One Thousand and One Nights (34 page)

Nur al-Din’s lust was suddenly aflame, and when Zumurrud saw that his penis had grown to its fullest, just as she remembered it, she laughed.

“Master Nur al-Din, don’t you recognise me?” she asked.

“But who are you, King?”

“I am Zumurrud, your slave girl!”

He pounced on her, kissing her and embracing her, and then the two of them turned the couch into a volcano that erupted with desire and ecstasy, love and yearning, as they rose and fell and cried out in pleasure, so loudly that all the eunuchs heard them and they hurried to peek through the keyhole, one after another.

In the morning Zumurrud introduced Hayat to Nur al-Din. Zumurrud told her that she was leaving, and Hayat asked Nur al-Din if he had a brother as handsome as he was.

“A cousin, who is like my brother. He will fall in love with you and marry you at once.”

Zumurrud the King sent for the whole army, emirs and state officials. When they were all standing before him, he said, pointing at Nur al-Din, “I am going with my wife to this man’s land. Find someone to rule on my behalf until we return.”

Then the three of them returned to Cairo, bearing many treasures and gifts, but above all filled with the joy and bliss of having found each other. They continued to enjoy each other’s company until they were overtaken by death, the destroyer of delights.

t was observed that the porter was cheering after each story was told, whether it was in favour of women or against them. And when the flogged sister had finished telling the story of Zumurrud and Nur al-Din, the porter stood up.

“Can I tell a story, Oh Commander of the Faithful?”

“It had better be as good as the others,” said the Caliph. The porter bowed.

“I assure you, Commander of the Faithful, that my story is far better than every single story you’ve heard so far.”

The Caliph smiled and the porter began. “They say marriage is nothing but a graveyard of love, but my Caliph, Vizier, gentlemen and ladies, I don’t believe in this saying, and I yearn to be a husband and a father. But since you are all here disputing the relative superiority of men and women, and telling stories to prove your point, I thought that I’d pretend to be greatly involved in this battle. In reality, I just want to be able to tell a story like everyone else, and let me stress again that I believe in marriage, and that my love for the mistress of the house …”

But the Caliph interrupted him. “Tell us the story.”

“I am known as the porter to all of you, but my name is Sindbad,” the porter began, and then he paused for a second as everyone in the room fell silent and listened intently.

I set out as usual one day, which wasn’t just like any other day because it was extremely hot and humid, making me completely lethargic. I toiled with the heavy load on my head, feeling as if I was carrying the city itself with all of its markets, homes, furniture and mules. As I passed by the grand gate of a merchant’s house, I noticed that the ground before it was sprinkled with water, and when I saw a bench to one side of the gate, I found myself taking my load off my head and sitting down to enjoy the breeze wafting down from the high trees around the house and drying the heavy sweat on my brow. I sat there, listening to the songs of bulbuls and turtle doves, smelling the appetising aroma of food, which I imagined was being prepared by cooks and slaves, and soon I found myself singing:

When I had finished my song, I shut my eyes and dozed off for a few moments, enjoying a momentary state of bliss before returning to my life of hardship. I awoke to find a very well-dressed young slave standing over me.

He took my hand, saying, “My master invites you in, for he would like to have a word with you.”

My first reaction was naturally to refuse, because I knew how ill at ease I would feel inside this piece of Paradise. But I left my load with the gatekeeper and allowed myself to be led inside. There I saw dignified, important men sitting at an amazing banquet table laden with food and wine, while in the background slave girls played the most beautiful music. I was at a loss, for my eyes, ears and nose were totally overwhelmed by what I saw, heard and smelled. But then I gathered myself and remembered my manners, bowing my head to the man at the head of the table, whom I assumed was the master of the house—or rather palace, for it was fit for a sultan or a prince.

He indicated an empty space next to him, and I took my seat and thanked him for his invitation. He smiled and welcomed me, asking me about my name and occupation. So I told him that my name was Sindbad and I was a porter who carried people’s goods on my head for a fee.

“You and I have the same name, porter. I am Sindbad the sailor and I heard you singing as I was feeding my gazelles in the garden.”

I apologised for my song, which revealed poor breeding and jealous envy, but he simply smiled once more.

“On the contrary, my friend! I enjoyed it very much. Now, why don’t you help yourself and eat something.”

And I found myself eating as never before, the food was so delicious …

*   *   *

The porter paused, eyeing the mistress of the house. “Not as delicious as your food, my three generous, respected ladies,” he said, and then continued with his tale.

When I had finished eating, Sindbad the sailor leaned towards me and told me how my songs had transported him back to the poverty of his youth, when he had despaired at his family’s plight, and his mother would say, “A dog alive is better than a dead lion.”

He described to me how he and his mother would gather wool left on rocks and stones by the river by wool washers, which his mother would weave into prayer rugs. When he had ten carpets in his hand he boarded a ship and sailed away to trade with other merchants.

For, let me tell you, my Caliph, my Vizier, my poet, my three dervishes and my respected ladies: Sindbad described to me in great detail the seven journeys he undertook. So mesmerised was I that I would have stayed in my seat, listening to him for as long as seven years rather than seven days, which is how long I in fact remained. Each day he would tell me the story of one journey, each more amazing than the previous one. It is impossible to describe how extraordinary these stories were: at times I was so terrified that I nearly shat myself, as Sindbad encountered strange creatures, animals and horrible people alike; then I would find myself on the verge of tears as he outlined his despair, the great labour and hardship he’d undertaken; then my eyes would shine as he described his great good luck in trading wares. I would sigh with happiness and contentment as he described each return to Baghdad, back to his home to be secure among family and friends, swearing never to set foot on a ship again. But then, time and time again, he would answer the call of the sea, exhilarated once
more at the prospect of travel, of new encounters with merchants, other races of people and different parts of the world, allowing himself to forget that on his previous voyage he had been nearly eaten alive by the angel of death, before being spat out into life once more.

Abu Nuwas interrupted the porter. “Let us hope, Sindbad the porter, that you don’t force us to listen to your story for seven hours!”

The porter smiled.

To tell you the truth, I have forgotten much of the detail, but not how he was nearly eaten by a whale. He and all the other passengers of a ship had rowed ashore to a beautiful wooded island strewn with beautiful shells. They decided to light a fire and to roast a whole lamb. But as soon as they gathered wood and lit it, the island began to shake and roar and the captain shouted out in terror that this was no island, but rather a lazy whale which had stayed still for so long that moss and trees had grown over its skin. Scorched by the fire, the whale went on a rampage, flipping his tail and creating a huge wave which destroyed the ship and washed the passengers off his back, whereupon some were swallowed and others crushed. In the blink of an eye, Sindbad found himself in the middle of the churning sea. He managed to climb upon a floating wooden beam and lash himself to it, pushing his two arms and kicking his two legs, until, exhausted, he drifted on through the currents until he came close to land, and was spotted by farmers who had climbed high into trees to collect black peppers. They used their small wooden felucca to rescue him, giving him food and shelter. He told them about the whale they had mistaken for an island and the farmers were amazed, and presented him
to their King, who welcomed him and enjoyed listening to his adventures.

Sindbad asked how often ships visited this city, bound for Baghdad, but no one seemed able to give him a clear answer, and he sensed that although the city was by the sea, the inhabitants were in some way isolated. Then, to pass the days while he waited for a ship, he taught them how to trade their goods with one another.

He also noted that everyone, old and young, high and low—even the King—rode very good horses, bareback. It occurred to Sindbad that he might introduce the people to saddles, and when he was invited to dine with the King, he remarked that a saddle made riding more comfortable and allowed the rider to exert greater control over his steed. The King was perplexed and asked what was this thing called a saddle?

So Sindbad asked the King’s permission to make him a saddle and the King graciously acquiesced.

Sindbad acquired the best possible wood, found a carpenter and sat with him, showing him how to fashion a saddle. Next he took wool and made it into felt to place over the wooden frame and then covered the saddle with leather and attached the stirrups and reins. When the saddle was finished Sindbad went to the palace. He chose the best of the King’s horses, a stallion, saddled it and then presented it to the King.

The King mounted the horse and was filled with admiration and delight. He called for his Vizier, who tried it, and then all the state officials tried it after him, and everyone was greatly impressed and adopted this invention. In no time Sindbad and the carpenter began to manufacture saddles for all the people of the city, making a great deal of money and a name for himself.

Soon, the King decided that Sindbad should marry, and found him a bride from the best family in his kingdom. Sindbad tried
to explain to the King that he wished to return to Baghdad when the first ship appeared. But the King insisted that Sindbad marry, saying that he shouldn’t be living without a woman, and that he had found him the best bride. Sindbad was embarrassed, but he remained silent and obeyed the King, and found himself fortunate enough to be married to a beautiful, rich and distinguished lady. He told himself that as soon as a boat arrived he would leave for Baghdad, taking his wife along with him. Over the days and months, Sindbad fell deeply in love with his wife and they both lived comfortably on what the King and her family provided for them.

But fate didn’t allow Sindbad to continue in this state of bliss. His wife fell ill and died. He wept and mourned her, and wept again at her beauty as professional washers washed her body. To his surprise they dressed her in her wedding dress, which was studded with glittering diamonds, and they put on her every item of jewellery she owned before they placed her in a coffin.

The people of the city rushed to console Sindbad, even the King, who was so overcome with emotion that he wept as he embraced Sindbad strongly.

“We shall meet in heaven, farewell, my good friend,” he said.

Meet in heaven? Sindbad didn’t understand what the King meant. Did he wish for him to leave his country?

The coffin of his wife was borne out of the city, with the cortège following, while the King took Sindbad in his carriage, pulled by four horses. When they reached a mountain overlooking the sea, a number of men lifted a huge stone on its side, opened the coffin and to Sindbad’s horror they threw his wife’s body in the hole left by the stone. Then they came towards Sindbad, who was standing weeping for his wife with the King’s hand on his shoulder. One of the men went to tie a rope around Sindbad’s waist.

“And for what reason are you doing that?” Sindbad asked, perplexed.

Another man came forward, holding a large jug of drinking water and seven loaves of bread.

“Didn’t you know? You won’t be separated from your dead wife, because you’ll be buried alive with her in the same grave.”

Poor fellow! Sindbad felt as though his heart had been wrenched from his chest.

He pleaded with the King. “Surely what I have heard cannot be true, Your Majesty?”