“How sweet is freedom after the hell of imprisonment!” said a voice whose like he had not heard before.
With a dry throat al-Bulti said ingratiatingly, “Your liberation has been achieved at my hands.”
“Tell me, first of all, what God has done with Solomon.”
“Our Lord Solomon has been dead for more than a thousand years.”
His head swaying with elation, the other said, “Blessed is the wish of God, which imposed upon us the decree of a human being, whose dust does not ascend to our fire, and that human is the one who has punished me for a lapse of the heart, may God in His mercy forgive worse.”
“Congratulations on your freedom. Go off and enjoy it.”
“I see that you’re keen to make your escape,” he said mockingly.
“Seeing that I was the means to your being liberated.”
“I was freed by nothing but destiny.”
“And I was destiny’s instrument,” said Gamasa eagerly.
“During my long imprisonment,” said the other, “I became filled with anger and the desire for revenge.”
“Pardoning when one can is one of the natural characteristics of noble people,” implored Gamasa.
“You people are skilled at memorizing, quoting, and hypocrisy, and in proportion to your knowledge must be your reckoning, so woe to you!”
“We wage a continuous struggle with ourselves, with people, and with life,” said Gamasa al-Bulti entreatingly, “and the struggle has victims that cannot be numbered, and hope is never lost in the mercy of the Merciful.”
“Mercy is for him who deserves mercy,” said the genie sternly. “God’s vastnesses are spread with the opportunities granted to those who have adhered to wisdom. Thus mercy is due only to those who strive, otherwise offensive smells would spoil the purity of the air illuminated by divine light, so don’t make corruption an excuse for corruption.”
“We believe in mercy even when we are chopping necks and cropping heads.”
“What a hypocrite you are! What’s your job?”
“Chief of police.”
“What titles! Do you perform your duty in a manner that pleases God?”
“My duty is to carry out orders,” said Gamasa apprehensively.
“A slogan suitable for covering up all sorts of evils.”
“I am in no position to do anything about that.”
“If you are called upon to do good, you claim you are incapable; and if you are called upon to do evil, you set about it in the name of duty.”
Gamasa was in a tight corner. The warnings fell upon him and he backed away to the edge of the boat, trembling. At the same time he felt the penetration of a new presence taking control of the place. He knew that another genie had arrived and he was convinced that he was lost. The newcomer addressed the first genie, “Congratulations on your freedom, Singam.”
“Thanks be to God, Qumqam.”
“I haven’t seen you for more than a thousand years.”
“How short they are when measured against life, and how long they are if spent in a bottle!”
“I too landed in the snares of magic, which is like prison in its torture.”
“No harm afflicts us that does not come from human beings.”
“During the period of your absence many were the events that occurred, so maybe you’d like to catch up on what you missed.”
“Indeed, but I would like to take a decision about this human.”
“Let him be for now. In no way is he going to slip from your grasp if you need him, but don’t take a decision while you’re in a rage. No genie among us ever perished except as a prey to his anger. Let’s go to the mountains of Qaf and celebrate your liberation.”
“Till we meet, O chief of police,” said Singam, addressing al-Bulti.
The controlling presence began to dwindle until it disappeared altogether. Gamasa regained the freedom of his limbs, but collapsed on the deck of the boat, his strength drained away. At the same time he was intoxicated with the hope of escape.
IV
Gamasa al-Bulti jumped ashore and was met by a slave, who bowed down to him, then set about folding up the net.
“There’s not a single fish in the net,” he remarked.
“Were you looking in my direction when I was in the boat?” asked Gamasa, his throat dry.
“All the time, master.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw you casting the net, and then I saw you waiting and drawing it in. That’s why I was astonished to find it empty.”
“You didn’t see any smoke?”
“No, sir.”
“And you didn’t hear a strange sound?”
“None.”
“Perhaps you nodded off.”
“Not at all, master.”
It was impossible for him to have doubts about what had happened. It was more real than reality itself. In his memory was engraved the name Qumqam, as was that of Singam. He recalled in a new form the confessions of Sanaan and it seemed to him now that his old friend had been an unfortunate victim. He wondered anxiously what the unseen could be holding for him.
V
He buried his secret in his bosom. Even his wife Rasmiya did not know of it. It was a secret that weighed heavily upon him, but what could be done? If one day he divulged it, he would harm his position and lose his post. He stayed awake nights thinking about the consequences and resolved to be cautious. Singam, it would appear, was a believing genie and would be mindful of the good turn he had done by freeing him, even though by accident. He slept following the dawn prayers for a while, then awoke in a better mood. He was by nature strong and would defy difficulties and misgivings. He had got onto friendly terms with al-Salouli and al-Hamadhani, and Singam was no more intractable than they.
As they were drinking their morning milk, Rasmiya said to him, “Yesterday our old neighbor Umm Saad paid me a visit.”
Suddenly his nerves tautened. He appreciated the danger of the visit in the way a policeman would who knew the secrets behind particular circumstances.
“A poor widow, and yet…” he said with distaste.
He hesitated for an instant, then continued, “But her visiting us is harmful to my position.”
“Her situation is heartrending.”
“It’s the situation of the world, Rasmiya, but let’s leave to God what is His.”
“She came with the hope that you could help her in making a petition to the governor to return the family properties.”
“What a foolish woman!” he exclaimed.
“She said that God did not hold the sins of the fathers against the sons.”
“It is Shahriyar himself who pronounced the judgment.”
Then he said frankly, “Sanaan was my friend but what had been decreed came to pass. Perhaps the killing of the girl after raping her does not count as anything when measured against the killing of the governor of the quarter, for the sultan regards the blow directed against his representative as being aimed against his person, and the sultan is still a bloodthirsty ruler despite his unexpected change of heart. Do not, therefore, encourage her to pay you frequent visits, or a curse will descend upon us, a curse under which we shall be powerless.” Downcast, the woman kept silent.
“I am as sad as you are,” he said, “but there is nothing we can do about it.”
VI
He was truthful in what he said: his sorrow for Sanaan’s family did not dissipate, and the origin of that did not lie solely in passionate love. He had liked the man before he had liked his daughter. He was not always devoid of good sentiments and religious remembrances, but he found no objection to practicing corruption in a corrupt world. The truth was that in the quarter there was no heart like his for mingling black with white. So it was that he invited Fadil Sanaan to his house on a visit shrouded with secrecy.
The young man came in his new attire, consisting of a gallabiya and sandals, the garb of a peddler. Gamasa seated himself beside him in the
reception room and said, “I am pleased, Fadil, that you are facing up with such courage to the way things have turned out for you.”
“I thank God who has preserved my faith after the loss of position and wealth.”
Truly impressed, Gamasa said, “I summoned you in deference to our long acquaintance.”
“May God bless you, sir.”
He looked at him for a while, then said, “If it weren’t for that I would have allowed myself to arrest you.”
In amazement Fadil inquired, “Arrest me? Why, sir?”
“Don’t pretend not to know. Has not the evil that engulfed you been enough for you? Seek your livelihood far from associating with destructive elements who are the enemies of the sultan.”
“I am nothing but a peddler,” said Fadil with a pallid face.
“Stop dissimulating, Fadil. Nothing is hidden from Gamasa al-Bulti, and my first task, as you know, is to pursue the Shiites and the Kharijites.”*
“I am not one of them,” said Fadil in a low voice. “Early in my life I was a student of Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi.”
“I too was a student of his. Many graduate from the school of al-Balkhi—people of the Way and people of the Prophet’s Sunna, Sufis and Sunnis. Some devils who deviate from the Path also graduate.”
“Be sure, sir, that I am as far as can be from those devils.”
“You have very many companions from among them.”
“I have nothing to do with their doctrines.”
“It starts as innocent friendship, then comes degeneration—they are madmen, they accuse the rulers of unbelief and they delude the poor and the slaves. Nothing pleases them, not even fasting in the month of Ragab. It is as though God has chosen them to the exclusion of His other worshipers. Be on your guard against falling into the same fate as your father, for the Devil has all kinds of ways and means. As for me, I know nothing but my duty. I have pledged my loyalty to the sultan, as I have to the governor of the quarter, in exterminating the apostates.”
“Be assured, sir,” said Fadil in a listless tone, “that I am very far distant from the apostates.”
“I have given you fatherly advice, so keep it in mind,” said Gamasa.
“Thank you for your kindness, sir.”
Gamasa began scrutinizing his face in search of points of similarity between him and his sister Husniya. For some moments he was lost in the ecstasy of love. Then he said, “There’s one more matter: I would ask you to inform your mother that to present a petition for the return of the family property would be regarded as a challenge to the sultan. There is no power or strength other than through God.”
“That is also my opinion, sir,” said Fadil meekly.
The meeting ended secretly, as it had begun. Gamasa wondered whether one day he would be given the chance of summoning him that he might ask for Husniya’s hand.
VII
Perhaps Sanaan al-Gamali’s crime was the sole momentous event that occurred during the time Gamasa al-Bulti was in office. No one charged him with being responsible for it, especially after it was known about the genie’s intervention in the matter. This, however, did not apply to what was happening in the quarter at present, for several incidents of highway robbery within the city’s walls had followed in succession with disquieting frequency: money and goods were seized and men were assaulted. Gamasa al-Bulti was assailed by the anger of a capable policeman possessed of self-confidence. He dispatched plain-clothed men to outlying places and had patrols out day and night. He himself searched suspect places, but the incidents continued to occur, making a mockery of his activity, and not a single criminal was arrested.
Karam al-Aseel the millionaire said in the Café of the Emirs, “Security was better in the time of the late al-Salouli.”
“There wasn’t a single highway robber at that time apart from himself,” said the doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni, laughing.
“Gamasa al-Bulti,” said Ugr the barber, “is the worst possible.”
He, after all, saw for himself how such gentlemen behaved when he brought them his services as a barber to their homes.
“Security,” said Ibrahim the druggist, “is the very lifeblood of trade, while trade is the livelihood of the people. I propose that some of us go as a deputation to al-Hamadhani, the governor of our quarter.”
VIII
Khalil al-Hamadhani summoned Gamasa al-Bulti to the house of government.
“The city is going to rack and ruin and you’re snoring away fast asleep,” he said severely.
“I haven’t been sleeping and I haven’t been lax,” said the chief of police in a frustrated tone.
“One judges by how things turn out.”
“My hands are tied.”
“What do you want?”
“The vagabonds who had previously been arrested are now beginning to take revenge.”
“It has been established from Sanaan’s confession that they were innocent.”
“Which is why they are taking revenge. They must be re-arrested.”
The governor said heatedly, “The vizier Dandan was annoyed at their being arrested the first time and won’t allow it again.”
Gamasa al-Bulti said sadly, “In any case I’m waging a battle against a force that doesn’t let up.”
“You’ve got to have security under control or I’ll dismiss you.”
Gamasa al-Bulti left the house of government feeling demeaned for the first time in his life.
IX
He was angry about being insulted and his strong and defiant nature took control of him. His tendencies toward good became submerged and disappeared to faraway depths. He reacted to the defeat with the savagery of a man who regards anything as permissible in defense of his authority. Authority had completely absorbed him and had created of him something new so that he had become oblivious to the goodly words he had learned at the hands of the sheikh in the prayer room in the time of innocence. Quickly he gathered his aides and poured upon them the stream of invective he had endured in the hall of the headquarters, opening wide the windows of hellfire. Whenever a new incident took place he arrested tens of people and tortured them unmercifully. As a result of this, his pursuit of the Shiites and the Kharijites decreased so that they were able to redouble their activity. They composed secret newssheets that were full of indictments of the sultan and the men in charge of affairs and which demanded that the Quran and the Prophet’s Traditional Sayings should become the basis for legal rulings. Becoming frantic, he also arrested many of them, so that an air of dread hung over the whole quarter and all went in fear and trembling. Al-Hamadhani found the violence of the steps being taken shocking. Yet he closed his eyes in his desire to find an end to the incidents. Despite all that, they increased in number and violence.
X
Though defeated, Gamasa al-Bulti refused to admit it. He began spending many nights at the police headquarters until the pressure of work affected his unusual strength. Once, overcome by sleep in the room where he worked, he yielded to it like a wounded lion. He did not achieve the hoped-for rest, however, but was cast under the weight of a being who took over his entire body.
“Singam!” he whispered in bewilderment.
The voice came to him, invading his very being, “Yes, chief of police.”
“What has prompted you to come?” he asked him, in loathing.
“The stupidity of those who claim they are intelligent.”
Suddenly Gamasa’s mind saw the light.
“Now we know,” he said, “the secret of the brigands of whom no one can find any trace.”
“Now only?”
“How could I guess that you are their master?”
“Admit, despite your conceit, that you are stupid.”
He asked Singam defiantly, “How is it that you are so little worried about stealing people’s property when mention of God is constantly on your lips?”
“My anger has fallen only upon that group of people who take advantage of other human beings!”
Gamasa sighed and said, as though talking to himself, “I shall lose my job because of this.”
“You too are of the corrupt group of people.”
“I am incomparable in the way I perform my duty.”
“And money come by dishonestly?”
“Merely the crumbs that fall from the tables of the great.”
“A shameful excuse.”
“I’m living in the world of humans.”
“And do you know about the great?”
“Every tiny detail. They are nothing but thieves and scoundrels.”
“Yet you protect them with your sharp-cutting sword,” the voice said, scornfully, “and you attack their enemies, who are honorable people of sound opinion and judgment.”
“I am executing orders and the path I tread is clear.”
“Rather are you pursued by the curse of protecting criminals and persecuting respectable people.”
“Any man who thinks when doing such a task as mine perishes.”
“Then you’re a mindless instrument.”
“My mind is solely in the service of my duty.”
“An excuse that tends to nullify the humanity of a human.”
An idea flashed within him and doors and windows opened before him.
“The fact is that I am not satisfied with myself,” he said ruefully.
“Sheer lies!”
“I have never succeeded in uprooting noble inner voices. They always converse with me in the silence of the night.”
“I don’t find any trace of them in your life.”
“I require,” he said slyly, “some force to support me when I need it.”
Arabian Nights and Days Page 4