Genie, I’d never have dreamed of staying out all hours.
“I’ve even called the police—!”
“I’d better attend to that.”
While Mr. Watkins attended on the telephone, Aunt Lucy went on dressing me down. “I’m really more provoked than I can say.” She had a right to be, too. I’m all in favor of Women’s Lib, and that includes the liberty to be furious. But with Aunt Lucy being so short, it just didn’t work. She wanted to seem in a towering rage, but with her it was only a jiggling rage.
To make matters worse, right then Sam plodded in from the hall, and as he always did in the presence of Aunt Lucy, he sat down dreamily in front of her and leaned his head against her leg. “Sam!” I don’t think she would have kicked him, but I dragged him off right away anyway. “Now this is the last straw! I promised myself—when the boy comes back, I won’t be too angry, because I realize that you’ve had to—but you haven’t.”
“Aunt Lucy, don’t worry,” I said—sort of begged. “The problem of Sam can be solved.”
“I know that.” She withdrew into dignity. “I shall solve it myself.”
“Miss Farr—” Rose interrupted, to give us some air—“I’d like to ask—have you had any supper, Tim?”
“I’m honestly not hungry—”
“Make him a sandwich, Rose, if you would.” Aunt Lucy took Rose’s way out of all the quarreling. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”
In the kitchen, while she was making a spiced ham and lettuce sandwich, with mayonnaise, which she knew was my favorite, even Rose wouldn’t talk to me. There are some people whose silences are worse than other people’s noise.
I tried to start a conversation. “She’s awfully angry, isn’t she?”
“Man, you’ve gone and done it now” was all that Rose would say to me.
I put Sam in his box at the foot of my bed, kissed him good night, and said, “Boy, we are both in the doghouse now! That Genie Abdullah had better pan out.” He’d already begun to feel like a dream.
The last thing I did that night was to hide the Arabic genie spell. I thought about it a very long time and decided the safest place would be way back in the top of my closet, behind all my things. My Good-Luck Devil is hollow—the eyes are the openings—and I carefully folded the paper up and pushed it in through the left one.
6
Dooley
I slept late the next morning … Too late.
Usually the first thing I do when
I wake up is crawl down the bed, say good morning to Sam in his box, and pet him awhile. Then I give him his breakfast, two biscuits from the can I keep under the bed. But on that morning Sam was not there. And Sam has this habit—I think it’s half love and half habit—of never getting up until I do.
I dressed as fast as possible, stamping out as many of the fears that kept cropping up as I could and went into the kitchen. Aunt Lucy was there talking to Rose. I heard her saying, “It’s very unlike Maurice. He’s been so reliable all these years. Oh, good morning, Timothy. You certainly slept—”
“Good morning, Aunt Lucy, good morning, Rose, where’s Sam?” I said.
Rose turned around to look at a counter with a bowl on it and said to me, not wanting to see me, “Well, hi there, Rip Van Winkle! Look, I just happen to have this batter. You want pancakes for breakfast?”
Honestly!—the way the minds of some people work! I’m surprised Rose let Aunt Lucy put her up to it. If ever I heard a bribe, or a consolation prize, or condolences, it was those pancakes. “No, thank you. I’m not really all that hungry,” I said. “Please, Aunt Lucy—where is Sam?”
“Oh, Timothy—” her voice sounded like a violin string, tuned too high—“this is such a topsy-turvy morning. I’ve just had a call from the agency, about Maurice—”
“I don’t give a damn about Maurice—”
“Timothy!” She got out of her embarrassment by being indignant. “I will not tolerate language like that from—” And gave me the whole lecture.
I did feel like swearing, too. And I could have, very well. When Lorenzo or Madame Sosostris got really mad at somebody, they’d let go a string that made quite an impression—on me, too. But I bit my tongue and said only, “I’d just like to know—where my dog is.”
“Timothy, you didn’t seem to know how to—dispose of—” That high voice of hers got stuck in her throat.