Arabian Nights and Days (13 page)

But the nights with Gulnar had lit up within him a craze for women. His eyes roved stealthily among beautiful women, darting glances of fire. On one of his wanderings his gaze alighted upon Husniya the daughter of Sanaan and sister of Fadil; her poverty and the reputation of her deceased father encouraged him to have designs on her. He took his opportunity when Fadil came to his shop to have his beard and mustaches trimmed. He was excessive in his greeting of him and asked with remarkable straightforwardness, “Mr. Fadil Sanaan, there is someone who is asking to be related to you by marriage.”

“Who's that, Ugr?” asked Fadil with an unencumbered mind.

“My humble self,” he said with the same straightforwardness.

Fadil was taken aback and hid his reaction. He told himself: perhaps Ugr is in better circumstances than myself, but he is Ugr and I am Fadil, and Husniya is no less well brought up than Shahrzad herself. In order to gain time in which to think, he asked, “My sister?”

“Yes.”

In an apologetic tone he said, “It seems that someone has beaten you to it.”

Ugr took refuge in silence, without believing it. If someone had beaten him to it he would have known of it, for was anything that happened in the whole quarter ever hidden from him? Ugr was angry. How was it that Fadil did not consider his request a favor, when he was asking to form a relationship with a house upon which the Devil's curse had fallen?

His desire for love increased and he did not cease to crave for affluence. Like an adolescent, and despite the fact that his son Aladdin had not yet
married, he became absorbed in dreams of virgin girls. He had visions of himself lolling about among cushions in magical houses like those he would sometimes enter to give his services. Just as he had fallen in love with Husniya, so too did he lose his heart to Qamar the sister of Hasan al-Attar the druggist. This was a love stronger than the first, and made stronger still by its hopelessness: a love that was condemned by secrecy, sorrow, and pain.

One day he had gone to the druggist's house to trim the beard of Hasan al-Attar and had had a glimpse of the beautiful girl and had lost his peace of mind forever. But he did not lose the dream and would rove about among the great houses like those of al-Attar, Galil al-Bazzaz the draper, and Nur al-Din. And Nur al-Din—what a happy young man he was! He had gone from being a simple seller of perfumes, whose rank was no higher than that of Ugr, and who was perhaps less endowed than his son Aladdin in handsomeness and qualities, to being one of the notables and a son-in-law of the sultan, the husband of Dunyazad, sister of Shahrzad. Was not God capable of everything?

In the Café of the Emirs he would habitually sit every night. After a hot summer's day the night would bestow a welcome breeze. One night, he found himself sitting as close as could be to the platform of Master Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant. The storyteller had finished a section of the legendary story of Antar, the rebab was silent, and conversation had started up.

“You haven't honored us with a visit for a long time,” said Ugr to Master Sahloul, who was one of his customers.

“One day I'll pay you an unexpected visit,” said the man, smiling. Along came Hasan al-Attar the druggist and Galil al-Bazzaz the draper, and with them Fadil Sanaan. They took their places and Ugr greeted them effusively. They returned his salutation with aloofness. He forced himself on the gentlemen but they answered without any encouragement, wary of his intrusion. Now he was more important than Fadil, but
they were keeping to how things were in former times. His constant dream was that he might be allowed to give his services in exchange for being able to listen at their tables. He would succeed the once and fail tens of times, and his greedy appetite would be fired. Today Fadil was his adversary, after refusing his proposal of marriage to his sister. As for Hasan, he was gaining the favor that Ugr had no hope of. He directed his hearing toward where they were sitting, while pretending to be relaxed and sleepy. They were talking about a delightful evening party that was to be held in celebration of the arrival of the draper's ship with a cargo from India. There would be food, even better than Gulnar's, and there would be plenty to drink. The seller of sweetmeats would fill his belly like in the days of old.

“The weather's hot—we need some place out of doors.”

The vagabond was making known his wishes as though he were one of the notables, and Galil answered him, “The green tongue—it's an island of greenness.”

“And I have invited Shamloul the hunchback,” said Hasan al-Attar.

“What fun to have the sultan's jester playing the buffoon for us!”

Even the jester! As for you Ugr, no sooner does luck smile on you than it is swept away by human blood. He looked toward Master Sahloul and said sorrowfully, “Master Sahloul, you are a species on your own in your abstention from frivolity.”

“That's true,” said the master quietly.

“You are a noble and modest man, and you would not have refused for me to be your drinking companion.”

He smiled and did not reply. Ugr thought for a while as to how to induce him to indulge in frivolity. He looked toward him again and found his seat empty. His eyes roved around the café but saw no trace of him. Thus would he disappear all of a sudden and in a trice. What a strange person! But Ugr was determined that he would take part in the evening at the green tongue, whatever the cost—even if the adventure ended up with his being thrown out.

The green tongue stretching out into the middle of the river was like a narrow island, with no light but the faint glow of the stars. Not far away stood the dark form of the date palm, its base the home of the madman. They had to lay down rugs, make ready a cloth with food, and light a fire for grilling. Unfortunately, a specter forced its way in among them, volunteering to serve them, saying, “The attendant of the gentlemen!”

The voice won no encouragement and Galil al-Bazzaz called out, “Ugr! What a disagreeable hanger-on you are!”

He said resolutely, his hands never ceasing to work, “A hanger-on, yes, but I'm not disagreeable. How can a party like this be right without a servant?”

“On condition you close your mouth with glue!” threatened Hasan.

“I shall not open it unless urged to.”

The voice of Shamloul the hunchback was raised, as high-pitched as that of a child, saying, “How can a tramp like you thrust yourself among important people!”

Though he felt enraged, Ugr nonetheless immersed himself in his work, putting the bottles and glasses in place and beginning to light the fire. They all set about drinking. Shamloul took up a lute, which was almost as big as himself, and began softly humming in a voice that merely provoked laughter. Despite his diminutive size, his heart seethed with a basic pride.

Following the first glass to find its way into Ugr's stomach, he forgot his pledge and asked, “Have you heard the latest anecdote about Husam al-Fiqi, secretary to the governor, Yusuf al-Tahir?”

“We don't want to hear it, so shut your mouth,” Hasan al-Attar shouted at him.

While they were drinking, an unseen voice came to them, murmuring, “The One,” and all heads turned toward the shadow of the date palm.

“It's the madman,” said Fadil.

“Didn't he find any place other than that to spoil the green tongue for its visitors?” questioned Galil.

“He claims he's your father-in-law, Gamasa al-Bulti,” said Hasan al-Attar, addressing Fadil.

“That's what he claims, but Gamasa's hanging head says otherwise.”

“Everything is possible in this crazy city,” said Shamloul the hunchback.

At which Ugr the barber said, “If you want the truth…”

“We don't want the truth and we don't like it,” Galil interrupted him.

“Don't remind us of death,” called out Shamloul. “That's what the sultan has ordered.”

“How do you spend the evenings with the sultan, Shamloul?” asked Galil.

“I am not one to give away secrets, you most despicable fellow!” said Shamloul haughtily.

They all laughed, with the exception of Hasan al-Attar, whose drunkenness exploded into anger. “You vermin!” he shouted at him.

The hunchback was enraged and threw down the lute and jumped to his feet. All of a sudden he was urinating over the cloth with the food and drink. They were speechless as they realized that their evening had been ruined. Drink roused their anger, which they vented on the hunchback.

Fadil sprang at him and pushed him onto his back, then took him up by his two small feet and went with him to the edge of the green tongue of land and plunged him into the waters of the river, then took him out again and let him fall to the grassy ground, where he lay in terror and ire. Staggering to his feet, he took up the brazier and threw it at them, the live coals scattering about and burning some of them. They were now so angry that in drunken fury they bore down on him and kicked and beat him until he fell unconscious.

In dismay Ugr followed what they were doing and protested, “Enough, gentlemen—he's the sultan's jester.”

Silently he bent down over him in the darkness. Raising his head, he said, “Gentlemen, you have killed the hunchback.”

“Are you sure of what you're saying?” asked Galil.

“See for yourself, master.”

The silence was charged with fear. Ugr gloated over them and said, “A crime for nothing knocks at the sultan's door.”

“It's madness!” shouted Hasan al-Attar.

“What wretched bad luck!”

“Are we to be ruined without rhyme or reason?”

Ugr's head was full of extraordinary imaginings, jumping from dream to dream. Finally, feeling a sense of being in control for the first time, he said quietly, “Take your things and go.”

“How can we go, leaving this crime behind us?” said Galil.

“Go,” said Ugr in a commanding tone. “The body will disappear and the jinn themselves won't find a trace of it.”

“Are you sure you can manage?”

“Completely sure, and my success is through God alone!”

“Expect a commensurate reward, the like of which no one has ever heard of,” said Galil in a trembling voice.

“It's the least I expect,” he said coldly.

“But perhaps many in the café heard us inviting him to our party.”

“Yes, they did, but I joined you without an invitation and I can bear witness to the fact that he stayed with us for only a while then went off on his own, excusing himself by saying he wasn't feeling well. Get it right and remember.”

Once alone with the body of the hunchback, he remembered Zahriyar and the blood, and his whole body trembled. But there was no time for frustrating thoughts. He had to move away from the cultivated land. He had to search for some hole in the desert, for some safe place to keep the body until he had fulfilled his desires. One corpse had thwarted his good luck and here was another one that promised to restore what he had lost. Speed and secrecy were needed.

A voice came to him that rent the silence: “O you who walk in the darkness, free yourself of burdens.”

His body shook as never before. The madman. Always he was interrupting his solitude. All he had to do was wrap up the small corpse in the end of his cloak. He stretched out his hand, then drew it back as though he had been stung. There had been a movement, perhaps a pulse. Some breathing like a moaning. O Lord, the hunchback had not died. Once again the voice reached him, “Free yourself.”

Curses! He was still pursuing him, the killer of beautiful Zahriyar. Why had he killed her? Why had he not killed Gulnar? He slung Shamloul onto his left shoulder and covered him with the right side of his cloak.

“Be reassured, Shamloul,” he whispered. “I am your friend. I shall take you to a place of safety.”

Would the reward be lost? Would his desires vanish into thin air? Ah, if only he had the ability to kill! An idea occurred to him: to hide Shamloul in his house until he got what he craved. The idea took hold of him, and he was not one to consider ideas from different viewpoints.

Fattouha looked at the motionless minuscule hunchback with wonder.

“Listen and do what I say,” Ugr said to her.

“He wouldn't make much of a meal,” she said scornfully.

“We'll prepare him a comfortable place in the upstairs room,” he said enthusiastically, “and he can stay there for a few days till he recovers his health.”

“Why not take him to his family?”

“He's a lucky star which will bring us happiness and improve our lot. Give him what he requires and bolt the door of the upstairs room. It won't take long, and I'll tell you all you should know.”

He scarcely slept a wink that night and went off to work early in the morning. It was the most decisive day in his whole life and all the
miracles had to happen in it without delay. Let him be bold and daring and without shame—though he had never had any sense of shame. It was but a single chance, one that would never recur, and everything is as God wills it.

Having decided to start with the most valuable quarry, he went to the house of Hasan al-Attar before the time he went to his shop. The young man came to him in the comfortably-furnished reception room.

“How are things with you, Ugr?” he asked eagerly.

“Everything's fine, master,” he answered in a tone full of confidence. “You're safe for the rest of your life.”

“It will turn out all right, with God's permission,” he said, pressing his arm. “Have you met up with Master Galil?”

“Not yet—I wanted to start with the top man.”

“Here's a thousand dinars—good luck to you.”

“You should make it ten thousand, master,” he said gently.

Hasan frowned in dismay. “What did you say?”

“Ten thousand dinars.”