The Storyteller's Daughter (2 page)

A group of courtiers’ children set upon her, lifted her up, and threw her into the pool with such force that the branches of the pomegranate tree shook above her. Shahrazad struck her head upon the stones that lined the pool and her red blood flowed out into the water.

When the courtiers’ children saw what they had done, they became afraid. How terrible, they feared, would be the revenge of Maju the Storyteller! And so they fled, leaving Shahrazad sitting in a pool of bloody water, sobbing as though her heart would break. And thus her mother found her.

“Why do they treat me so?” Shahrazad cried when she saw her mother. “I do nothing to them. Nothing!”

Though she thought perhaps her own heart would break when she heard the pain and despair in her daughters voice, Maju the Storyteller answered calmly, “Nothing is all you need do, Shahrazad, my daughter. Being yourself is enough. For you are not the same as they are, and they can neither forgive nor forget it. Come now, dry your eyes and get out of the water.”

But Shahrazad was hurt and angry, and she felt rebellious. She stayed right where she was. “But I want to be the same!” she cried. “Why must I be different?” She splashed the water with an angry fist. “I won’t get out until you tell me.”

Before Shahrazad knew what her mother intended, Maju the Storyteller strode to the fountain, lifted her skirts, and waded into the water. She tore one of her sleeves and made a bandage to bind Shahrazad’s bleeding head. How Maju knew to do this when she could not see the injury, Shahrazad did not know.

“Get up, go into our apartments, and put on dry clothing,” Maju commanded her daughter. “Then go to my chest and bring me the length of cloth you will find inside.”

Though her spirit still felt bruised, Shahrazad did as her mother commanded, for she understood that this was the only way Maju would give her an answer—with a story.

While Shahrazad changed into dry clothes, Maju the Storyteller stood in the water, her blind eyes cast downward. As if she could see the pool Shahrazad loved so well, now bloody and sullied. And from her eyes there fell two tears, one each from the left eye and the right. As Maju’s tears struck the water, the pool was cleansed, and the water ran clear once more.

When Shahrazad returned, she found her mother sitting beside the fountain, her skirts already dry. At the sound of her daughters footsteps, Maju held out a hand.

“What have you brought me?” she inquired.

Shahrazad reached out and placed a length of cloth into her mothers hand. It was silk as fine and sheer as gossamer, the same color blue as the stones that lined the fountain. Shahrazad watched as Maju brushed her fingers across the surface of the cloth, and she felt the hair rise on her arms.

For she knew that woven into the cloth so finely that only the hands of the storyteller could discover it, there was a tale waiting to be told. And she knew that this was the true storyteller’s art. Not the speaking aloud, for that was something anyone might do, but the deciphering of the tale woven into the cloth. A secret known only to the
drabardi.

“Ah!” Maju said when she was finished. “You have chosen well, my little one.”

Shahrazad made a sound that might have been a laugh and plopped down beside her mother on the edge of the fountain.

“It was hardly a choice,” she said. “That was the only piece of cloth in the whole trunk.”

“That’s as it should be,” Maju replied with a smile.’Tor it means that this story is yours. Will you hear it?”

“I will,” said Shahrazad.

“Then I will give you its name,” said her mother. “It is called…”

“Once” Maju the Storyteller murmured as her fingers whispered across the silk, “there lived a girl who was very unhappy, for it seemed to her that no one loved her for what she was.

“Though she was the child of a king—a princess—she was not prized. For in a land that valued beauty above all other attributes, she was not beautiful. In a land where only men could rule, she was not a son. And so it seemed to her that although others looked upon her all day, they never saw her worth. Instead, they saw only their own disappointment.

“Yet there was one place in the palace of her father where the girl was happy. That was a small pool set beneath a pomegranate tree in the corner of a secluded garden.”

At this, Shahraze day, whenad stirred, but the voice of Maju the Storyteller never faltered.

“She would sit beside it all day, watching the goldfish glide along the bottom. One day, when she was feeling particularly sad, the girl spoke her thoughts aloud:

“‘Oh, lovely fish!’ She sighed. ‘How I wish that I were one of you! For then I would have a place in the world, and I would be admired, for all who look upon you exclaim over your loveliness.’

“Now, the princess was young, and so she did not know that it is not always wise to speak your innermost thoughts aloud. For you never know who might be listening. On this day, just as the princess was bemoaning her fate, a
djinn
was passing by. No sooner did he hear the princess’s words than he swooped down and appeared to her in the garden.

“At the sight of a
djinn
suddenly materializing out of thin air, the princess was understandably alarmed. She leaped to her feet, prepared to flee. But the
djinn
spoke, and at his words, she halted.

‘“Do not fear me, princess,’ said the
djinn.
‘For, I have the power to grant the first wish of your heart.’

‘“Tell me what it is then,’ said the princess. For she knew that
djinns
did not always deal fairly with mortals.

‘“That is simple,’ the
djinn
replied.’You wish to be a goldfish in that pool of water—a thing which is easily done. But because you are a princess, I will do more. I will grant you two wishes instead of merely one. The first will transform you, as you desire.’

“The heart of the princess had begun to beat so hard she feared her chest would split wide open before she could speak.

“And the second?”

“Will return you to your true form once more.  You have only to say the word and all shall be as I have spoken.”

“‘What is the word? asked the princess.

“The
djinn
pronounced a word of great magic. The princess repeated it, savoring the way the strange syllables rolled across her tongue. In the next instant her voice had ceased, for she was a girl no longer, but a beautiful goldfish swimming in the water.

“The
djinn
stared down at her for a moment. ‘Lovely princess, I cannot leave you yet,’ he murmured. ‘For I would see how this wish spins out.’ So he made himself invisible and hid himself in the branches of the pomegranate tree. Though a
djinn
is many things, he is curious, above all else.

“Several days went by. No one seemed to notice that the princess was missing. The
djinn
kept watch over the fish in the pool from the branches of the pomegranate tree. He thought that he had done his work well, for the princess was the loveliest color gold of all.

“On the fourth day following the princess’s transformation, the
djinn’s
vigilance had its reward. As he watched, invisible, from the branches of the tree, two courtiers appeared at opposite ends of the secluded garden. Ah! When they saw each other, great were their exclamations of pleasure and false surprise!

“One, who was no less than a prince—the king’s designated heir and cousin to the princess—gestured the other over to the pool. He seated himself at the water’s edge, trailing his fingers in the water. Thinking he might have food, the goldfish gathered around. But the young prince had no thought to feed anything other than his own ambition.

‘“All is in readiness?’ he inquired, being careful to keep his voice low.

“His companion nodded. All is as you have commanded, Highness,’ he replied.’Tomorrow, when you walk here in the early morning with the king, I will be hidden in the branches of this tree, which stretches out above the pool. At your signal, I will fall upon him and hold his head beneath the water until he moves no more.’

‘“Then I will be king,’ the young prince said. And you shall have your reward.’

“And so the conspirators embraced each other and departed.

“Now, when the princess heard this plan, she was greatly alarmed. For, though the
djinn’s
magic word had transformed her outward shape to that of a fish, she was still a girl in her heart and mind. A young girl who loved her father. The princess swam round and round the pool, trying to think of a way to warn him.

“Should she speak the magic word now? If she did, she would be herself again. She could go to her father at once. But what if he refused to see her? For the bitter truth was that the king did not often have time for his daughter. Of all those who saw the princess only for what she was not, her father was chief among them. Had he even noticed she was

“No, the princess thought. She would wait until the morrow. The moment before the conspirators prepared to strike, she would speak the magic word, be restored to her true form, and warn her father. He would have no choice but to believe her then. She would prove her worth at last, and her father would see how much she loved him.

“And so the princess passed a troubled night and waited for the morning.

“Early the next day, just at dawn, there came a rustle of garments as the first conspirator crept into the garden. He climbed the branches of the pomegranate tree, hiding himself among the leaves. The princess bided her time.

“Soon she heard the murmur of low voices as her father and her cousin entered the garden. Still, the princess did nothing. She waited as her father approached the pond, gazing down into its still water.

“Now!
the princess thought. She tried to speak the magic word that would bring about the transformation. To her horror, she discovered she could not! For she had no tongue to speak the word. Goldfish do not speak as young girls do. And the princess was just a goldfish, swimming in a pond.

“Desperate now, she sought a way, any way, to save her father. In a frenzy, she swam around the pool.

“‘Mercy!’ exclaimed the king. ‘What ails the fish this morning?’ In the next instant he drew back in alarm. For he had seen a face not his own, and not the prince’s, reflected from above in the water. It could only be that someone was hiding in the pomegranate tree. Someone who wished to do him harm.

“When the prince saw the king draw back, he betrayed his true weak nature. He panicked in fear lest all should be lost. And so he also revealed his treachery. From his sash, he drew forth his knife.

“‘Traitor!’ cried the king as the young man set upon him. The prince was young and strong, but he proved no match for the fury of his uncle. They fought bitterly, and the king’s robe was torn. But at last the king knocked the knife from his nephew’s hand and swept his feet from under him, sending him splashing into the water. The prince struck his head upon the stones that lined the pool. His head slipped beneath the water and did not rise.

“But the king’s danger had not passed. Seeing the young prince dispatched, the prince’s fellow conspirator decided to risk all. With a great cry, he sprang from the tree, his knife pointed at the king’s unprotected back. But before he could strike home, the fish that had first attracted the king’s attention leaped from the water. Up, up, up it sailed, in a perfect arc of gold. The conspirator’s knife pierced it clean through.

“The would-be assassin fell into the pond, as had the prince before him. There, he met the fate he had planned for another. For the king held his head beneath the water until he moved no more. But the fish fell to the stones of the garden, mortally wounded, and, as it did, the princess was returned to her true form.

“The sight of his daughter, her heart’s blood seeping out onto the cobblestones, gave the king a greater shock than any assassin’s knife.

‘“My daughter! What magic is this? he cried.

“But by then, the princess was beyond speech. She had given up her life. And so it was the
djinn
who answered for her. Making himself visible, he appeared before the king and replied, ‘O King, it is mine. I heard your daughter, grieving by the side of this pool, and offered her the first wish of her heart. She thought her wish was to be a goldfish in this pool. But what the heart of your daughter truly wished above all else was that she might have value in your eyes. She has paid for this wish in the manner you see.

“And so tell me, O King. What value do you place upon your daughter now?

“So speaking, the
djinn
bowed before the king and departed.

“Great was the king’s sorrow when he heard the
djinn’s
words. For, too late, he recognized his daughter’s true value. She had loved him so much she had given up her life for him, while others thought only of his possessions and would have taken his life from him.

“The king had the princess’s body laid to rest with all the pomp and ceremony he could command, and declared an entire year of mourning. In her honor, he erected a statue in the pool she had loved so well.

“A fish, its eyes the blue of lapis lazuli. Each and every scale a piece of beaten gold. And from its mouth poured water as clear and sparkling as diamonds. Such was her value, for such had been the strength and purity of her love.”

Maju’s fingers stopped their movement among the silk. “Well, Shahrazad,” she said. “What do you make of this story?”

Shahrazad stayed silent. “Never trust the word of a
djinn?”
she asked after a moment.

Maju chuckled. “Sound advice,” she replied. “Your mind is quick, as always. And your heart? What does it say?”

Shahrazad sighed and put her head upon her mother’s shoulder. “That I should know my own value and never seek to be what I am not.”

The storyteller reached to stroke her daughter’s hair. “Well spoken,” she said softly. “Your heart is a strong one, my Shahrazad. With a heart such as yours, many wishes are granted, even those that seem impossible. Remember well what I have spoken.”