Adijan and Her Genie

by L-J Baker

  “Praise the Eye!” Imru lifted his hands and shook them.

  Adijan retrieved the bag from inside her clothes and held it up. “Do you know what it is?”

  Imru shrugged expressively, then sniffed. “You stink worse than a camel with bowel sickness. You’d better give it to me.”

  “Not likely, old son. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but there’s the small matter of a bill cloth for three shiny silver obiks he owes me. If I stink, he’ll be eager to pay up and be rid of me.”

  Imru grinned.

  Adijan limped behind the eunuch down a cool corridor past the beaded curtain to the merchant’s office. They continued into a part of the house she had not trod before. Servants scurried past them and gave Adijan sharp, disapproving looks.

  The back stairs rose to a floor laid with carpets. The wall alcoves contained statues and bits of expensive-looking brassware. The place smelled of perfumes and incense. Nabim did very well for himself, despite all the rumors about the vast sums his shrewish wife bled from him.

  Imru halted at a carved door and signaled Adijan to wait. The eunuch tapped on the door and entered. Adijan studied the tapestry on the opposite wall. It would be worth twenty or thirty obiks at least. She might get five or six for it from Dengan the backstreet “used goods” dealer.

  “Adijan.” Imru crooked a finger from the doorway.

  Adijan pulled her fez off and stepped into a bedroom paneled in expensive cedar wood and hung with yet more tapestries. The vast bed, sybaritic with silks, was not at all what she expected the elderly merchant to own. It would take pride of place in the best room in her Aunt Takush’s brothel. As she bowed to the corpulent Merchant Nabim, she noticed the design on the hanging behind him was of nude girls and well-endowed young men frolicking in an oasis.

  “You stink,” Nabim said.

  “My most humble apologies for offending you, oh glorious and magnificent sir.” Adijan knelt at the side of the divan and bowed low to kiss the carpet in front of the merchant’s silk-slippered feet. “May I suffer a thousand floggings before I enter the gates of Paradise for upsetting you.”

  “At least a thousand.” Nabim leaned toward her and licked his upper lip. “Well? What happened at the enchanter’s?”

  “Honored to be of service to you,” Adijan said, “I approached the house of the enchanter with –”

  “Yes, yes.” Nabim held out a chubby hand moist with sweat. “Give it to me.”

  “Here, glorious and munificent sir, is –”

  Nabim snatched the bag from her. His eyes glittered as he fumbled with the knot in the thongs. Adijan glanced a question up at Imru. The eunuch shrugged.

  “A curse on it!” Nabim’s thick fingers tore at the ties. “Imru, you useless donkey fart. Get me a knife!”

  Imru produced an eating knife and offered it to his master. “Perhaps, sir, I might –”

  “No!” Nabim grabbed the knife handle. “You don’t think I’d let you touch this? Ha! As if a eunuch could enjoy – what a joke that would be. Ha ha. But what a waste, eh? A eunuch without a – got it!”

  Nabim pulled the cloth-wrapped locket from the slashed ruin of the bag. He broke the seals and tore off the cloth. As if his life depended on it, he ripped his turban from his head and threw it away so he could pull the chain over his spotted pate and wisps of white hair. Only after he had it safely around his flabby neck did he pause to examine it. The pendant was as unremarkable as Adijan had glimpsed. Nothing about the material, design, or workmanship warranted Nabim’s frenzy.

  Adijan and Imru exchanged another mystified look.

  “Aha!” Nabim snatched up the cloth wrapping and unrolled it. He breathed hard. The tip of his tongue darted across his lips.

  The cloth contained densely painted script, but Adijan couldn’t read any of the tiny words from where she knelt.

  “Paradise,” Nabim muttered to himself. “Oh, ho. Honey Petal! She is called Honey Petal. All mine! All-Seeing Eye, you have blessed me beyond all men. How do I summon her? Where does it say –?”

  Imru bowed. “Does my master require me to read?”

  Nabim looked up sharply. He’d clearly forgotten he was not alone. “Get out!”

  “Yes, master.” Imru bowed.

  Adijan remained on her knees and lifted the bill cloth. “Oh munificent and glorious sir, you owe me –”

  “Out!” Nabim waved a pudgy hand while his eyes frantically scanned the cloth. The brass locket didn’t even glint in the sunlight as it moved with the rising and falling of his rapid, wheezy breathing. “I’ll have you flogged.”

  Adijan reluctantly withdrew. Imru pulled the door closed behind them.

  “He owes me three obiks,” Adijan said. “Can you discharge this bill?”

  “No. Come back tomorrow. Bathe first.”

  Adijan trailed Imru to the rear door. “What do you think that was all about?”

  “The Eye only knows,” Imru said. “I’ve not seen him that excited since the mistress had to leave for a month to tend her dying mother in Sirwah. But take consolation that he was so distracted he did not mention the loss of the other goods you carried.”

  Adijan left Nabim’s house and trudged toward the poor district. She didn’t have her money, but she still had the cloth. In fact, it might be better to wait to collect so large a sum until the morning. Then she could take the coins straight to Okka the donkey breeder and not be tempted to spend it on drink or frivolous trifles. She could still tell Shalimar they were richer by three whole, shiny obiks. The amount wouldn’t mean much to Shali, until Adijan described the donkey she would buy and how much good work she could find for herself.

  Now that she thought about it, she realized Shalimar would probably enjoy going with her to Okka’s to pick the donkey. Shalimar liked petting them. Okka might be easier to haggle down with Shalimar there smiling at him.

  Despite every uncomfortable footstep and a loudly complaining empty belly, Adijan whistled. She was going home to Shalimar and things were finally looking up. Every other venture she had undertaken had been dogged with ill fortune and poor judgment, but this time she’d got it right. She had cajoled Nabim into letting her take the risk of a profit-share instead of a flat-fee on several not strictly legal deliveries. By this means, she had compounded her earnings into three whole silver obiks. In just over a month, she’d earned more than she normally would in a year.

  The streets grew narrower and more crowded. In the shadow of the city wall, buildings jumbled together cheek by jowl. One person’s washing hung in front of a neighbor’s window. Naked children ran through the maze of alleys, courtyards, walls, and doorways. Old folk sat under ragged awnings watching the world go by as they wove mats or endlessly turned quern stones to grind grain flour. Overhead, shouts of angry wives and squealing babies criss-crossed the haze of cooking fires.

  “Hey, Adijan!”

  Adijan stopped in the doorway of a basket weaver’s shop. “Curman, you thief. How’s business?”

  “Could be better, could be worse,” Curman said. “No point complaining, is there? What happened to you?”

  “Back from a profitable little trip.” Adijan idly fingered a basket.

  “Yeah? Shalimar was by a few days ago.”

  “She need a new basket?”

  “She was looking after Asmine,” he said. “Izira is sick again. You know how she gets when she’s pregnant. We was real glad Shali could keep the girl busy. You’ve got one of the best there. Not like that brother of hers.”

  “Hadim?” Adijan dropped the basket. “Where did you see that ball of camel spit?”

  “He was here. He was asking if you owed money.”

  Adijan frowned. “What did you say?”

  “That I didn’t think anything between you and me was anything to do with him.”

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot. You’re a good friend.”

  Adijan limped out.

  “Hey!” Curman called. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’
ll catch up with you later.”

  Adijan hobbled on along the winding street, absently raising a hand or exchanging a word with people she passed. Any thought of her brother-in-law, Hadim il-Padur, folded a frown onto her face. That the oily creep had been in her neighborhood, prying into her financial affairs, planted and nurtured a seed of dark annoyance.

  Shalimar wouldn’t have asked him to interfere, would she? Adijan had tried to explain how much she disliked the self-important dung beetle, but Shalimar, who liked and trusted everyone, found it difficult to understand. And, in truth, Adijan didn’t have the heart to disillusion Shalimar about the grimy side of human nature. Still, she wasn’t going to be happy if Shalimar had borrowed money from Hadim – especially not when she carried three obiks worth of credit bill with her.

  The smell of food made her mouth water, but she forged on past the eatery and the wine shop. A dirty little blur darted in front of her. Fast as a striking snake, the child grabbed a pair of oranges from a tempting pyramid on the fruit shop window sill. The child dashed away even as the first of the remaining oranges rolled. Adijan lunged to grab for some. She caught only two. A dozen more dropped on the ground around her.

  “Eye!” Jamaia, the grey-haired fruit-seller, appeared in the doorway. She shook her fists at the fast-disappearing child. “A curse on you! Fleas in your armpits! Boils on your tongue! May your breath turn to camel farts! Adijan, you’re a darling.”

  Adijan handed the oranges to Jamaia and bent to retrieve the rest.

  “I know who it was.” Jamaia began restoring her pile. “That one will have his hands cut off before he can father any little thieves of his own, you mark my words. The Eye bless you. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.”

  “Why not? I always come back. Just like a bad smell.” Adijan winked. “These oranges smell good. You wouldn’t have been trying to tempt Shali away from me with these, would you?”

  Jamaia chuckled. “That girl has eyes for no one but you. It’s going to be quiet without you two around. I told Shalimar to come back and visit. You make sure she does.”

  “Visit? What do you mean? We only live down the alley.”

  Jamaia looked uneasy and didn’t answer. The sprout of foreboding planted at the news of Hadim’s activities blossomed into dread. Adijan scuttled away as fast as her sore feet could carry her.

  “Adijan?” Jamaia called. “You did know?”

  Adijan limped down the alley, scarcely broader than her shoulders, into a small courtyard crammed with lines of washing. Through the fluttering sheets and dripping shirts, she couldn’t see the first floor balcony or door to their rooms.

  She ignored the squeals of playing children as she limped up the stairs. It couldn’t be true. Shalimar must be here.

  “Hello, Adijan.” Mrs. Urdan appeared in her doorway. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

  Adijan ignored her neighbor’s open interest as she limped the last few steps to her own door. It was shut. Shalimar might be out working. She did sewing and mending for several people.

  Adijan tried the handle. The lock rattled but remained closed. She knocked. The copper symbol of the All-Seeing Eye was gone. They’d bought it together just after their wedding and nailed it to the door. It was supposed to bring good luck to their marriage and home. They’d planned to take it with them to the increasingly grand houses where they would live as they grew wealthier. Now all that remained were two nail holes in the wood.

  “Shali?” Adijan tugged on the handle. “Love?”

  “She’s gone,” Mrs. Urdan said. “Moved everything out three days ago.”

  “Eye.” Adijan clenched her hand on the door into a fist.

  “Sad to see her go,” Mrs. Urdan said. “It’s not every day you get such a nice girl next door. Always looking after my Eddin and little Harun for me. I’ll miss her. I hope the people who move in won’t be like those Fadurs. The noise!”

  Mrs. Urdan prattled on.

  Adijan’s mind had stopped and stuck at the thought that her wife had gone. Shalimar wasn’t there. She beat her fist against the door. “Camel crap!”

  “She’s gone to her brother’s,” Mrs. Urdan said.

  “Yeah.” That’s what Adijan had feared. The bearded dung lump had taken her.

  “Quite a bit older than her, isn’t he? He’s got money, hasn’t he? Made it in lamps, I heard. Very prosperous looking. A bit stuck up, but when you wear that many rings, you’ve a right to be, haven’t you?”

  Shoulders slumped, Adijan limped back past Mrs. Urdan. She had never felt further from success.

  Chapter Two

  Adijan paused to lean against the gatepost of Hadim’s house. One of the scabs on her heel had come off and the raw flesh was dirty and bleeding again. She limped the last few steps to the door.

  A sour-looking servant answered. “May the Eye bless –”

  “I’ve come for my wife,” Adijan said.

  The servant led her into a small, empty reception chamber.

  “Shalimar isn’t unwell, is she?” Adijan asked. “Or hurt?”

  The servant strode away as if he hadn’t heard.

  Annoyed even further, Adijan limped into the corridor. She had not visited enough times to know her way through the warren of rooms and corridors. A vague memory prompted her to turn left.

  Not as opulent as the houses of the big merchants like Nabim or Dahan, Hadim’s house nevertheless contained some fine carpets, one or two very good quality wall-hangings, and even the occasional piece of Restefe brassware. It was the house of a wealthy, self-made man – a fact he never let Adijan forget.

  Coming here couldn’t have been Shalimar’s idea. Something must have happened while Adijan had been away.

  Footsteps approached from behind. Adijan turned too quickly on her sore feet and suppressed a wince. Hadim stopped a few paces away.

  “Blessings to you, Adijan.” Hadim traced the symbol of the Eye in the air above his chest.

  “Blessings be on you and your house,” Adijan returned. “I’ve come for Shali.”

  Hadim’s gaze lingered in looking her up and down. Ring-heavy fingers stroked his oil-slicked beard. “It would be best if we talked.”

  “What about?”

  Hadim gestured her to follow. A strong miasma of murris root perfume emanated from his spotless robe. His barber even shaved the back of his neck.

  Hadim stepped into what looked like his work room. The large polished desk sported a brass chest. An embroidered tapestry map of the world, with the main caravan routes and trading ports marked in red, filled most of the wall behind him. He signaled Adijan to take a chair. Staring across his large desk, she felt like an unsatisfactory employee about to get her dismissal.

  “Why is Shali here?” Adijan asked.

  “As the head of my family, it has been my sad privilege to welcome her back under my roof.”

  “There can be no reason good enough for you to take my wife from our home.”

  Hadim unlocked the brass casket and pulled out a fat roll of cloths. He set it on the desk. “Do you have any idea how much you owe your creditors?”

  Adijan glanced at the cloths and swallowed. “That has nothing to do with you.”

  “It does when my sister no longer has a roof over her head. Your landlord applied to me for outstanding payments.”

  “He had no right!”

  “I discharged them, of course.” Hadim lifted the top cloth and held it dangling from thumb and forefinger as if it were caked in filth. “This is from a wine shop. I had no idea anyone could drink that much.”

  Adijan forced her teeth to loosen from a fierce grit. “I can pay you back every curl.”

  “It’s Shalimar I worry about.” Hadim dropped the cloth and interleaved his manicured fingers. “Far be it from a dutiful and loving son to question the judgment of his beloved father of blessed memory, but I never liked the idea of my sister marrying a brothel whelp.”

  “My Aunt Takush runs a highly profitable business.
She has the best credit with every merchant and money lender in the city.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t make your morals and character any the less reprehensible.”

  Adijan rose, fists clenched. “I’ve come to take Shalimar with me. You can’t prevent me. She is my wife.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Hadim reached into the casket to produce an official-looking roll of stiff white cloth and a bag that clunked when he set it on the desk. “Fifty obiks. It’s all yours, and we forget these other payments, if you put your mark to this.”

  “What is it?”

  “An application for dissolution of marriage. Shalimar has signed it.”

  Stunned, Adijan snapped her gaze up from the white roll to her brother-in-law’s complacent smile. “I – I can’t believe she wants this. What lies have you told her?”

  “Lies? Come now, you know as well as I that Shalimar needs help and guidance in understanding most aspects of life. She –”

  “She’s not a child!”

  “She has the mind of a child,” Hadim said. “She isn’t fit to decide –”

  “You turd! She understands a lot more than you give her credit for. She’s perfectly capable of living a normal life – if you’d just leave us alone.”

  “It’s in everyone’s best interests this farce of a marriage be dissolved.”

  “You mean it’s in your best interests. You can shove your stinking money. Shali and I are married because we want to be. It has nothing to do with you. I take care of her, not you.”

  “Until you pass the next wine shop? Since we’re being so open and honest, let me tell you I don’t like you. I never have. Shalimar shouldn’t have married you. I wouldn’t have let her, had I been head of the family back then. You’re good for nothing. And a drunkard. You’ve never held a steady job nor had any prospects. Everything you touch turns to dung. You’re utterly unfit to look after yourself, let alone my unfortunate sister. I’m offering you a very generous amount to leave my family and stay away.”

  “There’s nothing can persuade me that Shali knew what she was signing, if that truly does have her mark. You –”