One Thousand and One Nights

by Hanan al-Shaykh

  “I shall miss you, too!” the fisherman called. “Farewell!”

  Shahrazad fell silent, and Dunyazad spoke up from beneath the bed.

  “What a beautiful and extraordinary story, my sister!”

  “It is indeed,” said Shahrazad. “But what is this tale, when compared to that of the fisherman’s brother, the porter, and his ordeal with the three ladies?”

  “Come on then, my sister, tell it to us, especially since it’s still the middle of the night,” said Dunyazad with great excitement.

  “But it is a long tale, which I will never finish by dawn. As you know, His Majesty the King is allowing me to live only until first light. To start a story and not survive to finish it would be the same as taking you both in a boat out into the middle of the sea, and then leaving you there without oars. But, if the King wishes to hear the story of the fisherman’s brother, the porter, and the three ladies, and is willing to postpone the hour of my death, then I am ready to tell it to you with great enthusiasm.”

  “Why not?” King Shahrayar thought to himself. “I will die from boredom if I must now lie here and wait for the dawn. And besides, I am eager to hear a new tale from Shahrazad, for she is a formidable storyteller. I find that I am becoming quite addicted to her stories. I shall let her live a little longer, and hear this new one.”

  “Come on, Shahrazad,” he said, “tell us the tale of the fisherman’s brother, the porter, and the three ladies.”

  And so, in the still of the night, Shahrazad began …

  The Porter and the Three Ladies

  heard, oh wise and happy King, that once the fisherman became a jeweller his fame spread so that his name was on the lips of every person in Baghdad. His shop was as spacious as a garden and his jewellery and precious stones as big as flowers and fruit. And yet the fisherman remained true to his humble origins and never turned his back on his past. On the contrary, he gathered all his brothers and relatives and gave them jobs in his shop, which they accepted, all except for his younger brother the porter, who refused, saying, “Me, in a jewellery shop, where the customers are the nobles, the stuck up who can barely manage to smile? How would you expect me to live without the clamour of the souks?”

  Now it happened that one morning this porter was leaning on his basket when a young lady approached him. She was wrapped in a brocade coat, her face hidden beneath a sheer muslin veil. She lifted it and told him in a sweet melodious voice, “Porter, take your basket and follow me.” The porter saw her radiant face, which was as beautiful as the dawn, with deep black eyes and thick eyelashes and full smiling lips. He quickly followed the shopper, as delighted to be doing so as if he were entering Paradise, and when he noticed her comely figure and her tiny embroidered slippers, he said to himself, “Oh lucky day, oh happy day.”

  The lady stopped at a fruit seller’s stall and chose Damascus quinces, Persian pomegranates, apples from Jabal Lubnan, tamrhenna from Egypt, figs from Baalbek, grapes from Hebron, oranges from Jaffa, and she placed everything in the porter’s basket. Next she bought anemones, violets, Damascus lilies, narcissi and daffodils, pomegranate roses and stocks, choosing to carry the flowers herself.

  “Porter, take your basket and follow me,” she bade the porter in a voice of great charm and coquettishness, and he followed her, thanking God and murmuring, “What a lucky day; a day filled with gardenia and jasmine.”

  Next she stopped at another stall and bought Tunisian olives and Moroccan couscous, Nabulsi cheese, Egyptian pickles and fish roe, pistachios from Aleppo and raisins, Algerian thyme and Yemeni basil and Zanzibar hazelnuts. She placed everything in the basket and then said again to the porter, in the loveliest of voices, “Take your basket and follow me.”

  He followed her, murmuring, “What a day—as sweet as honey!” She stopped at a nearby grocer’s shop and bought rose water, orange blossom water, candles and Omani incense, musk, saffron, cloves, turmeric and cinnamon sticks. Once more she put everything into the basket, saying, “Porter, take your basket and follow me.” He walked behind her, murmuring to himself, “I’ll follow this gazelle to the end of the world even for no reward.” When she reached the sweet shop, she stopped and bought kunafa, katayef, Turkish delight, eat-and-thanks baklava, halava, mushabback, sesame rolls, hazelnut rolls, kunafa with cheese. She put everything in the basket and said to the porter, “Porter, take your basket and follow me.” He followed, muttering, “What a lucky day!”

  When she stopped at the butcher’s and stroked with her lovely hennaed hands a lamb which was feeding, the porter said to her, “If you had told me, my good lady, that you were going to buy a live lamb, I would have brought with me a mule and carriage.”

  The lady just laughed and went into the butcher’s, where she purchased the best meat and wrapped it in banana leaves and placed it in the basket. Next she went to a store with nothing on display in its window, but as she entered the man behind the counter saw her and quickly handed her a jar of wine.

  The lady then continued on her way, holding the flowers, with the porter following at a respectful distance, murmuring to himself, “How I wish I was even a thorn in the flowers she is holding.”

  The lady stopped before a magnificent mansion, adorned with stately pillars and a huge garden filled with trees. She knocked on the door three times and another beautiful, blossoming lady opened the door. For the first time that day the porter shifted his eyes from the lady who had hired him. The doorkeeper’s face was as round as the moon, her breasts like a pair of big pomegranates and beneath her clothes her tummy was as flat as a page folded in a book. At the sight of this woman the porter nearly fell down with his basket, but she thought he had collapsed under his heavy load and so she reproached the shopper, who had rushed inside to put the flowers into a vase. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you see that this poor porter is barely able to shoulder his heavy burden?”

  The porter followed the two women into a spacious room. He was unable to believe his eyes, for the room was decorated with beautiful wooden furniture inlaid with mother of pearl and ivory, and brightly coloured cushions, and in the centre was a fountain decorated in blue mosaic as if a piece of the blue sky had fallen into the sitting room. The two ladies began to empty the basket, when the porter heard the voice of a third woman calling, “Great, you’re back, sister. Welcome!” At this the shopper stopped what she was doing and drew back a red silk curtain and the porter saw a woman reclining on a couch, as beautiful as if she was a shining sun. If she hadn’t spoken and then stood up, the porter might have mistaken what he beheld for a painting. Her beauty was intoxicating: huge dark eyes like a houri of heaven with eyelashes so long they nearly touched her eyebrows and a mouth the colour of the rare wild strawberries he sometimes saw in the market. When she smiled she revealed her teeth, which were like a row of pearls. The porter nearly fell to the floor with his basket when this lady approached to see the goodies her sister had bought, overwhelmed as he was by her radiant beauty and her amber scent, which aroused all of his five senses. He let out a long sigh. The girls thought he was hurrying them up.

  The shopper handed him one dinar, but the porter remained fixed to the spot, and so she asked him, “Why are you still here? Do you think that what I gave you isn’t enough?” The third lady, who was the mistress of the house, handed him another dinar, but the porter shook his head and remained standing, reluctant to leave. Finally the mistress of the house asked him, “Tell us, porter, what’s going on?”

  “Please, I beg of you, ladies,” the porter said, “correct me if I am mistaken but it seems to me that you live on your own without the presence of a man, is that so?”

  “That is correct,” the mistress of the house answered.

  “How can that be, when God, being so generous with you three ladies, gave you everything—beauty, fine manners, fruit, meat, nuts and wine? Don’t you believe that the happiness and good fortune of women cannot be attained without the company of men? It is certainly the case that a man cannot
achieve pleasure without a woman. Remember also, ‘The company of four is always better’ as the proverb says, ‘just as a steady table needs four legs and not three.’ ”

  The mistress of the house answered, “Yes, you’re right—we live on our own without men, we keep to ourselves, because we fear that if we entrust others with our secrets, they will not be kept and we will suffer as a result. As the poet said:

  “ ‘Guard your secrets closely

  When they’re told they fly

  If unable to keep treasures in our own heart

  Who then can forbid another, yours to impart?’ ”

  The porter said, “I’m just a mere porter, but I assure you ladies that I have studied literature and memorised poetry and above all I have learned the importance of revealing the good and concealing the bad. You may be certain that I am just as the poet described:

  “ ‘My secrets are locked

  In an impenetrable fortress

  To which the key has long vanished

  And the lock’s forever tarnished.’ ”

  The three ladies exchanged glances which suggested that they liked and appreciated what they’d heard and the porter sensed an understanding between them and felt emboldened to say, “Why don’t you ladies let me stay with you, not as your companion but as your servant?”

  The three women again exchanged glances and winks, and the mistress of the house said, “You know well how much we spent to get all these provisions. How can you contribute to our entertainment in return? Don’t you know that ‘without gain, love is not worth a grain’?”

  “If you have nothing then you must leave with nothing,” the doorkeeper added.

  The shopper intervened, saying, “Stop teasing him, just listen to me, this porter served me today very well and he was so patient.”

  The porter took out the two dinars, telling them, “Please, ladies, take back your money. It is all that I have earned today, but my reward has been to spend time in your company.”

  “No, this is your money and you are welcome to join us,” the mistress of the house told him.

  At this, the shopper laid a table by the fountain, filling it with food and drink in beautiful ornamental dishes and cups. She asked everybody to come and sit down, poured herself a drink and offered one to the others. The porter bowed and drank his in one gulp, at which she said to him, “Drink it in good health.”

  The porter took her hand and kissed it and recited:

  “Share your cup only

  With those who are beloved and trusted,

  Those pure of heart and full of grace,

  For wine is delicious when shared with the sweet

  But acrid and foul with men of deceit.”

  Then the four continued to drink one cup after another. The porter, who was by now quite tipsy, stood and began to dance like a belly dancer, singing:

  “Lover, raise your cup and let us frolic

  The mezza is tasty and we are lusty

  Forget the polo stick and the grassy meadows

  I’m not yearning for the call of the sparrowhawk

  Ribald revelry fills my mind

  And the sound of lips sipping wine.”

  The three ladies giggled and laughed. They had by now lost all of their inhibitions. They danced with him. Then the shopper let her hair down, and it fell to her waist; she took off her outer garment and in her slip she stepped playfully into the water, and splashed the other three. The porter followed her into the water, and so did the two other girls, and they played together, all chasing each other. The porter hugged and kissed and flirted with the three of them, and finally the shopper got out of the water with her wet slip clinging to her breasts. The porter got out, too, and she made him sit beside her on the sofa, where she slapped him and bit his ear. The doorkeeper began to fondle his hair and pull it and the mistress of the house watched him intently with her beautiful eyes, as if she was devouring him.

  Then the shopper jumped on to his lap. The porter kissed her on the mouth, bit her and pulled her towards him. Pointing between her thighs, she asked him, “What is this, my love?”

  “Your cunt,” said the porter.

  “You have no shame, what is it?” the shopper said, pulling his ears and slapping his neck.

  “Your womb, your clitoris, your hole, your well, your pussy, your slit, your egg factory.”

  The shopper boxed his ears playfully and then slapped him very hard and told him, “No, no, no!”

  So the porter stood, crying out, “How am I to know what it is called when I have never met it before? I beg you, respected and good lady, to introduce me to it.”

  He gazed at her pussy and said, “I am known as the porter. What is your name?”

  The women laughed until they nearly fell off their chairs and the mistress of the house laughed the hardest of all.

  “Pleased to meet you, porter,” the shopper answered. “My name is the basil that grows on the bridges.”

  Then the doorkeeper pushed the shopper from the porter’s lap and sat down in her place. She pointed between her own thighs and asked, “What is this, my master, my love?”

  “The basil that grows on the bridges,” answered the porter.

  But the doorkeeper slapped him, saying, “No, no, no!”

  So the porter said to her, “All right, what then is its name?”

  “The husked sesame,” the doorkeeper answered.

  Then the mistress of the house pushed the doorkeeper from the porter’s lap and sat there herself. She pointed between her thighs and asked him, “Oh, light of my eye, what is this?”

  “The basil that grows on the bridges, the husked sesame,” answered the porter.

  But the mistress of the house slapped and kicked him hard and pinched him on his cheeks, on his chest and on his arms, saying, “No, no, no!”

  “What is it, then?” the porter cried out.

  “It is the inn of Abu Masrur,” the mistress of the house replied.

  The porter laughed. “The inn of Abu Masrur! But, my beautiful ladies, I must tell you about my friend who is dear to my heart just as you are to me now, but he is cold and shivering and he wishes to rent a room at the inn of Abu Masrur. Have you guessed my friend’s name?”

  He pointed to his prick, and then he squeezed himself between the doorkeeper and the shopper and took the mistress of the house on his lap.

  The three ladies were pleased that he understood their games and that his disposition seemed to match theirs so well. They showered him with names, “The stick, the thing, the pigeon, the panther, the shish kebab, the cock.” The porter answered each time, “No, no, no!” pinching one woman, kissing another, nibbling at the third.

  Finally, the three women said all at once, “All right then, you genius, what is his name?”

  “His name is the smashing mule.”

  The three women exclaimed, “But we haven’t heard of this name before and we bet you that no one in all of Baghdad has heard of it either. What does it mean?”

  “The smashing mule is the strongest mule,” the porter answered. “The savage one, who grazes on the basil that grows on the bridges, eats the husked sesame with his huge tongue and gallops inside the inn of Abu Masrur!”

  The ladies stamped their feet and fell on their backs, laughing. They couldn’t believe their luck at meeting this funny, flirtatious man. They fed him more food and gave him more to drink.

  When night fell, the mistress of the house said to the porter, “It is time for you to leave. Go and put on your slippers and show us your beautiful back.”

  The porter sighed in disbelief, saying, “Leave you? Are you asking me to leave my soul behind and die? I have an idea, why don’t the four of us turn night into day, and I promise that tomorrow morning we shall each depart to our own lives.”

  “Let him stay, sister,” the shopper said to the mistress of the house. “He is so unique that even if we asked God for a man on the sacred night, when all wishes are granted, we wouldn’t be sent one s
o fine as he.”

  So the mistress of the house agreed, saying to the porter, “You cannot spend the night with us unless you agree that no matter what your eyes may see, your tongue must freeze and not seek explanation, even if your curiosity should become unbearable.”

  The porter readily agreed, saying, “From this second I am dumb and blind.”

  He closed his eyes and began to fondle their breasts, saying, “What is this that I feel—I am blind.”

  The first two girls giggled, but the mistress of the house gestured to a door leading to another room, asking, “Have you read the inscription written there?”

  He went over and read the words, “Speak not of what concerns you, lest you hear what does not please.”

  And so the porter said solemnly to the ladies, “I pledge that I shall speak not of my concerns.”

  Then the mistress of the house and the doorkeeper sat with the porter while the shopper lit candles and incense and joined them, and the four talked and drank wine and fondled one another until they heard a knocking at the door. The doorkeeper jumped up to answer it.

  After a time she returned, bursting with laughter, and whispered, “Listen, there are three one-eyed dervishes at the door, with their heads shaved, and their eyebrows and beards shaved off. Each one is blind in the right eye. They claim to have arrived in Baghdad today and they’re looking for somewhere to spend the night. They are prepared to sleep in our garden or the stables.” She giggled, adding, “They look so funny, I bet you that they could pull a smile even from a new widow.”

  The three women exchanged looks and then the mistress of the house said, “Let them in, but on the same condition we made with the porter—that they become a pair of eyes and not tongues.”

  “You mean one eye,” said the porter.

  They all laughed. Then the doorkeeper hurried to fetch the three dervishes. They didn’t disappoint, for they were as funny as she had described them. Everybody stood to greet them.