“That is four times what this fruit is worth. At that price, I am not interested. I will go elsewhere,” I said as I replaced the fruit and turned to go.
He grabbed my sleeve.
“Wait, wait! You drive a hard bargain on a poor fruit merchant. If you buy three rare fruits, I will let you have them all for half a silver dinar. That is my gift to you. It is fair, is it not?” he said with hope in his voice and raised eyebrows.
I slowly turned back to his stall and picked up the same piece of fruit.
“Done. I will buy three for half a silver dinar, and if my master is pleased, I will return to buy more!” I said with a broad smile, handing him one dinar and receiving a half a dinar worth of copper fulus in return.
And so it went until I had used the two silver dinars to buy all of the rare fruits my master had requested I find.
Harold was impressed by how well Al-Hamid had negotiated and gotten exactly what he needed. But now the sun was on the rise. Harold looked up at a high tower and saw a man about to raise his hands to make the call to prayer. Al-Hamid was going to have to hurry. He saw Al-Hamid was unaware of the call about to be made, but was walking, very pleased with himself, with a big smile on his face.
Harold knew he needed to get Al-Hamid to realize his situation somehow. He knew he could be heard, so he wanted to warn him. He got up close when he stopped at a corner of a street and whispered into Al-Hamid’s ear, “It’s getting late. You better hurry to meet your master.”
Al-Hamid brushed at his ear, as if irritated by some buzzing fly. Then he looked up, saw the first light of dawn on the horizon, and realized the time was late.
It was getting near the time I was to meet Jomana Karim, but the plaza was some distance away. The streets were already crowded with throngs of people. I had to jump from street to street, run up alleys, hop on the backs of donkey carts, dodging the owners’ whips. I ran, pushed, fought my way until, at last, I was in the plaza.
Harold struggled to keep up with Al-Hamid. He bumped and pushed his way along, too, surprising many. They both finally arrived at the Plaza Kolamir.
Delivery
I got to the Plaza Kolamir exactly at dawn, as the calls for morning prayer went out from the high towers, but Jomana Karim was nowhere to be found. I carried the rare fruits in a basket from the merchants and walked all around the plaza, looking for Jomana. Failing to find him, I sat down. I was getting hungry, and the fruit looked so good. I picked up one piece and was about to eat it. But I told myself no and put it back down in the basket. I waited all day, but Jomana did not appear.
Harold also felt hungry, so he simply borrowed a bread roll from a merchant’s table and ate it. A beggar who was about to steal the same roll saw it rise up from the table and crumble into nothingness. The beggar ran away in terror.
Harold, satisfied, sat down with Al-Hamid and waited.
Toward sundown, I saw a very young beggar, crippled and crawling on a board that scraped the stone street as he pulled himself along. He cried out to the people who passed him by, asking for some food, something to eat. He was weeping. It broke my heart. Here I had a basket full of fruit that I had promised to buy and deliver, yet here was a small boy dying in the street for lack of food.
I told myself, “To Jahannam with it! Even if I do not get to be an apprentice and learn a new way of life, I can at least give this boy a fighting chance for another day of life.” I walked over to the beggar and sat down. I broke some of the fruit and handed it to him. He ate it with passion, as tears welled up in his eyes.
All of a sudden, he sat up and laughed a hearty laugh with a big smile. I was shocked. He was not a cripple at all, but just pretending to be. As I watched him eat the fruit in astonishment, I saw a long robe appear before me. I looked up and saw Jomana Karim looking down at me. I stood up, spilling the fruit from the basket.
He looked at me with a stern face.
Harold thought Al-Hamid was going to get a good lashing. He stood next to him and watched.
“I bought the fruit as you asked, master, and arrived at the appointed time as I had promised, but this young cripple was starving, so I thought you would not mind sharing some of the fruit….” My voice trailed off as I looked into Jomana Karim’s face.
Then his stern face broadened into a smile.
He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “You have passed the test of three: integrity, determination, and compassion. The integrity was keeping your promise to buy the fruit and show up on time. The determination was not only finding the rare fruit but waiting for me all day. The compassion was sharing the fruit with one who appeared to need it without regard for the consequences of failure, as you risked your apprenticeship by not delivering all of the fruit as promised.”
After a pause, he looked at me and said, “I will accept you as my apprentice. Come with me.”
He turned to the young beggar, gave him a wink, and handed him a few copper fulus. “Well done, my young friend. Peace be upon you.”
My master had cleverly hired the young beggar to test my compassion.
Jomana Karim, my new master, and I left the plaza together. I was on my way to a whole new life.
Harold’s heart lifted. He saw what Al-Hamid had accomplished, and he was very pleased by the way he was treated by the wealthy merchant. Harold followed them, but Al-Hamid’s voice faded and then ceased, and soon a black fog shrouded Harold’s eyes. He knew his dream time was over.
Ask and Ye Shall Receive—or Not
The dawn was fast approaching. The sun in the east was beginning to glow softly on the horizon. It peeked between the study’s closed curtains with a soft yellow. The room began to take on a golden hue.
Black Arabic swirls emerged from Harold’s head and settled down on the writing papers strewn on the floor beneath his feet. Slowly, his eyes opened with a squint at the sunshine flowing into the room.
Harold yawned, straightened up his head, and stretched his arms above his head. He was about to get up out of the chair he had fallen asleep in when he noticed his lap had crumbs from a recently eaten bread roll sprinkled about on it.
“Well, I’ll be. Crumbs from the bread I ate in my dream. That’s it, old boy; you are a dream traveler! Wow! The shackle, the bite mark, now the crumbs. It can’t be any clearer than that. It all started with that pen! Where are you taking me, I wonder? Will the story end? Will I be stuck in the dream travel forever if it does?”
Harold had these thoughts as he shaved, got dressed in fresh clothes, and ate a quick cold breakfast before heading out the door to the job he loathed.
Harold felt even more that he was stuck where he was. He had tried to insist on helping others, but his help had been rejected. He wanted to be more than just a clerk. He aspired to be a manager, or even a business owner someday.
There had appeared to be no way out, but today, he asked his colleague, Charlie, who had just received a wage increase, how he did it.
“Why, I just asked,” Charlie replied. That surprised Harold.
“You mean you did not get fired for being an upstart?”
“No,” said Charlie. “I just explained my situation and all the effort I had made to benefit the company to justify the raise. Look, old man; you are really good at what you do, but no one notices. You need to stand up for yourself. Don’t just sit there and let these things pass on. You deserve better.”
Harold thanked Charlie and went back to his desk. For the rest of the day, he tried to think of things he had done for the company as evidence that he also deserved a raise.
“Charlie is right. I have done some great work,” Harold said to himself as he reviewed past projects.
Harold began to believe he did have worth—that he did above-average work.
One morning, Harold woke up feeling braver about asking for a better position; he got to work early so he could talk to M
r. MacTavish, who managed the sector supervisors.
Harold walked down the walnut-paneled hall toward Mr. MacTavish’s secretary, Miss Josephine Abernathy, who was typing some correspondence. Her thin face was framed by tightly drawn-back brown hair, tied in a neat bun. Her dark suit was plain and did not emphasize anything about her except her efficiency.
“Good morning, Miss Abernathy. Is Mr. MacTavish in this morning?”
She looked up from her typing, and, unsmiling, said, “Yes, he is. Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I thought I could pop in and talk with him briefly.”
“Well, if you wait here a moment, I will ask him.” Josephine pointed with her long, manicured, bright-red fingernail to a hardwood chair placed against a wall.
“Thank you,” said Harold as he turned and sat down, placing his briefcase on his lap. Miss Josephine got up from her chair, walked around her desk, and went to Mr. MacTavish’s office door. She knocked quietly and opened the door slightly. She leaned in and talked quietly to Mr. MacTavish. She nodded, quietly closed the door, and turned to Harold.
“Yes, he will see you, but you must be brief,” she said firmly with a commanding frown.
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Harold as he stood up and walked to Mr. MacTavish’s office door. Josephine knocked again and opened the door to let Harold in.
“Harold, come in. Sit down. I need you to be brief because I am very busy this morning,” said MacTavish in his commanding voice, without even looking up from the papers on his large, dark walnut desk, but waving his hand toward a chair facing the desk. Mr. MacTavish was in his fifties, with graying short hair, large shoulders, and a stern face. He always wore a gray tweed vest, tie, and sharply creased, long sleeve shirt. His tweed jacket, along with his umbrella, hung on a standing coatrack in the corner of the office. The office windows were large, surrounded by dark curtains and covered by a thin gossamer fabric that let in the light, but was difficult to see through. This was an office for serious work.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for seeing me,” said Harold as he sat down.
“Well, what is it? What do you want?” asked Mr. MacTavish.
Taking a deep breath, Harold launched into his request for a better position.
“I have been with this firm for four years now. I have been loyal, on time, and never complained. I have always done my job and done my job well.”
“Yes, yes, I know of your work,” said Mr. MacTavish quickly, still not looking up from his papers.
Harold swallowed hard, but he felt inspired that his work had been recognized.
“I think it is about time I receive a new position, a higher position, perhaps a supervisor level?” Harold said hopefully, softly.
Mr. MacTavish stopped looking at his papers and raised his head to stare at Harold. Harold felt a cold chill go straight to his heart.
“So, you think you are ready for a better position, do you?” Mr. MacTavish said, looking into Harold’s eyes.
“Yes,” was Harold’s timid reply.
“Harold, listen. The company appreciates you and the job you are doing. The company needs you where you are. You are not yet ready to take on more responsibility, nor do you have the skills for anything other than what you are doing.”
Harold felt himself sink lower in the chair.
“In another year or two, if you apply yourself, you might be ready then. But for now, the answer is no. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Harold said, looking down at his shoes.
“Fine; then get back to work. I have lots to do.” Mr. MacTavish looked back at his papers and waved for Harold to leave his office.
Harold stood up, feeling lucky he still had a job. He turned toward the office door and, as he opened it, he turned back to Mr. MacTavish and said, “Thank you, sir.”
Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him as he did.
Crushed, Harold went back to his desk and sat down. He felt trapped. He felt he was never going to reach his dreams if he didn’t do something. Should he quit and find another job?
“No. I’m too old to find another clerk position,” he said to himself. “I’ve got to do something here, but what? Asking for a better position did not work, so what do I do?”
Then Harold thought of Al-Hamid.
“Al-Hamid decided to improve his life beyond being a street rat,” Harold reminded himself. “He had already tried to insist that merchants give him a position, only to be chased away. But he found that, by helping merchants in earnest without expectation of gain, rather than insisting on being their helper, doing it in a serving way, he was recognized for his efforts and succeeded in improving his lot in life. That’s what I’ve got to do if I want to change my position in this company.”
With renewed hope, Harold began to pay more attention at staff meetings, spoke up with ideas, and volunteered on projects, without expecting a raise. He stayed late and got to the office early so he could give more to others. He began to receive praise for his contributions and the helpful attitude he put forth. Harold began to feel he had value. He smiled more. He outgrew his current position by doing more than was expected. He found that by giving more, he received more. His attitude about himself changed and so did his future.
Helping Others Helps You
A section supervisor, Mr. Ronald Fraser, had benefited many times from Harold’s extra efforts and wanted more. Fraser had been with the firm for several years. He had, himself, been a clerk and knew what a clerk’s duties were. Fraser was in his late forties, tall, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a thin, but toned body. He was serious when working but had a kind disposition. He took it upon himself to talk to Mr. MacTavish about Harold.
Standing outside of MacTavish’s office, Fraser heard, “Come in; come in.”
Fraser opened the door and entered the office. “Thank you for seeing me,” Fraser said.
“Of course. Always ready to listen to one of my top supervisors. What can I do for you?” asked MacTavish, looking up from his desk and smiling.
“I am sure you have heard of Harold’s extra efforts and the appreciation he has received for them,” said Fraser.
“Yes, I have heard some things about Harold, all good, I assure you,” MacTavish said.
“He has definitely outgrown his current position, and it would be the company’s loss to have him remain where he is,” Fraser said.
“Well, what have you got in mind? He has no other training.”
“I would appreciate it if you could assign him to me, as a sort of assistant supervisor, so I may train him and help build his skills. I know he would eventually make an excellent supervisor,” Fraser said.
“And you would take on the responsibility for his training?”
“Absolutely. I believe he will excel, sir.”
“All right, on a trial basis, I will allow such a transfer, but until his training is completed successfully, he will remain at a clerk’s pay grade. Agreed?”
“Why, yes, of course, Mr. MacTavish. Thank you, sir.”
Fraser got Harold assigned to him in the new position of assistant supervisor.
When Harold heard about his new position, he wept with joy and gratefulness.
When Harold went home that evening, he was determined to learn more from Al-Hamid’s life. He felt his advancement at work had resulted from his applying himself the way Al-Hamid had applied himself to better his position, by helping others without expectation of gain. So, he raced to his study and started writing. The pen curled around his wrist and began its dance across the page.
When Everyone Wins, You Win
Harold wrote and wrote, and at the stroke of midnight, he dosed off. He began to dream—if it really was a dream—and found his vision beginning to clear from the white fog. Then he heard Al-Hamid’s voice as it beg
an telling the story once more.
Harold found himself accompanying Al-Hamid as he went about some tasks given him by his new master.
My new master, Jomana Karim, was firm in his dealings with me, but also fair and kind.
At first, I had a lot to learn, so I was given a series of tasks to perform.
I would go on errands, at first simple with explicit instructions on what to do. After proving myself capable of following instructions, I was allowed to make some small decisions myself about how an errand was to be carried out.
The master had no children of his own, so he soon developed a fondness for me and I, for him.
Harold stood behind Al-Hamid as a tutor taught him how to read. Harold studied the language along with him as he struggled to understand it. Soon, Harold could recognize the Arabic characters and understand their meaning. He would whisper definitions into Al-Hamid’s ear to help him understand the meaning.
“That means horse.”
Al-Hamid would hear Harold and nod his head slowly in understanding because, for some reason, when Harold spoke in English, it came out as Arabic to Al-Hamid. He accepted the voice as his own, but he often wondered how one part of his mind was so separate from the rest of his consciousness. But the voice had to be his own. Anything else was unthinkable. And the voice was always helpful, he reasoned.
As Harold followed Al-Hamid’s story, time seemed to flow from days to weeks in a blur.
I was taught to read, write, and do some simple mathematics. With that training, I was given the responsibility of keeping count of goods on hand and other matters that involved reading, counting, and such.
I learned about the business of selling, of knowing how to tell high quality items from lesser goods. I found that my master Karim was also wise in his dealings with people. His actions showed me I had a lot to learn about dealing with people.
I was instructed by Karim thusly: “In every transaction, be sure all involved benefit. Ensure each party feels they have achieved what they wanted so they are not disappointed or left feeling cheated by the outcome. If these steps are not followed, then the Universe will eventually work against you and undermine all you have achieved. This is a law of the Universe that never fails.”
The Pen- Sultan's Wisdom Page 6