Sinbad thought deeply for a moment, then slowly nodded. Somewhere or other in the course of his adventures he had been told of the mysterious flower which only grew upon the shores of a forbidden island. Never had he seen one with his own eyes, but it was reliably reported that the owner of such a flower might have any wish granted —
87
any wish at all, no matter how strange or difficult. Then the Red Dahlia would wither and die. But upon this unknown island there were said to be fields of them, thousands begging to be plucked from their roots. Why, the very thought of what a man could do with such an incredible gift boggled the mind.
Sinbad frowned. “I have sailed almost all of the world/' he said, “and not once have I met a man who claims to have owned one/'
Giovanni seemed disappointed. “Then you don’t believe it really exists?”
The mariner folded his arms and shrugged. “Who knows? Some claim it can be found only in a man’s dreams … “
“I have heard it can be found at World’s Edge,” countered the frog. “Past the Limits of Chaos, beyond the Pillars of Hercules.”
“An almost impossible quest,” said Sinbad.
“Even for the mighty captain,” rejoined Giovanni, “whose glories and past adventures are sung upon the lips of every woman in Baghdad?”
Sinbad flushed and grinned. “Ah, you flatter me, my friend. It’s true that ballad singers have for some reason taken a liking to my exploits — but don’t believe everything you hear. My adventures weren’t really half as dangerous or glamorous as these reciters of verse would have you believe.”
Don Giovanni let his head sink dejectedly. “Then there is no hope for me at all,” he lamented. “I can never have my wish granted.” He glanced slyly up at Sinbad. “Nor you your own … “
Sinbad scratched his chin. “What do you mean?”
“Think, Captain Sinbad — if you held a Red Dahlia in your hand, what would you wish for?”
“Ah, if only I had one! I would command the flower’s magic to hasten Sherry to my side. We could be free, she and I, free to sail the seas and be together always … “
“Yes,” said the frog, “Think of it, Sinbad! Both our
88
desires could be answered instantly. That and more. The world would be at your command, Sinbad. Anything you wanted … “ And he tapped a nervous webbed foot on Sinbad’s shoulder.
At length the mariner spoke. “To set out upon a quest for the Red Dahlia might last a lifetime,” he said. “And I must admit that I have serious doubts about the flower's existence … “ Don Giovanni frowned, and Sinbad patted his head again. “But listen: There is always hope — even when despair is at its greatest. One must never lose belief in himself … “
“You did, when you lost Scheherazade.”
Sinbad laughed. “So I did, good frog! So I did! But I see now that life must continue, no matter what adversity greets us. Such is Allah’s will.” Then he peered at the frog and scratched his chin, his mind working out a little escapade. “I am forced to leave Baghdad in any case,” he told Giovanni, “so why not come with me? There will be adventures aplenty for us both, I promise you, and who knows? Maybe someday we shall pass the Pillars of Hercules and reach the land of the Red Dahlia — or maybe find some unknown magic potion to cast off your spell. Well, frog? What do you say?”
Giovanni shuffled his feet tensely. Sinbad could see the reluctance in his eyes. “I … I don’t know … “
“Is it better to stay in this pond? To bemoan your fate and do nothing to alter it?” He leaned closer. “Or do you enjoy being miserable and helpless?”
Giovanni gazed at the sailor with steadily brightening eyes. “You really mean it, Sinbad? About the adventure, about leaving this accursed pond forever? You’ll take me sailing the world with you?”
“I meant every word, my friend. You’ll see more than any frog has ever seen before.”
A small wasp buzzed nearby and Don Giovanni watched him carefully for a moment. Then he lashed out his tongue and caught the insect in mid flight, gulping it down with a
89
single swallow. “All right, Sinbad!” he cried with excitement. “When can we be off? The sooner I’m away from here, the better!”
Sinbad’s eyes danced merrily. “There’s no better time to start than now,” he said. “Come, Giovanni, sit firmly on my shoulder.”
The bullfrog snobbishly flared his nostrils at the other frogs, all staring from the lily pond. “Good-bye, goodbye,” he called, as Sinbad stood, collected his gear, and walked briskly from the oasis into the cool desert night.
“Where are we going?” asked Giovanni.
“To sail the sea we must first reach it,” answered the mariner, peering into the endless western dunes. “Drink your fill of water while you can. We seek a caravan to Damascus. Then it’s on to Tripoli or Jaffa and the Mediterranean beyond.”
PART THREE
From Damascus to Jaffa upon a journey that Captain Sinbad never would forget.
Damascus — mysterious city of Araby, home of countless sultans, caliphs, and kings, whose fame was merely the setting for the jeweled enchantment of its capital. Damascus, whose peoples had been conquered again and again through the ages, by King David of Israel, Alexander of Macedonia, Pompey of Rome. Damascus, melting pot of cultures and religions, the crossroads of the world to which all of Islam looked for guidance. City of secrets and enigmas, its ageless history buried deep beneath its streets, where unseen artifacts told of countless battles and the strife of war. Blessed and cursed, bled and nurtured, swollen but lean, only Damascus could conjure in men’s hearts the epitome of civilization. From these dark alleys had arisen the finest minds upon the earth, from these festering slums had come wise men of science and philosophy, religion and art. Greeks and Hebrews mingled with Turks and Phoenicians, adding cosmopolitan adornment to the already richly woven tapestry of the city’s life.
Men have cried at the sight of her; few who came ever wished to leave, and those who did did so reluctantly, never forgetting all they had seen. Set beside the rich plains said to be the most fertile in all of Arabia’s vastness, its stone walls beckoned to all who would be free. Damascus — capital of knowledge and civilization.
A dozen caravans daily camped before her massive gates, each laden with goods and burdened with wide-eyed pilgrims come to pray at any of the more than two hundred mosques. Exhausted after long journeys begun in every known land, these new arrivals would gape in awe at the sheer majesty of the city spread before them. It was an incredible sight to behold, this metropolis of kings and beggars side by side, resplendent palaces and dingy hovels. Never before had the weary travelers seen such a thing. And so it was also for Sinbad and his tiny companion.
It had been only a few days after the mariner and the frog had left the oasis that they came across a slow caravan heading west. Sinbad, after cautioning Don Giovanni not to speak and giving a false name, offered the caravan master several pieces of silver to take them with him. Being experienced in the desert and its ways, he had no trouble in securing the passage.
The journey proved arduous and boring. Days were insufferably hot, nights frigid. There was little diversion for the mariner, save for sitting around the dung fires at night and listening to the boastful tales of the various merchants. As for Giovanni, well, the frog had even less to be joyful about. Used to spending his time beside the cool pond, he was not at all fond of the sand, which burned his webbed feet and congested his little lungs. More than once he had even considered abandoning this venture for a more tranquil life at home. Sinbad, though, constrained him, and while the sailor languished amid boring banter, the frog contented himself by burrowing beneath Sinbad’s shirt during the day and blanket at night, passing the time in daydreams and slumber.
Then, almost miraculously, the caravan reached the plain, and the fabulous city lay before them. The long journey was done at last, and, thanking the caravan master and merchants, Sinbad jumpe
d from his camel, collected his small amount of gear, and disembarked before the stolid gates. Don Giovanni was more than gleeful, longing only to be placed down beside some cool pond where he might frolic for a time. Sinbad, meanwhile, remained wistful and concerned, for, although they had safely eluded the caliph and his soldiers and crossed the border without problems, they had now come to a place where they had no friends and little money left to support themselves.
With the frog perched on his shoulder, the turbaned mariner sighed and passed through the massive black iron gates, heedless of the stares he received from the sultan’s black-caped guards posted along the walls.
Immediately they were greeted with a horrendous roar of city life. Camels were snorting, dogs barked, horses whinnied and jostled through unbelievable crowds. The streets were as busy as Sinbad could imagine. Veiled dark-skinned women carrying baskets and urns under their arms hurried among the endless rows of canopied stalls, inspecting fruit and dried meats, while potbellied butchers and farmers waved frantic hands to chase away buzzing flies. Beggars, ranging in age from the smallest of children to the oldest of men, lined the walks like a solid wall, pitiful hands out as they begged all passersby for alms. Some were blind, others crippled, still others deformed. Sinbad shuddered, thinking how such misery might have befallen these poor souls, and thanking Allah that despite all, he had not yet sunk to such straits.
The air reeked with the scent of perfumes mixed with the foul odors of droppings and cheap wine spilled into the clogged gutters and sewers.
Is this the noble Damascus? he asked himself, sickened by it all, sorely disappointed at the world’s most famous city.
“Come Giovanni,” he said with a disdainful grimace. “Let’s be off down another avenue; this one leaves me ill.”
The frog nodded, equally as repulsed. This was his very first visit to a city of men, and from the looks of this one he hoped he would never have to gaze upon another.
Down a narrow byway they walked, crossing crooked streets of clustered stone houses whose windowless fronts were plain and somber. Sinbad scratched his head as he went by. If his own eyes bore witness, he decided, the repeatedly splendorous Damascus could not hold a candle to Baghdad.
It did not take long before their street opened onto a wide and spacious square. Against the backdrop of a domed mosque set at the farthest corner stood the largest and most fabulous open-air market the sailor had ever seen. Stall after stall displayed a plethora of merchandise that left him breathless. Here was the fame of Damascus — silks and wool, and the softest linen, brought from-every corner of the world to be sold at the bazaar. Marble and porcelain artifacts resting beside exquisite handcrafted gold jewelry. Rings, bracelets, pins, brooches, necklaces studded with pearls and rubies, all intricately and beautifully designed by Damascus’s most renowned jewelers. And the weaponry! Sinbad gawked at the fine blades of steel, bejeweled scimitars, scabbards of silver.
Ah, the gifts I could bring home to Sherry, he thought with wonder, before remembering they were parted forever.
“A gift for a lady, perhaps?” said an eager merchant, holding out an enameled set of serpent earrings.
Sinbad smiled and shook his head, moving deftly out of the way while more obnoxious shoppers brushed past to get a better look at the offered merchandise.
The merchant frowned. “Something else, perhaps?” he asked, gesturing to the wide variety of goods available upon his counters. Then he pointed to a pair of fine leather riding boots. “Three pieces of silver, for you,” he told Sinbad. “A better price cannot be found in all Damascus.”
“I regret to say no again,” said Sinbad, “although I agree that your price is most fair.”
The merchant remained unmiffed. “Ah, wait a moment,” he said snapping a finger. Then he bent down beneath his shelves and came up holding a small gold-inlaid knife, the size of a child’s toy but with a blade as sharp as a razor. “A man could hide this from the sharpest eyes,” the merchant assured him. “Perchance are you a traveler?”
Sinbad admitted that he was, allowing that he had come to Damascus less than an hour before.
The merchant beamed, his dark eyes gleaming. “The roads are most unsafe, my friend,” he cautioned. “A man needs to be armed — and needs to bear a weapon others cannot see.” He stuck the knife under Sinbad’s nose and the sailor took it warily. He examined it slowly, truly admiring the fine detail of work and the sharpness of both edges. It could prove a valuable asset, he thought, wondering if he should barter.
“How much, merchant?”
The stall-keeper grinned. “A small price, good sir. Four pieces of silver.”
Sinbad felt the coins in his purse. “I’ll give you two.”
The merchant held up his hands and rolled his eyes toward the perfect blue sky. “Allah be my judge, I make no profit,” he swore. “Do you wish to insult me? Better that you steal it!”
Sinbad held back a smile; merchants were merchants, be it in Baghdad, Damascus, or any civilized city on the face of the earth. “I am hurt by your own hurt,” he quickly said, playing the game with skill. “But I can do no better.”
“I am a poor man. Yes, a very poor man. Ten children and three wives count on me for their bellies to be filled. Would you wish that my children cry and their mothers sit silently in grief?” And as he spoke, a black-haired young girl of about six came out from behind the curtain and stood meekly in front of her father, staring at Sinbad with the biggest and saddest eyes he had ever seen.
“Have you wives and children to care for?” asked the merchant, patting his daughter’s hair.
Sinbad shook his head. “Allah has seen fit to bless me with neither,” he replied. “All I have to care for is myself,” he glanced sheepishly to the silent frog on his shoulder, “and my little — er — pet … ”
“Three and no less!” cried the merchant, hands on hips. “What do you say?”
Sinbad scratched his chin and mulled it over. In truth he could not afford the price, yet somehow he felt that such a knife might well come in handy during the unknown adventures ahead.
“Help me!” came a cry from behind.
Sinbad spun without answering the merchant. An unescorted young woman had been knocked to the ground by a brutish assailant who, having swept a small bag from her hand was trying to break through the crowds.
“Stop him!” shouted the veiled woman. “He’s stolen my purse!”
Sinbad lunged forward as Don Giovanni astutely hopped off his shoulder. The mariner caught the brute by the collar of his dirty robe and swung him harshly around.
The petty thief grunted as Sinbad’s fist smacked into his belly; he pushed off the sailor and dodged another blow, jamming a forearm into Sinbad’s face. Sinbad staggered back momentarily, then, regaining his senses, jumped for the thief and delivered a swift Chinese chop to the brute’s neck. The thief moaned; Sinbad grappled him to the ground and punched him squarely in the face. The thief sprawled unconscious, a thin trickle of blood dripping from the side of his mouth.
Seconds later a group of the sultan’s soldiers, swords drawn, were on the scene to take the thief to custody. The crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed. Sinbad got up, placed the frog back on his shoulder, and dusted off his robe.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” said the woman, her hands clasped together as if in prayer, her eyes batting wildly. “I would have been in great trouble had that rogue gotten away.”
Sinbad drew a deep breath and wiped perspiration from his forehead. “You should be more careful, dear lady,” he reprimanded. “From what I’ve been told, Damascus is rife with such bandits.”
“I know, I know. It was most foolish of me. It won’t happen again.”
Sinbad scooped up the fallen purse and handed it to her. “Well, at least no harm was done … ” He waved a finger in her face, saying: “But next time I may not be so near to help you.”
The girl laughed — a full and proud laugh, filled with spirit. “Such gallantry should no
t go unrewarded,” she said. “You deserve more than a mere thank-you for what you did.”
Sinbad looked at her questioningly, noting her smile through the veil. “I would never ask payment for coming to the aid of one so lovely in distress,” he replied.
Recognizing his pride, the young woman boldly took his sleeve. “No insult was intended, stranger. Believe me. It is only that you have done me a great kindness, which I would like to return if I can.”
Sinbad smiled. “Forgive me. I am weary from travel and forgot my manners — ”
The green-eyed girl peered carefully at the weave of his garment, recognizing the colorful design at once. “Are you a visitor of our fair city?” she asked.
Sinbad bowed graciously, and Don Giovanni politely lowered his head. The girl laughed with delight and clapped her hands. “Your pet is well trained!” she exclaimed. “Surely in your own land your are a gentleman of quality.”
“Captain Sinbad at your service, madam,” said the sailor happily. “Come all the way from Baghdad to admire her illustrious rival at first hand.”
“Captain Sinbad!” cried the girl. “I have heard tell of you! Indeed, our meeting here is most fortunate. Tell me, Captain, have you yet found lodgings in Damascus?” She was clearly impressed by her unexpected company.
“No, my lady,” Sinbad admitted. “I have not yet had time to seek quarters.”
“Then my home shall be your own,” she replied firmly. “Never let it be said that such a famous visitor was ill-treated in Damascus.”
“You are very kind, madam, and I am most unworthy.”
The girl tossed off his humility with a wave of her aristocratic hand. “Nonsense, Captain. We are honored to have you. Come.” And she turned to leave the bazaar, offering Sinbad her arm.
The mariner hesitated. He was grateful for her offer, of course — more than grateful — still, he was concerned about burdening her household with a man who, after all, was now a fugitive from the justice of his caliph. Giovanni, though, was less doubtful; he prodded the sailor to accept by nudging at Sinbad with his head.
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 53