One Thousand and One Nights

by Hanan al-Shaykh

  Lady Zubeida welcomed me at dinner with much admiration, as I bowed and kissed the ground before her.

  “Peace upon the Abbasid Lady, who descends from the Prophet; let us pray that God Almighty may protect you for now and for ever,” I said.

  “I had forgotten how beautiful you are!” she said. “No wonder my cousin cannot keep the distance of a hand between you.”

  I was ecstatic when she continued, “He tells me that he will soon take you as his wife.”

  Then she led me to a sumptuous banquet, prepared as if for a hundred, not just the two of us. She offered me an exquisite Chinese dish with a fish pattern, saying, “You must taste this battareck; it is a rare dish beloved of my cousin al-Rashid.”

  I took three mouthfuls out of respect for the Caliph. As soon as I swallowed, my eyes became heavy, I felt the earth spinning, and I lost consciousness.

  I came to my senses in unbearable, silent darkness. My limbs ached, and when I tried to stretch them, I found they were trapped. I lifted my head and it hit something hard.

  * * *

  “Oh, my darling sister!” the mistress of the house exclaimed.

  I screamed, certain that I was buried alive in a tomb. Then to my relief and salvation, I heard the voice of a man.

  “Open up, open up, I’m not dead!” I shouted.

  “Oh God, there’s a jinni in this box. Oh angels, come and rescue me!”

  Then a second voice said, “You’re hallucinating. This box is as still as a rock, smash it with a big hammer.”

  “No, for God’s sake! Don’t use a hammer, I’m begging you.”

  The two men cried out in surprise.

  “Let’s leave it and go,” one of them said. “I’m really scared, I can hear someone coming.”

  I heard them running away as footsteps approached.

  A new voice said, “In the Name of God the Compassionate, the Merciful; in him I trust.”

  I felt the box lift and then I heard the sound of mule’s hooves hitting the ground for what seemed an eternity, but in reality can’t have been longer than half an hour.

  Then the box was pulled off the mule and we entered a house. The man’s footsteps were muffled by carpet, the box was put down gently, and I heard him try to open the lock, as I held my breath. When he finally succeeded and lifted the lid, he muttered to himself again, “In the Name of God the Compassionate, the Merciful; in him I trust. By God, what is this sleeping houri of Paradise doing in this box? Who put her here?”

  I opened my eyes, and looked up at a young handsome face.

  “Where did you find me?” I asked.

  “In the graveyard,” the man replied. “I was visiting the grave of my mother, who passed away two days ago. I saw two men trying to open this box, and when they heard me approaching, they ran away. Come, sister, let me help you out of this wretched box.”

  I gave him my hand, and as I stood and took my first step, I nearly fainted. He opened a bottle of rose water, and smelling it helped me retain my balance, but I was very weak, and trembling.

  “Here is the bathroom, let me get you some towels and heat the water for you,” he said, as he led me to a door. I thanked him and then looked at myself in the mirror and cried with all my heart; and when I thought of the Caliph I wept more.

  The Caliph held his head in his hands and shook it in disbelief, but the shopper carried on.

  I wanted to shout, “Get me to the Caliph straight away.”

  But instead I thanked this stranger, bathed and dried myself. When I reappeared, he showed me a table on which there were a few dishes of food. But remembering what had happened at my last meal, I began to weep again.

  “Don’t cry, sister; just try to eat in order to regain your strength.”

  “Thank you, and God protect you for your kindness and good deeds, but I’m not hungry.”

  And so he prepared some tea. “Now tell me, who are you? You are adorned in so much jewellery and yet whoever put you in the box chose not to rob you.”

  I hesitated. Should I tell this man, with his kind eyes, obviously from a good family, who I really was? I decided to be honest. I told him I was the Caliph’s fiancée, and to my surprise, he raced from the room. I followed and asked why he was troubled.

  “How can an ordinary human being be in the same place as the fiancée of a lion?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Isn’t the Caliph a lion amongst men? How can I breathe the same air as the woman he loves?”

  “You rescued me,” I said, “and for that the Caliph will be grateful to you.”

  He showed me to a room where he had prepared my bed. He asked me if I needed anything else before he left to spend the night at his sister’s house. I asked his name, and he said he was Ghanem bin Saeed. I asked him for his occupation and he told me that he was a merchant. Then he left, but I couldn’t sleep. I was scared that I would find myself back in the cemetery, locked in the box. And I wondered how a great woman like Lady Zubeida could have carried out this evil crime, just like a common criminal? What had she told the Caliph when he’d returned from his hunting trip and I had disappeared? When the sun finally rose and I was still alive, I fell into a doze. I slept late, until I heard Ghanem knocking at my door.

  He told me he had risen early and visited the auctioneer who sells items from the palace. From him he had heard a rumour that I had been drugged and put in a box, which was auctioned while still sealed. Next he had visited the mosque and prayed next to a pious, elderly eunuch who had been working at the palace for a long time. After they had recited the Fatiha for the souls of their dead, Ghanem had cried for his mother. Then they had walked together, and Ghanem had given the old man a few dates, taking one for himself and pretending to choke on the stone. The old man had hit Ghanem on the back saying, “Careful, young man. The other day the Caliph’s favourite choked on a morsel of food and dropped dead. There is no power but God the Merciful.”

  “The Caliph must be devastated,” Ghanem replied.

  “He has cried rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates together, and everyone in the palace wore black, following Lady Zubeida’s wishes. She even constructed a tomb for the poor young woman inside the palace itself. A friend of mine told me he saw the Caliph clutching the grave, crying and reciting as even the stone wept upon hearing him:

  “ ‘Tell me, unflinching grave,

  Has her beauty faded?

  Or her radiant smile evaporated?

  Timeless grave, where neither sky nor gardens bloom,

  How do you stay true

  To ephemeral flowers as well as the full moon?’ ”

  Ghanem told me how the eunuch’s eyes filled with tears at these lines.

  We both fell silent when he’d finished recounting this tale, and I struck my face and wept. I had been erased from the Caliph’s life. He would mourn me for a while and then forget me. Anger began to bubble in my chest, like boiling water, as I thought how the Caliph had accepted what he was told without investigating my death or asking for witnesses. He hadn’t even asked for my tomb to be opened, by the measure of two palms, so that he might touch my leg or bid me farewell.

  As if possessed, I hurried to the door, determined to seek out the Caliph and shame Lady Zubeida and everyone who’d assisted her in her devilish plot. But Ghanem hurried after me. He kissed each of my hands, and threw his arms around me, saying, “Remember to put your trust in God. Didn’t the Almighty send me at the crucial moment to save you?”

  His words were like a river of rose water, which calmed and soothed me. I thanked God for him. He showed me the goods he’d brought, laying out beautiful clothes and garments and four different sizes of embroidered, expensive slippers before me.

  He disappeared into another room for a moment, and handed me a pair of earrings, each in the shape of a hand holding a flower, with a diamond ring on one of its fingers. I gasped at their beauty.

  “Try them on. They were my mother’s. She made me promise her to give t
hem only to the woman I fall in love with and marry.”

  I didn’t take the earrings. “I am completely lost, Ghanem. I think you are the loveliest man I’ve ever met, other than my father, but I must remain true to the Caliph.”

  “I understand.”

  At this, I held him tight for a moment, and laid my head on his shoulder, but we quickly separated, and he started to prepare food. I had no appetite, for I was beginning to doubt that I was really alive, since I had a tomb engraved in my name. Ghanem persuaded me to eat from one dish, and then another, until I felt sleepy and tired. When I awoke the following morning, I found him waiting for me. He told me he must go to work and leave me on my own, instructing me not to open the door to anyone.

  As he left I heard hooves clattering in the alley and smiled. I prepared supper with the chicken and vegetables he had bought, to surprise him. As I worked, I reflected on how peaceful his house was, and how satisfying life was without the clamour of the palace and the jealousy and competition and the mistrust felt in every part of the royal court, from the slaves to the nobles. I went into the bathroom to prepare myself for Ghanem’s return and saw the beautiful earrings laid out for me on a towel. I tried them on and found myself wishing that I had met him before I had fallen in love with the Caliph. When Ghanem came back from his work, we sat together and ate. I handed him back his earrings, saying, “I am still loyal to the Caliph, although my heart flutters when I see you.”

  “I beg you to take them, so you’ll remember me when you wear them.”

  I drew close to him, and he held my hand and kissed it, saying, “The Caliph is the luckiest man in the world. Can I suggest that I confide in the old eunuch who frequents the mosque? I will tell him everything that’s happened to you, that you are still alive, and listen to his advice.”

  He drew closer to me, and seeing the vein in his temple throbbing, I wanted to hug and comfort him but held back.

  “It’s no use,” I said. “I’m still loyal to the Caliph.”

  In the morning he promised he would ensure that the happy news did not reach Lady Zubeida before it reached the ears of the Caliph.

  “Farewell, my lady, God be with you and remember me in your prayers. Who knows, God might answer and send me a wife as trustworthy as you.”

  “Will you not return to say goodbye?”

  “When the Caliph sends someone to fetch you, it is better that I’m not present.” I rushed to him and pressed him to my heart, but he drew back and kissed my two hands. Then he disappeared, before instructing me to leave the key under a jar in the garden.

  I prepared myself for a summons for the palace, but nobody came, and I nearly set out to find Ghanem at his sister’s house. After a while I fell fast asleep. Suddenly the door was broken down and soldiers stormed through the house, expecting to find us together in bed. When they couldn’t find Ghanem, they began to destroy the house, as I screamed and yelled at them, saying, “My rescuer never slept here.”

  They continued their rampage until nothing was left unbroken. Throwing my things into a cart pulled by an old mule, they took me with them. With such disrespect I feared the worst, and I was right. I wasn’t met by Jaafar, or even by my eunuch or my slaves at the palace, but I was led like a criminal into a pitch-black cell, with an elderly woman as my keeper.

  “No, no!” cried the mistress of the house. “There is no will or power save in God.” But the shopper carried on with her tale.

  I cried out, over and over, pleading with my captors, and telling them that they would be sorry when the Caliph found out how I was being treated. Finally, after twenty-four hours of captivity, the old woman who sat in the corner watching me, and shooing away the rats, said, not without sympathy, “Listen, we’re only executing the Caliph’s orders.”

  She told me that the same old eunuch whom Ghanem had asked to pass on the news to the Caliph, had gone in turn to a trustworthy concubine whom he knew very well, and who he knew hated Lady Zubeida. He confided in her that I was still alive and asked for her help. She agreed but any plan she may have been forming was destroyed by her loose tongue. This concubine happened to be the Caliph’s favourite masseuse. She was massaging the Caliph’s shoulders as he snored deeply and she couldn’t resist whispering the secret to another concubine who was massaging his feet.

  The Caliph had leaped up and shouted, “Did I dream, or did I hear that my fiancée is still alive?”

  The concubine babbled something, but the Caliph shouted impatiently, “Where is she?”

  Hearing that I was at Ghanem bin Saeed’s address, the Caliph called for Vizier Jaafar.

  “I have been mourning an adulteress. Find her and imprison her.”

  When I was brought to the palace and thrown into a cell like a witch, he called Lady Zubeida and accused her of lying to him. She had no choice but to confess and tell him the whole story, blaming her deep love for him, which had made her dangerously jealous of me. He forgave her, and kept me locked in the cell and who knows why? Perhaps he believed that when a woman and a man are together under the same roof, Satan will be the third. Or because of the rumours which were circling around and about the palace that I had betrayed him, in the Caliph’s mind, I had become used goods.

  When I heard that he had forgiven Zubeida, I was devastated and I screamed at the Caliph’s betrayal. “One day, Oh Commander of the Faithful, you’ll stand in the hands of a just ruler and the judge will be your God and angels your witness. They will all acknowledge your injustice and show you that you treated badly the one who never did you harm.”

  I repeated these lines to the Commander of the Faithful day and night, murmuring to the walls, to the rats, then shouting them out loud until the rats scuttled away in fear. I stopped eating and drinking. Ghanem came to me in my dreams, shaking his head in disbelief at what had happened, but then he would disappear and I would wake, crying out, “No, don’t go now, stay with me,” and stretching out my hands to catch him.

  Seeing that I was becoming insane and delirious, the woman keeper took my head in her hands, recited a few verses from the holy Qur’an, and asked me if I had a family. I wept and repeated over and over the names of my four sisters until the woman whispered to me to pretend to die, so she could take me back to my sisters. Half dead anyway, I pretended to fall down dead.

  I heard the keeper telling the guards to go immediately to the Caliph and inform him of my death.

  The guard came back a few hours later and said that the Caliph had forgotten that I was imprisoned and that my body was to be returned to my family. As I cried silently, the woman wrapped me in sheets and placed my body on a mule with the help of the driver. She made her way to my home and knocked at our door. As soon as someone opened the door, she hurried away.

  My sisters couldn’t believe that I had finally returned; they thought that someone had kidnapped me. Hearing this, I told them that I had indeed been kidnapped by a lunatic man, who thought that I was his sister. He had put me in a cellar and his old wife had managed to rescue me by faking my death. I kept the truth in a well I dug deep in my heart.

  The shopper looked at the Caliph, who was still resting his head in his hands.

  “This is my story, Oh Commander of the Faithful, but I have one final thing to say. I could not agree more strongly with what Your Lordship said to the third dervish; that one shouldn’t act upon what he hears till he is certain that it is the truth. And even then, always to act with mercy.”

  The shopper went back to her seat, and her sisters wrapped their arms lovingly around her, while the people in the room looked at the Caliph, awaiting his reaction. But the Caliph continued to rest his head in his hands as the audience fidgeted.

  The Reaction of the Caliph

  he Caliph was saddened when he heard the shopper’s story. The more he thought about the matter, the more it became clear to him that he wanted to right the wrongs of the past, and he said, with great determination: “You three ladies have suffered enough pain, worry, loneliness and
isolation. You have lived without husbands or family, in total seclusion, as if waiting for death, while each of you is still in the prime of youth.”

  The Caliph was interrupted by the barks and yelps of the two bitches, and addressed the door behind which they were locked. “Don’t worry, wretched bitches; you haven’t left my mind since I heard your yelps and whimpers and saw your tears.”

  He turned to Jaafar. “I want you to find someone able to deliver these two women from the spell they’re under. I am certain we can win over the jinnis with the help of God the Almighty.”

  Masrur came forward, bowed to Jaafar, and whispered a few words. Jaafar turned to the Caliph. “The slave Rayhan claims that he learned witchcraft from his aunt; he has memorised the one hundred realms of magic and he would like to help the two bitches.”

  “Rayhan, try to save these two sisters from the spell they are under, which has made their lives one of torture.”

  Rayhan bowed and kissed the ground, and then addressed the mistress of the house, his eyes cast to the floor. “Come, my lady, hand me the feather of your husband, the jinni.”

  The flogged sister went and fetched the feather and handed it to the slave.

  “I need a flame,” he said.

  The flogged sister brought him a candle. Next he asked for the two bitches to be brought to him. The shopper and the porter went to the cupboard and brought out a dog each. They stood before Rayhan, who took the feather and lit it, so that it burned up and disappeared into the ether.

  “Owner of this feather,” he said, “appear before us now; as a spirit or in the flesh, wherever you are, in the depths of seas or in the skies, in the folds of the earth, or on top of mountain peaks.”

  At this, the house began to tremble and the jinni Azraq appeared in the room as a shadow. The mistress of the house took a step towards him, but Rayhan stopped her with his hand. Then he closed his eyes and muttered a spell, intoning the talismanic words: “We need you, oh jinni, who cast a spell and turned these two women into bitches. Please, lift your curse and release them from their misery, for they tried to give you back your feather, too late, and they and their sisters have suffered enough for their crime.”