“I understand you are here to pay my tax,” he said with a wide, toothy grin, a look of triumph on his fat face. He puffed on his hookah and seemed to struggle at getting any smoke from it.
Harold, who was in the room, had stepped on the hookah’s hose, cutting off the smoke. The sultan continued to struggle with his hookah. He sucked deeply on it until his eyes watered. Harold released the hose and let the smoke race through. He just smiled.
Of a sudden, smoke billowed around the sultan’s head and he gasped and coughed hard.
He cursed the hookah and ordered his slave to take it away. I had no idea what was going on with his pipe, but I proceeded with my plan.
“It is interesting that you think so,” I said as I walked slowly toward a large window that faced East. “For I have come once more to offer you favorable prices on my trade goods in exchange for reducing your tax.” I turned and faced him.
“What? I told you no negotiation!” he raged. “You are a fool to play with me! I will not have such impertinence in my palace! Such disrespect! Seize him, his people, and his goods!”
As the sultan gave his order, I raised my arm high.
“I think not.” I dropped my arm, and outside on the dunes surrounding the city, several thousand Bedouin horsemen appeared with swords drawn.
The sultan was shocked. Fear swept across his face as his eyes took in the sight of so many armed men. The guards saw the men outside the city and stopped advancing toward me, unsure what to do.
“Your reign as sultan is over. Surrender now and you shall be spared,” I said as I raised my arm again and dropped it to my side.
The Bedouin horsemen charged down the dunes, yelling their attack cries, twirling their swords overhead. The swords flashed against the rising sun. They stormed the city and galloped to the palace. Many of the sultan’s soldiers dropped their weapons and fled. Those who stood in defiance were cut down. The fight was over in less than an hour. The sultan was deposed, imprisoned, and left to face his own people for his crimes against them.
The Exalted One
Harold’s view faded and cleared. He appeared to be in a palace chamber. He saw Al-Hamid and watched him writing. Harold heard Al-Hamid continue his story.
I became the new sultan. I gave the Bedouin who had come to my aid gifts of high value as thanks for their loyalty. To my tribe, I handed the honor of being their chief over to the council to choose another, and I offered those who wanted to stay with me territory to graze their sheep, goats, or camels. I also offered them positions on my staff so they might be paid for their efforts and thus earn a living without wandering the desert. The people were happy. My rule was firm but just and kind. I let all the caravans know they were welcome and could pass through our lands under our protection. I only asked for an opportunity to trade with them as they passed.
Thus, I became Sultan of the Bashihin Desert, a vast territory, and I remain so to this day. So it is that I have become even wealthier.
As Al-Hamid wrote these last sentences, he paused and looked up from the scroll. He set the pen down on his desk. The night was still shining with stars, but the lamps were burning low because most of the oil was spent. He sensed someone or something in the room. He got up, placed the desk lamp on a table nearby, and said, “Oh, Spirit, who is with me this night, I have felt your presence all of my life. You, the Exalted One, came from I know not where, or why, but have blessed my life in many ways, and I am grateful for your help. I humbly thank you.” Al-Hamid made the traditional hand gesture from his stomach to his head, as he bowed in respect.
Harold saw this effort by Al-Hamid to thank him for what he had done. He wanted to let Al-Hamid know he acknowledged the gesture, so he pinched out the lamp when Al-Hamid bowed low.
Still bowed low, Al-Hamid’s head went up slightly when the lamp went out, and he smiled. The room was totally dark except for the starlight, giving it a dim glow. Al-Hamid saw the wisp of smoke rising from the extinguished lamp. Then he raised his head, standing straight up.
“So, it is so. You are here and have heard my words of gratefulness. That is good, and I am now satisfied that my life is complete. I can live out my life and die in peace.”
Al-Hamid bowed once more, and when he did, Harold’s vision went dark. He suspected it meant this was the last time he would witness Al-Hamid’s life story, but he did not know for sure. Harold placed the pen in its box and set it upon a shelf.
Vindication
It was late on a Friday night, and Priscilla was doing inventory at the library. She would see Harold tomorrow, so he was on his own tonight. He decide to drop in The Office pub to see if he might run into any of his friends from the law firm he used to work in.
Harold opened the pub door to a crowded collection of drinkers, with pipe and cigarette smoke drifting above, covering the lamps, making the room glow with a warm yellow light. A small group of musicians was playing in the far corner, the music just loud enough so no one needed to shout to hold a conversation.
Someone recognized Harold and raised a pint of beer in his direction.
“Harold! It’s good to see you! Come on over, lad, and let me buy you a drink!” When that hail went out, others shouted his name as well.
“Hey, Harold’s here!”
“Harold!”
“Hey, Harold!”
Harold saw a lot of arms go up, all holding pints of beer, and attached to men with genuine smiles who were looking at him. He waved as his heart swelled with happiness. He made his way through the crowded room over to the bar and his friend who had greeted him first.
“Hello, Sam; it’s been a while,” said Harold above the din of the crowd. He shook Sam’s hand.
“Been too long, lad. We’ve missed you at work. Things have been going on, and this is the best place to find out, you know.”
Sam turned to the barkeep and took the proffered pint of beer for Harold. He turned and held it out to him.
“Here you are. Have a swig of that! Cheers!” said Sam.
Harold grabbed the pint from Sam and held it up to clink with Sam’s pint in a toast. Then he took a long, delicious swig. He realized he had missed the comradery he shared with his friends.
Harold told Sam about his position at the publishing firm and how much he liked it. He said he had been writing more and was really enjoying it.
“You know, you can always come back to the firm. They think highly of you,” Sam said casually.
“What? No. After the scandal, they would never bring me on again,” Harold said as he took another drink.
“Well, I can tell you that you are wrong. Turns out Falstaff took the file. He got caught, you know?” Sam said, looking at Harold.
“Is that so? How? What happened?” Harold asked with a quizzical look on his face.
“Myron, who was let go, too, if you did not know,” Sam explained, “was interrogated again after Falstaff was caught filching more documents. He said Falstaff had befriended him in the weeks before the original theft. Myron said Falstaff brought him tea and biscuits daily for about two weeks before the theft. He said he hadn’t thought of it when he was first questioned—he had no reason to—but later, he realized he’d felt a sudden urge to use the facilities right after Falstaff brought him tea one day. He said Falstaff had not visited after that day, and Myron never saw him again since he was sacked a week later.”
“Poor fellow,” Harold said. “He was always pleasant, despite spending his time alone in a dank and dingy basement.”
“Yes, well...in any case,” said Sam, “with this new information, Fraser went to the pub with last year’s company portrait. The witnesses failed to point you out. But…they identified Falstaff as the Harold they had been drinking with at the pub.”
“My goodness. That poor fellow. He is so…broken,” Harold said.
“To hell with Falstaff,” Sam said.
“Once they started looking at him, they found dozens of irregularities. When Fraser interrogated him, he broke, admitting he framed you out of spite. He was so jealous of your success and demeanor.”
“But why? How could I possibly be a threat to him?” Harold wondered out loud.
“Who knows? But I can tell you the firm was very displeased. They prosecuted him to the full extent of the law. He was fined, forced to pay restitution, and shipped off to Stenhouse for two years!” Sam said, a bit more enthusiastically than Harold was comfortable with.
“Didn’t you read about it in the papers?” Sam continued. “The firm published a statement exonerating you, Harold. Here, I’ve got a copy.”
Harold took the paper from Sam and read the article. It told the whole story and included a formal apology from Mr. MacTavish on the firm’s behalf.
“The firm and I deeply regret accusing Mr. Harold Duncan of the theft and sale of company files. We only hope he can understand that the preponderance of evidence seemed insurmountable at the time. We deeply regret the accusations stemming from this intentionally misleading evidence and humbly offer to reinstate him at his earliest convenience.”
Harold’s heart felt so relieved and unburdened. He would no longer feel that people were looking at him accusingly. He felt vindicated. He vigorously shook Sam’s hand.
“Thank you so much, Sam! I feel so happy. Thank you!”
“Cheers!” Sam said, freeing his hand and lifting his pint high.
“Yes, cheers indeed!” Harold clinked his glass to Sam’s and then took a deep drink.
The rest of the evening was spent catching up with old business friends who were all happy to see him. Harold probably drank more than he intended, but he found his way home and collapsed in his warm bed to sleep as he had not slept in a long time.
Dreams Do Come True
Harold continued to follow the emerald of wisdom and lived his life as if he had already achieved his dreams.
The change in Harold was noticed by his managers, and soon, he rose higher within the company. Harold was so confident in his abilities that he excelled. Things just seemed to come his way. He made new friends, learned new skills, and continued to grow. Harold was even more encouraged by how his future was unfolding as he continued to apply the emerald of wisdom he had learned from Al-Hamid.
One thing he wanted to do was write a novel, so he began. He decided it would be called The Adventures of Al-Hamid Akbar, Sultan of the Bashihin Desert, and it would be based on his translation of the pen’s writings.
It took Harold several months to write and rewrite his novel, get it edited, and then arrange to have it published. When the book was announced, and put on the shelves of the local bookstores, it sold out immediately. It was translated into French, German, Italian, and several other languages and was distributed worldwide. Harold was soon a wealthy author.
Harold continued to do well at the publishing house. He learned the ins and outs of the publishing business and got to know the owner quite well. He became very good at managing teams on projects that benefited the company enormously, and the owner was very pleased. He had never seen someone so involved and committed to the company, so Harold was promoted to partner.
When the original owner retired to a country estate in Dumsmerre, he sold his stake in the publishing house to Harold, confident it was being placed in capable hands. Harold was thrilled. It was one of his dreams that came true, just like he imagined it would.
Harold was healthy, physically fit, and wealthy. He wore new clothes and had a very attractive personality.
He decided he was ready for the next big thing in his life—marriage.
Tying the Knot
Harold went to several jewelers to look over their wares, but none seemed to have what he wanted. He finally went to a store that a friend had recommended.
“May I help you, sir?” asked the woman behind the counter when Harold entered the store. She had a warm, broad smile.
“Why, yes. I would like to look at engagement rings,” said Harold shyly.
“Of course, sir. Please step over here,” she said, moving to the other counter. “Here we have several fashioned in the latest styles.”
Harold looked over the samples but did not see any he particularly cared for. They just did not seem very attractive. Then he noticed one in the back row. It made him smile. It was a silver ring with a small clusters of diamonds on one side. The clerk handed it to him, and he held it up. It sparkled in the store lights so beautifully.
“That’s the one!” Harold said.
Harold paid for the ring and asked that it be placed in a dark blue velvet box, which he placed in his coat pocket.
“Thank you so much,” said Harold as he left the store and headed down the street toward the library.
Entering the library, he saw Priscilla sitting at her desk. It was about closing time, and Priscilla looked up as she heard the library doors open. She saw him walking toward her and noticed he did not have his briefcase with him. Unusual, she thought.
Harold came up to her desk and whispered, “Hello, my dear. After you close up the library, can you come with me to the park for a little while?”
“Of course, my darling. Just give me a few minutes to close up.”
Priscilla got up from her desk, noted it was indeed time to close the library for the day, and found her assistant, Joanna. Together, they went to each patron still reading, writing, or researching and informed them the library was now closed, and they would have to exit now. As usual, some were a little upset they had to leave, but most understood and left right away.
Harold had seated himself in a nice chair and watched as all of this went on.
“Well, that went rather smoothly, I think,” said Priscilla. “Joanna will finish with the office and locking up. We can go now.”
Harold took Priscilla to their favorite garden. The sun was low in the sky, and the fall weather was turning cooler. Light shone through yellow-and-orange-colored leaves of aspen and oak. The shadows were long on the grass. He found a secluded bench and asked her to sit down while he stood in front of her. She felt a bit nervous because of his unusual behavior. He appeared a bit nervous.
Oh my, what’s he up to? she thought.
He looked her in the eyes, grabbed both of her hands, kneeled before her, and said, “Priscilla, I have known you for some time now. I have always loved you. But I want to be more than just your boyfriend.”
Harold’s eyes pleaded as tears welled up behind them. His heart was pounding with anticipation.
Priscilla burst into tears and grabbed him, hugging him tightly.
Harold held Priscilla back a bit. Then he pulled the small, velvet box out of his coat pocket, opened it, and took the ring out. “Will you marry me?”
He hoped and hoped she would say yes.
Priscilla’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open slightly. The sun caught the diamonds and the polished silver, and the ring cast a rainbow of color across her face.
“Yes! Yes, I will marry you!” she shouted as she kissed him passionately.
Harold’s face lit brightly with a broad smile. Tears rolled down his face as he kissed and hugged Priscilla.
“Oh, Harold, it’s beautiful! Oh, my, my, what a wonderful ring.”
He removed one of her gloves and placed the ring on her left hand. Then she held it up so Harold could see it.
“It’s better than I ever dreamed it could be. You’ve made this so magical and memorable for me,” she said with tears rolling down her cheeks.
“It’s even more beautiful on your hand than when I first saw it,” said Harold. They both hugged and kissed.
Priscilla was so happy she wanted to burst—to shout the news to passersby on the street. She called her mother, who was delighted and cried. She gave Priscilla her silk wedding dress with
its modest lace. Priscilla planned the wedding of her dreams, with her favorite flower, daises, and a very simple wedding party—just a maid of honor and a best man. They invited about forty family members and friends. They planned for the ceremony to be held in the Rosslyn Chapel in April of the following year.
At the ceremony, Harold stood at the altar with his best man Sam beside him and the elderly priest. They were talking in low voices. Harold was very nervous. Even though they had practiced every move, he was worried he would forget something and ruin Priscilla’s day.
The church organ began to play the wedding march. Everyone stood and looked up the aisle toward Priscilla, who was adorned from head to foot in a beautiful white gown with a long train and a veil across her face. She and her father began walking down the aisle. They slowly walked toward the altar as the organ music echoed off the walls. Harold turned from the priest and saw her. The light from the church windows shone softly across her veil. She looked so beautiful. Harold’s eyes glowed with love, tears welling up. She saw him through her veil, standing there, so handsome, his face shining with a broad smile. Her heart swelled with love and emotion for him.
Priscilla arrived at the altar, and the ceremony began. She and Harold looked into each other’s eyes, barely hearing what the priest was saying. Giving each other rings and reciting their vows, it was over almost as soon as it began.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” said the old priest. Harold lifted her veil and they kissed. Everyone cheered.
The reception seemed to whirl around them in a haze of dancing, toasts, eating, and merriment. Soon a carriage arrived to take them on their way to their honeymoon in the Highlands of Scotland. They went outside where everyone had lined the pathway and was throwing daises at them as they raced toward the carriage. Harold gallantly opened the door for his bride and helped her maneuver her long wedding dress so she could sit. He turned to the crowd and said, “Thank you all for coming to the wedding and celebrating the happiest day of our lives!”
The Pen- Sultan's Wisdom Page 16