The Forty Thieves

by Christy Lenzi

  The carpet slowly eases itself toward the floor and gently lands. For a moment, we stare at each other, our mouths hanging open. Then we burst out laughing. Rasheed sits up.

  “If we can learn how to make this rug go where we want, I could become quite the traveling man after all.” He grins and strokes the fabric. “Maybe it obeys our thoughts, and we give it directions by simply thinking of where we want to go.”

  “But we wanted to go down, and it only went up. Maybe we have to say the commands out loud.”

  “Hold on, Marjana, I’m going to give it a try.”

  I roll onto my stomach and hold on.

  “Open, Sesame.”

  The carpet starts to rise. When it lifts about a foot off the ground, Rasheed says, “Go forward.”

  But the carpet continues to rise.

  “Take us around the room,” Rasheed orders.

  Still the carpet rises. There must be some other way to make the stubborn thing move. “Rasheed, try steering it with your hands, holding the edges.”

  Rasheed grabs the fringe on the front of the carpet in his fists. He slowly stretches the fringe away from him, and the rug eases forward. “You’re right—it works!”

  I hold on tighter. “Take us around the room.”

  “Ready?”

  My heart beats out the answer yes, yes, yes! I nod as Rasheed pulls the fringe to the right and the carpet turns. We glide through the air past Jamal’s drum and the magic lamp, and circle the entire room, smoother than a boat on a river. My heart, too, is flying high. The room’s not large enough—we need more space. “Let’s take it outside.”

  “If we hold the sides of the rug up, we can probably make it through the window.”

  We curl up the sides, hold them tightly, and Rasheed steers the rug through the open window. But as soon as we clear the sill, approaching footsteps sound from around the corner.

  Rasheed whispers, “Close, Sesame,” and the carpet lands right as Cook rounds the corner with baskets full of food from the market. She stops abruptly and blinks at us. “How strange,” she mumbles.

  I jump to my feet. “Well, it was such a nice day, that I—I helped Master Rasheed set up his things outside.”

  “I can see that. But why on earth do you both have plaster on your heads?” Cook frowns and shakes her head as she goes inside.

  I let out my breath. “Hurry—take us to the roof before someone else sees us.”

  Rasheed lifts us swiftly to the top of the house and lands there as we scan the streets below for people. No one’s around.

  I smile. “Now’s your chance to see the city.”

  “But people might notice us.” He turns in the direction of the mosque. “Besides, I must pray. Didn’t you hear the call for prayers a moment ago?”

  “Yes, that’s perfect!” I glance toward the mosque. “Everyone’s bowing in prayer and won’t see our carpet in the sky. By the time your prayers are through, I’ll have us too high for them to know what we are—if anyone notices us, they’ll think we are a beautiful red bird soaring on the breeze.”

  Rasheed smiles. “I’ve never seen much of the city before.” He pushes himself back, away from the front of the carpet, to give me room to navigate. “I never get to pray in the mosque—I think it must be even better to pray to Allah from the clouds.”

  This is real magic, right here within my grasp. I look over my shoulder at Rasheed. His head and chest are bowed low in prayer.

  “Open, Sesame,” I whisper.

  The carpet rises from the roof, floating upward like steam from a kettle. The higher it climbs, the faster my heart pumps. I force myself not to look down, but fix my gaze above, on the sky. But it won’t be long before the people who are praying in the mosque and on the streets will look up—the rug will need to go faster. Wrapping my trembling fingers around the carpet strings, I brace myself and pull the fringe straight up. The rug bolts toward the clouds.

  I cry out at the suddenness of it and let go, falling back onto Rasheed. The rug slows down to its natural pace as he pushes me back up. Rasheed stares over the edge, his eyes widening.

  “Praise Allah, it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I cautiously peer over the carpet and gasp. We’re even higher than I imagined. The people below look like tiny mustard seeds, scattered over the city. The great trees are strange little shrubs and sticks, and the buildings look like a baby’s wooden blocks. The Tigris River is a shining silver snake in the sun. We can see the entire circular wall around the city, and all the gates at once. And there’s the great dome!

  When a bird flies beneath us, Rasheed laughs. “I’ve had dreams that I could fly like a bird.”

  I take hold of the fringe. “Now you can.” Guiding the rug forward, I slowly put more pressure on the strings, and the carpet picks up speed. The wind swirls past us and pushes my scarf back from my face. Soon we’re flying faster than a horse can gallop. I look behind me at Rasheed and smile; his arms are in the air.

  “It’s like my dream,” he says, “but a thousand times better. I never thought—” He gazes at the tiny Palace of the Crown in the distance. “Marjana, today is the greatest day I’ve ever known.”

  His grin and the warmth of his words give me even more joy than the rush of wind on my face and the beauty of the city below us. I laugh. “But I better take us back now—Cook will be calling you for dinner soon. We’ll have a lot of explaining to do if she can’t find you anywhere!”

  I steer the carpet around and swoop through the air, soaring up and down and swerving back and forth like a fish in the river, until we arrive where we started, hovering high above our street. I push the fringe downward and we descend. Most people have gone home for their evening meals and no one sees us sink between the buildings and glide through the open window. The house is filled with the aroma of stewed meat, and the magic lamp gives off a homey glow. Its flame flickers as we sweep into the room.

  “Close, Sesame.”

  The rug lands softly on the floor exactly where it used to be. Everything is quiet and still. For several moments, Rasheed and I sit silently staring at each other. It’s almost as if it never happened and the carpet never moved, as if we never were flying high above Baghdad only moments ago. But it’s true. The magic is real.

  Rasheed reaches out his hand and squeezes mine. The look on his face—so trusting and kind—reminds me of Saja’s. It’s the look of a friend.

  “Thank you, Marjana.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  Leila doesn’t sleep late like Mistress. Before the rooster’s crow the next morning, when it’s barely light outside, I hear her working in the garden. As soon as I put on my qamis and sirwal, I hear the woman whistling to herself. Leila’s presence is like the comfort of a soft pillow or a soothing drink. I need to get going early, but instead of slipping out the shutter screen, I find myself walking out the back door to the garden.

  “As-salaam alaykum, Marjana! Poor Cook; she must be burdened with too much work and needs help tidying the garden—I’ve found almost as many rotted melons as ripe.” Leila shakes her head. She’s already filled two large basketfuls of fruit and vegetables.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her that Cook is just too lazy to keep the garden nice. I drop to my knees beside her and start pulling weeds.

  “Oh, thank you, dear. I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk with you. Are you all right?” She pats my knee.

  I stare at the dirt and nod, unable to speak. Sometimes I can hide it or make it go away for a time, but I’m not all right. I have a full heart that aches to be released.

  “Your brother told me what happened to his poor little friend Badi, Saja’s brother. I’m sorry to hear of her loss. This must be hard for you, too, with Saja so distressed. I knew when I saw you two together what soul sisters you could be.”

  At the words soul sisters, the pent-up rivers I’ve worked hard to contain come bursting out with no warning. The wall I built around my heart is fi
nally crumbling. The dam bursts, and water rises to my eyes.

  “Saja hates me.” Tears fall to the dirt.

  Leila’s soft words are a soothing balm on a raw wound. “Sometimes love is so strong it makes us weak, but if we embrace it, love holds us up and strengthens us.” She takes my chin in her hand. “Saja doesn’t hate you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I went to see her at the bathhouse yesterday. She said she’ll try to come early—” Leila glances over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps.

  Saja stands near the garden wall, her eyes red, her qamis rumpled.

  I draw in my breath. Stumbling to my feet, I hurry to the wall. I can’t get there fast enough.

  Saja sinks into my arms like a wilted flower and weeps into my shoulder. “I’m sorry I gave you the pear seed, Marjana. I didn’t mean it.”

  “You were in pain, Saja. I’m sorry I left you and Badi that night. I didn’t know—”

  “No, it’s not your fault.” Saja shakes her head. “Those words—I shouldn’t have said them. I didn’t know who to be angry at.”

  “I know. It’s all right. That’s how I felt when my mother died. I understand.”

  “It’s so hard, Marjana. I feel like I can’t go on; I don’t know how. I’m not brave like you.” She sighs. “I’m so … empty.”

  I shake my head. “No, you’re not empty.” The depth in Saja’s eyes seems to go on and on like the countless layers holding up the world in Rasheed’s story. I squeeze her hand. “There’s a universe inside you.”

  Saja blinks, smiling through her tears. She draws me close, and I let her. Soul sister.

  “It was so hard to be alone and think of Badi.” Saja sniffs and wipes her nose. “I felt the lowest on the morning Jamal brought me your cracked cardamom in the courtyard a couple days ago. Instead of feeling better like I thought I would after giving you the pear seed, I felt worse. I needed a friend. I knew what happened to Badi wasn’t your fault, but at the time, it felt better to have someone to blame. Your idea of letting Badi meet Jamal wasn’t what caused the problem. In fact, that day you offered to help me, I hoped I’d found a friend.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”

  “Even when I was angry, I still thought of you. I wondered how you were. Every time I heard a lute play, or smelled jasmine—it seemed almost everything made me think of you. Especially when I heard the news.” Saja’s brow wrinkles. “Some of the women who came to the bathhouse yesterday said your master was dying of a choleric fever. I was so afraid you might get sick, too—”

  “Shh!” I raise a finger to my lips and glance around the corner of the house. If anyone hears the truth, everything could come crashing down. “He’s dead, but not from choleric—Master was killed. You can’t say a word about it.”

  “Why? Who did it?” Saja’s eyes grow wide.

  I need to get started on my plan and head across town while it’s still early, but the idea of leaving Saja after finally getting her back is crushing. “Come with me on an errand, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To a cobbler that Cook told me about on the far side of town.”

  “It’s too early—shops aren’t open yet. And why don’t you just go to the cobbler down the street?”

  “That’s part of what I need to tell you about.”

  “I wish I could go with you, but I have to get back. I can walk with you as far as the bathhouse, but I can’t go across town.”

  “All right. But you won’t believe what’s been happening around here.” By the time we get to the bathhouse, I’ve told Saja the whole story, and her mouth hangs open. She clutches my hand so tightly, it feels like she might twist it off.

  “A magic carpet? And a treasure cave?”

  “Shh!”

  “The Forty Thieves?”

  “Shhhh!”

  “And your master—ew!”

  “Saja!” I take hold of her arm. “You must keep this to yourself. Everyone’s lives are at stake. If anyone suspects that Master was murdered, the entire household would be in danger.”

  Saja nods soberly. “But … what about your plan—won’t the cobbler find out?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I thought of everything.”

  “Look.” Saja points to a notice nailed to the bathhouse door. “The master of the baths read it to us this morning. There’s one on the men’s bathhouse, too, and all the cafés and inns. It says a private citizen has offered a reward through the magistrate to anyone giving information about the captain of the Forty Thieves that leads to his capture, whether he’s dead or living! Ali Baba did this, didn’t he?”

  I nod. I can’t picture the devil-man being thrown into a prison cell. “I counseled Ali Baba to offer some of his treasure money as a reward. Hopefully someone will find the captain before he finds us.” It’s unbearable to think of him when I’m so happy to have Saja back.

  “It will be all right.” She glances over her shoulder at the bathhouse and sighs. “I’d better get back before I get in trouble.”

  “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

  “Marjana?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful!”

  When Saja disappears into the steam, I turn and head toward northwest toward the Sham gate. I hurry through the narrow, mazelike streets, under the over-hanging balconies. Around the eastern horizon, the sky wears a scarf of gold and crimson threads. Although the morning birds are in full chorus, Baghdad is still drowsy. Most shop owners are just rising from their mats, but Mustaphas, a cobbler near the gate, is known for opening his shop at the break of dawn.

  The sprightly old man perches behind the stall in front of his shop under the vaulted arcade, a piece of leather in his hands. His long white hair curls up around his turban, and his beard almost touches his sash.

  “As-salaam alaykum!” he exclaims when he sees me. “Early customers are the best customers. What can I do for you?”

  “Wa alaykum as-salaam.” I press one of Ali Baba’s gold pieces into his withered palm and whisper in his ear, “Gather your needles and thread. I have a job for you in exchange for the gold that rests in your hand and another when the task is finished.”

  The cobbler smiles a toothless grin and closes his fingers around the gold. “No need to ask me twice!”

  “I’ll guide you, but you must wear this around your eyes.” I pull a handkerchief from my sash.

  “What—”

  “No questions, or there is no bargain.” I blindfold Mustaphas and silently lead him through the backstreets of Baghdad to Master’s house. We don’t meet a single person on the way.

  Once inside, I take him to the dark room where the body lies and untie the handkerchief. The man’s eyes boggle as he watches me unfold the bundles that hold Master’s quartered body.

  My fingers tremble. A cold stone falls into the pit of my stomach. Bile climbs to my throat, but I don’t turn away. “You must sew these quarters together as I watch you work.”

  The old man takes a step backward and his eyes grow round as pan bread. But when I show him the gold dinar again, he sighs and solemnly begins to thread his needle and dutifully performs his gruesome task in silence. Though my knees turn weak, I am determined to see the job finished, if only to be able to tell Rasheed that I did it.

  When the work’s completed, the bare thread of the tiny stitches on Master’s skin is the only evidence of his grisly murder. I wince when I remember the fortune-teller’s words to Master: Alas, you will die threadbare. He had even foreseen this! Surely Abu-Zayed must know more than he revealed.

  I give the cobbler his dinar, cover his eyes, and lead him back to his shop by way of the side streets. As far as I can tell, no one sees us. I thank Mustaphas, who marvels at his two gold coins, and I return home by the usual route. The hard part’s done—soon it will all be over.

  But the devil-man still haunts me. Surely when he realizes that someone else knows the secret of the
treasure cave, he’ll come looking for the person who removed Master’s body. I shiver. If he finds Ali Baba, will he do the same thing to him?

  CHAPTER

  21

  I’m glad to finally have it all over and done with. Earlier this afternoon, Ali Baba prepared a grand funeral for Master. Yet again, it’s just as Abu-Zayed predicted: In the end, any dignity you have left, you will owe to the charity of your brother. I joined Mistress and Leila in leading the crowd of hired mourning women through the streets as a band played. Master’s sewn-up body was paraded through Baghdad to the graveyard, and no one had been the wiser as to his true cause of death.

  I smile beneath my veil as I walk home from the bazaar that evening with my bundles. Rasheed will laugh when I tell him about the monkey who mimicked its owner at the fruit seller’s stall. Ali Baba’s son has proved every one of my assumptions wrong. He’s far from a sour, lazy young man. In fact, he and his father are using the gold to turn Master’s shop into a religious school. The madrasa will have the finest teachers and provide room and board for the students, even if they’re poor. Because the building is next door to the house, Ali Baba can easily help Rasheed walk there to attend classes himself. They also bought the building next to the shop to give to the mosque. The imam promises to help Rasheed and Ali Baba turn it into a shelter for homeless street children.

  Leila brings a cheery aura to the home, which comforts Mistress and softens her attitude toward us. Their conversation and laughter carry throughout the house and warm my heart in a way I haven’t felt since Mother was with us.

  Ali Baba’s family is accustomed to eating together. I have never heard of such a thing. Men and women live in separate worlds, but Ali Baba and Leila see things differently than most people, perhaps even other Sufis. When I’d shown my surprise at serving them together, Ali Baba said, “I know it seems unusual, but Leila and I see no reason to stay apart unless we have guests who might be offended. It’s true we all find ourselves in different forms here on earth, but ultimately there is no male or female, only Being.”