Arabian Nights and Days

  Without a glance at anyone, he left the café.

  II

  He went toward his house in a procession of men and women who filled the street. They vied with each other to get near him; some of them fell and others were trodden underfoot.

  “Get away,” he shouted at them, “or I’ll send you to the next world.”

  In less than a minute they had all dispersed in frightened disarray until their voices were lost and he found no one before him but Firdaus al-Urra, his wife, waiting for him in front of the door, a lamp in her hand.

  “He gives dominion to whom He wants,” she was saying.

  For the first time in ages she was smiling at him. He glared at her and gave her a slap that rang out in the silence of the night.

  “You are divorced!” he shouted at her. “Go to hell.”

  “You enslave me with your poverty and throw me out as soon as good fortune comes.”

  “If you don’t go immediately, the genie will carry you off to the valley of the jinn.”

  The woman screamed out in alarm and rushed away. He also smiled serenely for the first time in ages as he entered his home, which consisted of no more than a room and a corridor.

  III

  What is the meaning of this, Ma’rouf? Is it a dream or reality? Has something mysterious truly happened to you? He looked around him in the almost bare room and muttered cautiously, “O ring of Solomon, raise me up one arm’s length above the ground.”

  He waited anxiously, but nothing happened. He was downcast at his failure. Did I not soar into the air? Did not the people of the quarter witness it? Had not al-Urra been defeated for the very first time?

  “O ring of Solomon,” he said from a wounded heart, “bring me a dish of green wheat and pigeon.”

  All he saw was a beetle making its way at the edge of the worn rug. He looked long at it, then burst into sobs.

  IV

  His bitter frustration was interred deeply within him. He made of it a hidden secret, erecting a barrier between it and his tongue. He told himself that he should allow things to proceed as God willed. Should he not, though, continue to go to his shop to repair shoes, slippers, and sandals? Would people be able to stomach such behavior from someone who owned Solomon’s ring? And if he did not do so, would he be giving himself over to death by starvation? However, he happened to meet Khalil Faris the chief of police at the gate to his alley, who seemed to have been waiting for him. Faris greeted him with an unusually friendly smile and his intelligence told him that people were looking at him in the light of being the owner of Solomon’s ring. His heart beat with a new hope and he was determined to play his role with due skill until God should cast the die for him.

  “May God make your morning a happy one, Ma’rouf,” Faris said amiably.

  “And may He grant you such a morning, O chief of police,” he said with an aloofness that astonished him. He spoke with the confidence of someone possessing power that no human being could aspire to.

  “The governor of the quarter would like to meet you,” said the man.

  “With great pleasure,” Ma’rouf said indifferently. “Where?”

  “Wherever you like.”

  You groveling cowards! “In his house,” he said, “as is only right and proper.”

  “You will receive due attention and protection,” Faris assured him.

  “I have nothing to fear from any power on earth!” he said with a contemptuous laugh.

  Concealing displeasure—and perhaps fear—Khalil Faris said, “We shall be waiting for you at noon.”

  V

  He saw from the great attention people paid him that there might soon be a fresh gathering around him, so he returned to his humble dwelling. He saw Ugr the barber, who informed him that he had become the talk not merely of the quarter but of the city and that the miracle he had performed had shaken the sultan himself. Knowing of the imminent meeting between him and the governor, Ugr said, “Don’t worry about anyone, for you are the most powerful man in the world. People are now divided—there are those who fear your power because they wish to retain their own might, and those who hope that it will prove to be a protection for their weakness.”

  Hiding his sorrow with a smile, Ma’rouf said, “Remember, Ugr, that I am one of God’s obedient servants.”

  His friend wished him victory and success.

  VI

  Waiting for him in the reception hall were Abbas al-Khaligi the governor, Sami Shukri the private secretary, and Khalil Faris the chief of police, as well as the mufti and a group of leading citizens. Though they regarded his ragged clothes with astonishment, the governor invited him to sit down by his side and greeted him warmly. He sat down confidently, a target for glances burning with curiosity.

  “I have learned that you possess Solomon’s ring,” said the governor.

  “I am prepared,” he said confidentially and in a slightly threatening tone, “to convince anyone who has any doubt in his heart.”

  To which the governor said, “In fact I wanted to know—within the scope of my official responsibility—how it was that you came into possession of it.”

  “I am not permitted to reveal that secret.”

  “As you think best. The fact that you have honored my house by coming here gives proof of your confidence in me, for which praise be to God.”

  “The truth is that it has nothing to do with my confidence in you, for neither you nor anyone else can harm me,” he said craftily.

  The governor bowed his head to show agreement and to hide his feelings at the same time. “I and my colleagues,” he said, “have thought that it is our duty to exchange views with you. God raises whom He will and humbles whom He will, but it is demanded of us that we worship Him in all circumstances.”

  “It is more appropriate for you to direct your words to yourself and your colleagues,” said Ma’rouf boldly.

  The governor’s face flushed. “It is true that we took over power following bitter events, but we have been committed to the law since then.”

  “The proof is in the ending.”

  “No one will experience from us other than what is pleasing. Let His Majesty Sultan Shahriyar be an exemplar for us.”

  “It is not to be denied that he opened a new page, even if he has not as yet attained the hoped-for perfection.”

  “Perfection is with God alone.”

  The governor looked toward the mufti, who said, “I have a word for you, Ma’rouf, that I hope you will accept from a man who fears none but God. God puts His servants to the test in good times and bad, and He is always and ever the most powerful. He brings the strong to trial through his strength, just as He brings the weak to trial through his weakness. Others have come into possession of Solomon’s ring before you, and it was a curse on them. May your possession of it be an example to the believers and a warning to the polytheists.”

  Ma’rouf smiled, puffed up with the power of someone in command of the situation.

  “Listen, you men of eminence,” he said, “it is indeed fortunate that Solomon’s ring should fall to the lot of a believing man who has the name of God on his lips morning and evening. It is a power which yours cannot prevail against, but I keep it for times of necessity. It is within my ability to order the ring to construct palaces, to fit out armies, and to gain control of the sultanate, but I have resolved to follow another path.”

  The assembled group breathed a sigh of relief for the first time and words of praise were showered upon Ma’rouf from every side. At which, with throbbing heart, he said, “But I should not neglect to benefit from a blessing that God has accorded me.”

  They all gazed at him expectantly. “I require immediately,” he said, “a thousand dinars with which to improve my state of affairs.”

  “I shall check the account of money that is at my disposal,” said the governor with relief. “If it is not sufficient I shall seek assistance from His Majesty the Sultan.”

  VII

  Ma’rouf obtained
the money he wanted and the leading citizens loaded him with gifts. He bought a palace, charging the furnishing of it to Master Sahloul, who made of it a veritable museum. He married Husniya Sanaan, the sister of Fadil. He made Ugr the barber, Ibrahim the water-carrier, and Ragab the porter his close companions and showered the poor with his generosity. He induced the governor to provide for their livelihood and to show them care and respect so that smiling faces replaced those once lined by hardship. They came to love life as they loved Paradise.

  VIII

  One day Ma’rouf was asked to meet the sultan Shahriyar. He went to him muttering, “There is no god but God” and “There is no strength or power except through God,” hoping he would come to no harm. The sultan met him in his winter palace, in what was known as the Coral Reception Hall. He assessed him quietly, then said, “Welcome to you, Ma’rouf. I have heard with my own ears during my night excursions the praise of God’s servants for you, and this has filled me with a desire to see you.”

  Overcoming the beating of his heart, Ma’rouf said, “For me the blessing of this meeting is more precious than Solomon’s ring itself, Your Majesty.”

  “A noble sentiment from a noble man.”

  Ma’rouf lowered his head, while all the time wondering what he would do were the sultan to demand a miracle. Would you in that event, Ma’rouf, depart from the palace to the leather mat of execution?

  “How did you come across the ring, Ma’rouf?” inquired the sultan.

  “I have pledged myself to keep that a secret, Your Majesty,” he answered with quaking heart.

  “You have good reason not to tell me, Ma’rouf, but can I not see it from afar without touching it?”

  “Not that either, Your Majesty. How miserable I am not to be able to fulfill your wish!”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty.”

  “I wonder at you,” said the sultan after some thought. “Were you to want to sit upon my throne, no power on earth could stop you.”

  Ma’rouf exclaimed in disavowal, “God forbid, Your Majesty. I am nothing but a believing servant of God, who is not tempted by any power to oppose God’s wish.”

  “You are a believer, truly—and it is a blessing that the ring is in the hand of a believer.”

  “Thanks be to God, Lord of the Worlds.”

  “Have you gained happiness, Ma’rouf?” asked the sultan with concern.

  “Limitless happiness, Your Majesty.”

  “Does not the past sometimes spoil your happiness for you?”

  “What has passed was a series of unhappy occurrences that I experienced at the hands of others, but I myself did not do anything to regret.”

  “Do you enjoy love, Ma’rouf?”

  “Thanks be to God I do—I have a wife who gives me happiness with every breath she draws.”

  “And all of this is by virtue of the ring?”

  “By virtue of God, Your Majesty.”

  The sultan was silent for a while, then asked him, “Are you able to grant happiness to others?”

  “There is no limit to the power of the ring, but it cannot invade people’s hearts.”

  In the depths of Shahriyar’s eyes there showed a listlessness that revealed his disappointment. However, he smiled and said, “Allow me to see you rise up into space until your turban touches the decorations in the dome of the hall.”

  The request hit him like a mountain toppled by an earthquake. His hopes were scattered like dust and he knew for sure that he was doomed.

  “It is not appropriate,” he said vehemently, “to act other than with decorum in the sultan’s presence.”

  “You will be flying only at my request.”

  “Your Majesty, I am your slave, Ma’rouf the cobbler.”

  “Do you owe me allegiance, Ma’rouf?”

  “God is my witness to that,” he croaked.

  “Then I am giving you an order, Ma’rouf.”

  He got up from where he was sitting and sat cross-legged in the middle of the hall. He communed with his Lord secretly. “My Lord, let it be Your wish—don’t let everything vanish like a dream.” From a wounded and despairing heart he murmured, “Rise up, body of mine, until my turban touches the ceiling.”

  He closed his eyes and gave himself up to his black destiny. When nothing happened he called out from a tortured heart, “Mercy, Your Majesty!” But before he could utter another word an inspired energy had stolen into his heart, he had grown light, and his fear had disappeared. Then an unknown force quietly and gently took him up as he sat cross-legged on nothing, until his turban touched the coral dome, while the sultan followed him with his eyes in helpless astonishment, his composure cast aside. Then, slowly, Ma’rouf began to sink down until he was again settled in his seat.

  “How trivial is being a sultan! How trivial all vanity!” exclaimed the sultan.

  Ma’rouf was unable to say a single word, for his own astonishment was even greater than the sultan’s.

  IX

  He was utterly incapable of taking in what was happening to him. He had tried to exploit his hidden power at home but it had not responded to him. However, he thanked God for his escape. Let his power be as it might. Let it disappear as it wanted so long as it hastened to his rescue in critical situations. He drove off his misgivings and put his trust in God.

  He was sitting out in the sun in the garden of his house when a stranger came and asked to see him. Thinking he might be in need of something, Ma’rouf asked for him to be shown in. The stranger entered, swaggering in a fine Persian robe; he had a tall turban, a well-trimmed beard, and a haughty air; there was no doubt that he was a man of high rank. Ma’rouf greeted him and invited him to sit down.

  “Who might our honorable guest be?” he asked.

  “I am the owner of this palace,” the man answered brusquely, in a tone like the falling of a hammer on metal.

  Ma’rouf, taken aback, said furiously, “What rubbish!”

  “I am the owner of this palace,” the man repeated with even greater force.

  “I am its sole owner.”

  “You are nothing but a deceiving charlatan,” said the other, challenging him with an insolent look.

  “You’re a crazy, impudent madman,” shouted Ma’rouf angrily.

  “You have fooled everyone, including the stupid sultan, but I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “It is in my power to reduce you to chaff to be scattered to the winds.”

  “You’re good at nothing but patching and mending shoes. I challenge you to do me harm.”

  His heart sank, robbing him of confidence. Then in a voice whose tone betrayed him despite its firmness, he asked, “Perhaps you did not hear of the miracle at the Café of the Emirs?”

  “I did not hear of it because it was I who staged it, so don’t try to deceive me. It was I too who saved you from failure in the sultan’s presence.”

  He pleaded inwardly to Solomon’s ring to exterminate the man utterly. When nothing happened his body collapsed under the weight of his despair. “Who are you?” he asked fearfully.

  “I am your master, your benefactor.”

  He groaned and shrank into silence.

  “It is in your hands to retain the blessing if you wish,” said the other.

  “What do you want?” he asked in a voice that could scarcely be heard.

  “Kill Abdullah al-Balkhi and the madman,” said the stranger quietly.

  Overcome by terror, Ma’rouf said dejectedly, “I am incapable of killing an ant.”

  “I’ll arrange things for you.”

  “Why do you seek my help when it is you who are the powerful one?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He recalled the trap that Fadil had fallen into; he brought to mind, too, the tragedies of Sanaan al-Gamali and Gamasa al-Bulti.

  “I entreat you by God to free me from your demands.”

  “Nothing,” said the other derisively,
“would be easier than for me to persuade the governor of your deception. People do not feel safe from you and would welcome your ruin in order that they may be freed from your subtle subjugation. You will soon be called upon to perform a miracle in front of them and if you fail—as you must—they will pounce on you like tigers.”

  A sad and blindly despairing look came to his eyes, but the stranger had no mercy on him and said, “I am waiting for your decision.”

  “Get away from me,” he cried sharply. “I cannot think properly in your presence.”

  “I shall leave you for a while,” he said, rising to his feet. “If you do not call me, the chief of police will come in my stead.”

  Having said which, he made off.

  X

  He left Ma’rouf in a state of blazing hell. Was he to kill Abdullah al-Balkhi and the madman? Yes, he was keen to retain his good fortune, yet he was a good and weak man, also a true believer. Imagination pulled him this way and that, but always he held firm to the ground at the edge of the abyss. In the darkness of agony there shone a happy thought: why did he not escape with Husniya and the money?

  He rushed home and ordered his wife to put on her cloak for going out, and he made his money into a package. His wife asked what it was all about and he told her that she would know once they arrived safely at their destination. They mounted two mules and went off, his intention being to go to the river quay. But, approaching the end of the street, he saw Khalil Faris the chief of police coming toward him at the head of a force of troops.

  XI

  The scandal broke and the drumming of it resounded into the corners of the city. The gossips spread the news of Ma’rouf the cobbler’s confessions. Some hearts were reassured, while others sank into the abyss. It was known that the execution mat would soon be receiving Ma’rouf and that he would be joining Fadil Sanaan and Aladdin. The poor and the miserable left their huts for the city squares. They rushed off, following their anxious and deeply-rooted emotions. In vast gatherings they found themselves as one giant boundless body, roaring their protests and their fears for the future. With the demise of Ma’rouf their daily bread would disappear. Once again faces grew gloomy and groans of complaint were exchanged in hoarse whispers. Such force was engendered, such unrelieved anger, that they felt themselves to be an irresistible flood that could burst forth.