Princess of Dhagabad, The (12 page)

Alamid’s fingers move forward without any
resistance. Her tension, finding no release in this outpouring of
emotion, making it impossible to bear the uncertainty, forces her
to carefully open one eye.

The djinn is still floating in the air right
in front of her. The sarcastic smile has left his face, which now
bears an impassive expression. Alamid’s hand should have touched
him long ago and, meeting no resistance, has moved right through
his body which now seems airy like juniper smoke, and through which
she can make out a dark outline of the window covered with a light
drape. Terrified, Alamid pulls back her hand, half expecting that
the movement of air created by that gesture will mix up the image
of Hasan in front of her, turning his human form into a shapeless
cloud of smoke. Scared to death by this new evidence of the strange
qualities of this mysterious creature, overwhelmed by the
unexpected strength and shamefulness of her desires, Alamid covers
her face with her hands and produces a wild, inhuman scream.

“What really did happen, Alamid?” the
princess insists.

She is sitting on her bed beside the
helplessly sobbing Alamid, the nannies fussing around them. The
sultaness, who ran in after hearing the noise, accompanied by the
dark and silent Nimeth, is holding the princess by the hand,
glancing cautiously at Hasan, who is standing motionlessly against
the wall, removed from all the fuss.

“I…he…” Alamid sobs, pointing at
Hasan.

“What did you do to her, Hasan?” the princess
asks.

“Nothing, princess.”

“Will you finally tell us, what’s the matter,
Alamid!” the sultaness exclaims, unable to bear the uncertainty
anymore. She grabs the sobbing girl by the shoulders and shakes
her, trying to look her in the eyes.

Alamid takes several deep convulsive breaths,
raising her eyes to the sultaness. Her stiff black hair is
scattered around her back; her wide dark face is swollen with tears
and looks completely childish. Her lips tremble and twist, getting
ready for the new outburst of tears. But the despair in the
sultaness’s eyes unexpectedly makes her come to her senses. Two
huge tears roll down her cheeks, painlessly releasing the coming
outpouring Her lips open up, letting out, instead of screams and
tears, ordinary human words.

“The princess fell asleep, and I was left
alone with Hasan, and he—” Alamid stops, meeting the impenetrable
eyes of the djinn.

“He—what? What?” The sultaness urges. “What
did he do to you?”

“He…” Alamid suddenly feels an uprush of
devilish joy. Now she knows how she will get back at this sorcerer
for the way he laughed at her, causing her so much shame! She will
show him who is the master here and who is the slave! Alamid takes
a deep breath and says distinctly:

“He purposely put the princess to sleep, and
then he ordered me to come closer and grabbed me by the hand—He
was trying to take me somewhere, and he put a spell on me so that I
was unable to move—I don’t know what he wanted to do to me, but at
the last moment I managed to scream.” A new flood of tears
overtakes Alamid who now feels like an actress on the stage after a
performance well done. Realizing that tears, not words, are more
effective right now, Alamid covers her face with her hands again,
dissolving into sobs as she listens with pleasure to the results of
the scandal she has started.

“Hasan!” the sultaness exclaims.

“Wait, mother!” the princess says with sudden
energy. “Is it true, Hasan?”

“No, princess.” The djinn’s voice startles
Alamid. Not only can she not hear any fear or repentance in his
voice, she seems to hear in it again the light undertone of
sarcasm.

“You see, mother,” the princess says with
relief.

“He is lying to you, princess!” the sultaness
exclaims. “You don’t think he will confess so easily, do you?”

“But why would Hasan do such a thing,
mother?”

“You are still too innocent, princess. Alamid
is older, and she knows better about these things.”

“Mother, I trust Hasan! He has no reason to
lie!”

“Don’t try to interfere in things you don’t
understand, princess. A djinn is not a joking matter. Next time he
might do something like that to you.”

“Hasan could never order me to do anything,
mother! I am the one who orders him!”

The princess is flushed with anger, her eyes
shining. She stands on her bed, looking like a little angry cloud
in her white nightdress.

“Let me tell you this!” the princess
exclaims, daring, in the heat of the argument to throw forth the
worst of all accusations. “I trust Hasan more than I trust Alamid!
I do!”

“Princess!” Nanny Airagad says with
reproach.

“Let me ask her myself. Look at me, Alamid!”
The princess steps toward her crying friend and abruptly sits down,
unable to keep her balance on the soft bed.

Almost against her will, Alamid raises her
head and meets the angry gaze of a pair of dark-blue eyes.

“Tell me what happened!” the princess
commands.

“You fell asleep,” Alamid whispers and falls
silent, unable to continue.

“And what did Hasan do?”

Alamid takes a breath. She knows she should
stick to her story. But something in the princess’s eyes holds her
back. She cannot go on with her lie.

She lowers her head. “Nothing,” she whispers.
“He—he told me I didn’t have to be afraid of him—He was just
sitting there.”

“And…?”

“And I wanted very much to touch his arm.”
Alamid’s whisper becomes barely audible. Blood rushes up to her
head, making her face and neck burn with shame.

“Go on!”

“My fingers went right through him,” Alamid
says with difficulty. “I was frightened, and I screamed.”

“Enough,” the sultaness exclaims. “You may
go, Alamid. As for you, princess…”

“What, mother?” the princess asks, suddenly
quiet.

The sultaness purses her lips. “Be careful
with Hasan. Don’t forget that he is a djinn.”

Signaling for Nimeth to follow, the sultaness
collects her nightdress about her and follows Alamid out of the
princess’s quarters.

You are grateful to the daughter of the
master of ceremonies, the princess’s friend Alamid, for helping you
to learn more about your mistress. Being an all-powerful spirit,
you can see everything that goes on in the princess’s mind, but no
kind of vision is equal to the knowledge that small actions reveal.
In some sense knowing the thoughts and feelings of a person only
clouds the reality, since no one can ever act in complete
accordance with his inner urges, and in this sense your absolute
power never helped you to know more about people. The passion with
which the princess fought to prove your innocence, dragging the
truth out of such a liar as Alamid, revealed a quality in her that
made you feel much closer to your young mistress. You saw the echo
of the same joyful curiosity that accompanied you through your
physical existence. In some sense your transformation into a djinn
meant giving up this childlike enthusiasm, the loss of the ability
so cherished by you to learn one by one the highest truths, the
oldest mysteries, and the wisest thoughts. Now you feel in some
strange way that the presence of this child, her hunger for
knowledge, and her endless ability to wonder, somehow return you to
your favorite state of mind when you are able again, if not to
learn yourself, at least to share with another being something so
dear to you, something that used to be the sole reason and purpose
of your existence, and something that you had to give up forever.
And, feeling this new bond with the princess, you suddenly realize
that in spite of your apparent apathy you are ready to put your
whole heart into her games, enjoying them no less than she does,
enjoying beyond measure the joy and interest in her face, and your
ability to call forth this joy and interest with your almighty
power.

Chapter 7. Beyond The North Wing

For sultan Chamar Ali, the most exquisite
distinction that in his mind separates a married woman from a
concubine is a name. Hearing a woman’s name—her name alone, without
a title in front or instead—always makes Chamar’s blood boil with
tiny bubbles of unexplored possibility. He knows that the sultaness
used to have a name before she was given to him as his bride, but
he always called her ‘princess’, and after their wedding he called
her ‘madam’, or ‘your majesty’, or, rarely, “Sitt Chamar”, an
official title which in reality means nothing more than “Chamar’s
wife”. As for his daughter the princess he never even learned her
given name, although he assumes she has one, as any of his
daughters would. For him, as for everyone else in the palace, she
is forever to be called by her title, which in his mind symbolizes,
among other things, his unfulfilled hope for a more appropriate
heir.

It isn’t that the sultan is incapacitated as
a man. He is proud that he never wastes time in his harem, unlike
other rulers who often have many concubines just to show off,
making everyone believe they can handle so many women when, in
fact, their ability to enjoy women is long lost. Chamar Ali is not,
and never was like that.

He enjoys women as others enjoy the beauty of
rare jewels, and he collects women as others collect gems. In his
harem he feels as if he is admiring his treasure, where he can pick
any beautiful piece he wants and play with it for as long as he
pleases. And then, every once in a while, he receives a precious
prize for his games, a new baby that may—or may not—be a boy.
That is a pleasure no collector of gems could ever
experience—holding the fruit of his sport, a tiny creature from
his own loins that is part of him blended with the features of its
beautiful mother. For Chamar Ali does not keep any concubines he
doesn’t consider beautiful.

Unlike other rulers who think that their
unlimited supply of women makes it unnecessary for them to pay
attention to their looks, Chamar enjoys keeping himself
attractive—the better to consort with his beautiful concubines.
Reaching his fortieth year, he takes special pride in the fitness
of his dark, slim body and the thickness of his hair that bears
virtually no trace of gray. A passionate fire keeps alit his dark
eyes, giving his handsome face a terrifying look appropriate for a
mighty ruler. When he walks in the harem in his bright silk robe,
opening up the front just enough to reveal his smooth hairless
chest, his unruly beard sticking out from his face, he feels the
admiration in the eyes of his concubines, making worthwhile every
effort to keep himself in top form.