Abdullah assured him he was more crafty than he imagined, but Adnan sent him away, unhappy with him.
XXI
The governor’s residence was rocked to its foundations, as was the quarter and the whole city, by the discovery of Adnan Shouma’s body outside the walls. Shahriyar himself was enraged. Mysterious fears loomed up before the eyes of eminent people, who crept out of their lairs in the darkness. Abdullah learned from his sources that the investigation was concentrating on discovering why the chief of police had gone secretly beyond the quarter’s wall. And Abdullah had been the first to know of his victim’s secret of going to a private house to meet Gulnar and Zahriyar, the two sisters of Yusuf al-Tahir, governor of the quarter. In fact, he had known the way of life of the two women since he had first joined the service and before Yusuf al-Tahir had taken up his appointment. So it was that the chief of police had asked to meet him in a pavilion in the garden of the mansion and had then sent him away. He had not returned, though, to the quarter but had hung about for him in the dark until he left the mansion before dawn, when he had met him with the fatal arrow. Now his sense of security was vanishing and he did not think it unlikely that some of those close to Adnan Shouma, women and men, had known of the secret meeting between him and the man.
He decided to make his escape, if only for a while. He therefore left the whole quarter and took himself off behind the open space by the river, close by the green tongue of land where he used to practice his hobby of fishing, the same spot where he had met Singam. Finding a towering palm tree, he threw himself down beneath it and sank into thought. Night came, the stars twinkled gently and it grew cold. Had he planned things well, he wondered, or had his eagerness to carry out his plan thwarted his objective? When and how would he be given the chance to take action again? How could he avoid his enemies and make contact with his friend Fadil Sanaan?
In the silence of the night there came to him a voice saying, “O Abdullah!”
He looked in the direction of the voice, toward the river, and asked, “Who is calling?”
“Come closer,” said the voice in a tone that diffused a sense of security, calm, and peace.
He approached the river, walking warily, until he saw its dark surface under the light of the stars. He saw too a spectral form, half in the water and half leaning with its arms against the shore.
“Are you in need of help?” he asked.
“It is you who need help, Abdullah.”
“Who are you and what do you know of me?” he asked apprehensively.
“I am Abdullah of the Sea just as you are Abdullah of the Land, and the grip of evil is tightening around your neck.”
“Sir, what keeps you in the water? What sort of living creature are you?”
“I am none but a worshiper in the never-ending kingdom of the water.”
“You mean it’s a kingdom that lives under the water?”
“Yes. In it perfection has been attained and oppositions have vanished, nothing disturbing its serenity but the misery of the people living on the land.”
“Extraordinary are the things I hear but the power of God is without limit,” said Abdullah in wonder.
“Likewise His mercy, so take off your clothes and plunge into the water.”
“Why so, sir? Why ask this of me on a cold night?”
“Do as I say before the fatal grip closes around your throat.”
In no time Abdullah of the Sea had plunged into the water of the river, leaving him to make his choice. Urged on by some crazy inspiration, he took off his clothes and plunged into the river until he had disappeared completely. Then he heard the voice saying to him, “Return safely to the land.”
No sooner did he feel the ground underfoot than his heart settled itself between his ribs and he felt himself to be as one of the predators of the sky, the earth, and the night. He was conscious, too, of a warmth. Then sleep came over him. He slept deeply and peacefully, and it was as if the stars sparkled only that they might watch over him. He woke before daybreak. Looking into his mirror in the first rays of light, he saw before him a new face not known to him before.
“Blessed are wondrous things if of God’s making!” he exclaimed.
It was neither the face of Gamasa al-Bulti nor that of Abdullah. It was a wheat-colored face with a clear complexion, a flowing black beard and thick hair with a parting that fell down to his shoulders, while the look in his eyes sparkled with the language of the stars. Abdullah had been overtaken by death, just as had previously happened to Gamasa al-Bulti. Fadil and Akraman had disappeared, Rasmiya and Husniya too, also Umm Saad. But new voices materialized and adventures that came with sunrise, and a new world that disclosed wondrous things.
XXII
He found life pleasant in the open space close to the green tongue of land that stretched out into the river. The date palm was his companion, and fishing in the river provided his food, while the pure air was constantly with him. The people who came for amorous diversion and music earned his displeasure yet gained his forgiveness. As for his heart’s ease, he found it in conversing with Abdullah of the Sea.
People who crossed the river brought with them the news of the city. Among the things he learned was that the governor, Yusuf al-Tahir, had chosen Husam al-Fiqi as his private secretary and Bayumi al-Armal as his chief of police. He learned too that the security forces had stormed the quarter and were looking for Abdullah the porter. They had arrested his friends and had led Ragab the porter and Fadil Sanaan and his wife Akraman off to prison. Thus his feeling of security all too quickly came to an end and his heart became anxious. Once again he goaded himself into action.
XXIII
He did not go in order to kill but to present himself as a ransom for those he loved. He was not conscious of any feelings of fear or misgivings. His sense of enlightenment took him above his uneasiness. He went straight to Bayumi al-Armal at police headquarters and with calm composure said, “I have come to confess before you that I am the killer of Adnan Shouma.”
The chief of police looked at him closely. “And who are you?” he asked.
“Abdullah of the Land, the fisherman.”
From his appearance the chief of police reckoned him to be mad and ordered him to be put in fetters of iron in case he were dangerous, then asked him, “And why did you kill Adnan Shouma?”
“I am entrusted with the killing of evil people,” he said simply.
“And who entrusted you?”
“Singam, a believing genie, and through his inspiration I killed Khalil al-Hamadhani, Buteisha Murgan, and Ibrahim al-Attar the druggist.”
The man humored him, saying, “The previous chief of police, Gamasa al-Bulti, has already confessed to killing Khalil al-Hamadhani.”
“Originally I was Gamasa al-Bulti,” he exclaimed.
“His head’s hanging at the door of his house.”
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“And you insist that the head is yours?”
“There’s no doubt about it, and you’ll believe me when you hear my story.”
“But how and when did you fix yourself up with this new head?”
“Let me ask for Singam to come as a witness.”
“You should be kept locked up forever in a lunatic asylum,” the man bellowed, and he ordered him to be sent straight to the asylum.
“Help, Singam!” he shouted as he was being taken away. “Come to my rescue, Abdullah of the Sea!”
—
Fadil was tortured for a long time in prison, until the governor found no alternative but to release him, along with the others. At the same time he gave orders to discover the whereabouts of Abdullah the porter.
Nur al-Din and Dunyazad
I
Moonlight flooded the balkh trees in Shooting Square, making the smooth bezoar flowers glow, while it also immersed Qumqam and Singam. They were settled on one of the branches of the highest tree on a night when the breaths of departing winter were mingling with tho
se of a spring that was ready to come into being.
“How good is time if it flows under the pleasure of Providence!” said Qumqam.
“When divine immanence abides, the whispering of the flowers is heard as they glorify and praise God.”
“What does man lack for the enjoyment of the blessings of time and place?”
“That’s what baffles me, brother: has he not been granted an intellect and a soul?”
Qumqam pricked up his ears warily, then asked, “Is there not some warning harbinger in the air?”
At this a male and a female genie alighted on a nearby branch, both shamelessly intoxicated.
“Sakhrabout and Zarmabaha,” whispered Singam.
“Godlessness and evil,” whispered Qumqam.
Sakhrabout laughed derisively and commented, “We enjoy existence without fear.”
“There is no happiness for those whose hearts are empty of God,” Qumqam shouted at him.
“Really?” said Zarmabaha sarcastically.
And she and her companion began making love, and sparks flew from their embrace. Qumqam and Singam disappeared, at which Sakhrabout and Zarmabaha let out a shout of triumph, and he said to her, “You’ve been away from me an age.”
“I was playing a trick in a temple in India. And where were you?”
“I made a journey over the mountains.”
“On my return,” said Zarmabaha seductively, “I saw a girl whose beauty stunned me. It must be admitted…”
“I too saw a handsome young man in the Perfume Quarter, whose beauty has no equal among mankind.”
“A glance at my girl would erase from your memory the picture of your young man.”
“That’s an unjustified exaggeration.”
“Come and see with your own eyes.”
“Where is your girl to be found?”
“In the sultan’s palace itself.”
In the twinkle of an eye the two of them were in the reception wing of the sultan’s palace. A girl made her appearance: a prodigious beauty. She was taking off her cloak embroidered with threads of gold in order to put on her nightdress made of Damascene silk.
“Dunyazad, the sister of Shahrzad, wife of the sultan,” said Zarmabaha.
“Her beauty is in truth greater than life itself. No fragile human being is favored with such beauty.”
“You are right—it shines for just a few days, then time impairs it.”
“So you take delight in gloating over them.”
“They have an intellect but they live the life of imbeciles.”
“How very immortal she appears!”
“Perhaps you will now concede that she is more beautiful than your young man?”
“I don’t know,” said Sakhrabout after some hesitation. “Come and see for yourself.”
In less than an instant they were in the shop of the young man, a paragon of handsomeness. He was closing the shop and putting out the lamp before leaving.
“This is Nur al-Din the perfume-seller.”
“His handsomeness is also outstanding. Where is your friend from?”
“As you see, he is a seller. What interest is it to us where he is from?”
“Of all males he is most suited to my young girl, and she of all females is most suited to him.”
“They live in the same city but are as divided as the sky and the earth.”
“This is indeed an irony—and yet it is we who are accused of playing jokes!”
“How is it that the matchmakers are not competing over this girl?”
“Steady! Many would like to have her, among them Yusuf al-Tahir, governor of the quarter, and Karam al-Aseel the millionaire, but who is worthy of the sister of the sultan’s wife?”
“Zarmabaha, this world is weighed down with stupidity.”
“I’ve an idea,” exclaimed Zarmabaha joyfully.
“What is it?”
“An idea worthy of Satan himself.”
“You’ve set my curiosity afire.”
“Let’s have some crafty fun and bring them together!”
II
The black eyes of Dunyazad were lit up. It was the wedding party at the sultan’s palace, a marvel of luxurious splendor. The palace rippled with the lights of candles and lanterns, setting aglitter the jewels of those who had been invited, and resounded with the singing of the male and female performers. The sultan Shahriyar himself bestowed his blessing by giving her as a present the jewel of the wedding night.
“May your night be blessed, Dunyazad,” he said to her.
She waited in the bedchamber at the end of the night in a dress decorated with gold, pearls, and emeralds. Her mother bade her farewell, also her sister Shahrzad, and alone she waited in the bedchamber, lost in thought, concerned only with her anxious waiting and beating heart. The door opened, and Nur al-Din, in all his Damascene finery, Iraqi turban, and Moroccan slippers, entered. Like the full moon he advanced toward her and removed the veil from her face. Kneeling down in front of her, he clasped her legs to his chest. With a sigh he said, “The night of a lifetime, my beloved.”
He began stripping off her clothes piece by piece in the silence of the bedchamber that was filled with hidden melodies.
III
Dunyazad opened her eyes. The curtain was letting light through. She found herself immersed in the memories of the magic source from which she had sipped. Her lips were moist with kisses, her ears intoxicated with the sweetest words, her imagination replete with the warmth of sighs. The sensation of being embraced had not left her body, nor the tenderness. This was now the morning, but…Only too swiftly the harsh winds of consciousness blew over her. Where was the bridegroom? What was his name? When had the formalities of the marriage been carried out? O Lord, she had not been proposed to, she had not been given in marriage, and there had been no party at the palace. She was being snatched from her dream like someone being led to the execution mat. Was it really a dream? But the nature of dreams is for them to vanish, not to become so firmly established and corporeal that they can be touched and sensed. The room was still fragrant with his breathing. She jumped to the floor. She found that she was naked and had been despoiled of her innocence. A terrible penetrating trembling assailed her.
“It’s madness!” she exclaimed in despair.
Gazing around her in stupefaction, she again exclaimed, “It’s ruin!” And madness loomed like some pursuing beast.
IV
As for the awakening of Nur al-Din, he was angry and agitated on seeing his simple bedroom in the dwelling that lay above his shop in the Perfume Quarter. Had it been a dream? But what an extraordinary dream, with all the power and heaviness of reality. Here was the bride in all her beauty, a reality that could not be forgotten or erased from his heart. When and how had he been stripped of his clothes? He was still smelling that lovely fragrance that had no parallel among his scents. He could still see the sumptuous bedchamber with its curtains, its divans, and its fantastic bed.
“What’s the point of playing a joke on a sincere believer like myself?”
He was tortured not by reality alone but also by love.
V
Zarmabaha guffawed with laughter and asked Sakhrabout, “What’s your opinion of this hopeless love?”
“A truly unique jest.”
“Mankind has never known such a thing.”
“Not necessarily,” said Sakhrabout. “They are keen on creating illusions.”
“But how?”
“How many there are who imagine that they have intelligence or the ability to compose poetry, or are possessed of courage.”
“What idiots they are!” she said, laughing.
“I am amazed at why they should have been given preference over us.”
VI
Dunyazad resigned herself to the fact that her secret was too heavy for her to bear alone. She hastened to Shahrzad’s wing of the palace just after Shahriyar had gone off to the Council of Justice. No sooner did Shahrzad see her than she asked
anxiously, “What’s wrong with you, sister?”
Seating herself on a cushion at the feet of the sultana, she raised her eyes with an appeal for help. Choking with sobs she said, “I wish it were illness or death.”
“I take my refuge in God—don’t say such a thing. We parted yesterday and you were fine.”
“Then something happened that does not occur in the world of the sane.”
“Tell me, for you have upset my peace of mind.”
Lowering her eyes, she recounted to her the story that had begun with an imagined marriage and ended in real blood. Shahrzad followed the tale with doubt and anxiety, then said encouragingly, “Don’t hide anything from your sister.”
“I swear to you by the Lord of the Universe that in my story I have not added or taken away a single word.”
“Would he be some scoundrel from among the palace men?” inquired Shahrzad.
“No, no, I have never set eyes on him.”
“What man of sense would accept your story?”
“That is what I tell myself. It is a story like one of your amazing tales.”
“My tales are derived from another world, Dunyazad.”
“I have fallen prisoner to the truth of your mysterious world, but I do not want to be its victim.”
Shahrzad said sadly, “I shall know the truth sooner or later, but I am frightened that disgrace will overtake us before that.”
“That is what kills me with fear and worry.”
“If the sultan gets to know your story, his doubts will once more be awakened and he will revert to his low opinion of our sex and will perhaps send me to the executioner and himself go back to his previous behavior.”
“God forbid that any harm should befall you on my account,” exclaimed Dunyazad.
Shahrzad thought for a while, then said, “Let us keep our story a secret, with neither the sultan nor my father knowing it. I shall arrange with my mother what shall be done, but you must return to our house with the excuse of being homesick.”