The Storyteller's Daughter (20 page)

On the seventh night when all the revelry was done, Shahrayar gathered those he loved best and trusted most around him in his private quarters. And these were his brother, Shazaman; his vizier, Nur al-Din Hasan; and also Nur al-Din’s youngest daughter, Dinarzad. It goes without saying that Shahrazad was there, for except when he attended to affairs of state, she was never far from her husband’s side. Also present was young ‘Ajib, and he stood close to Dinarzad. When Shahrayar noticed this, he regarded his vizier with raised eyebrows. Nur al-Din shrugged his shoulders, and Shahrayar smiled. And so were many things decided without words that would bring great happiness in years to come.

When all were assembled and at their ease, Shahrayar stood and beckoned Shahrazad to his side. “Hear now the will of your sovereign,” he said. “Tomorrow morning will it be proclaimed throughout the land that the lady Shahrazad is no longer in peril of her life. For I will have no other wife but her to the end of my days. And therefore, I hope her life may be a long one!”

When the vizier heard this, he shed tears of joy, and so did Dinarzad. But Shahrazad did not weep, for she knew this already. Instead she regarded her husband with shining eyes. Eyes that could now see his countenance as well as his heart. For in fulfilling her destiny, the heavy cloak of blindness had fallen from her eyes.

Then ‘Ajib stepped forward. “Lady, I bring you a gift,” he said. “Though, it is hardly mine to give since it is already yours.” At this, he moved to the window and drew aside his much travel-stained cloak to reveal Maju’s ebony trunk.

“I hid this from my brothers on the night you were taken,” he said. “For I think my heart knew even then that I had done a great wrong. Then I took it with me when I went to Samarkand, so that your father might know I was speaking the truth when I said I wished to help restore to you your freedom and Shahrayar to his throne.”

“I thank you,” Shahrazad said. And ‘Ajib bowed so low his head touched the floor.

“And now there is only one matter unresolved,” Shahrayar said.

“What is that?” asked Shahrazad.

“Why, the tale, of course,” Shahrayar answered. “What becomes of the king? Does he ever find his son?

“There is only one way to find out,” said Shahrazad. “You know what must be done.”

So while the others made themselves comfortable around the room, Shahrayar knelt before Maju’s ebony trunk. He opened the lid, and lifted out the cloth. But when he brought it to Shahrazad, he got a surprise. For she handed it back to him, saying, “You now have the skill to finish this story yourself.”

So Shahrayar sat cross-legged on the floor and ran the cloth between his hands. At first he felt nothing save the weave of the fabric. Then like one who has studied a foreign language with frustration only to have it all make sense in one quick flash, Shahrayar perceived the story so strongly, the characters within it seemed to move beneath his hands.

He saw the king in his prime, full of himself, set out to find the seer and thereby discover why it was he had no son. He heard again the seer’s prophecy, ‘If you see what you desire but claim it not, long will be your path and great your sorrow.’ And he saw the way the king, secure in what he thought he knew, failed to heed this warning.

He saw him tumble down a mountainside and encounter a young man searching for a long-absent father. He saw him fly through the air, carried aloft by a stone. And many more adventures did the king encounter, all of them related by Shahrazad. Until at last Shahrayar reached the place where her telling of the tale had ended, and, in his own voice, he went on.

“The king was old. He had spent his days wandering the earth, looking for a way back home. Weary and discouraged beyond belief, he knelt before a pool to take a drink of water. There he saw his face reflected in its surface.

“Who is that stranger?
he wondered. Then, with dismay, he realized it was his own face that he saw. And in that moment, it seemed to him that he had spent his best days in a futile endeavor, traveling so far from himself he could no longer recognize his own face when it was before him. In this way he had lost everything he loved and still not attained his heart’s desire.

“If he could not recognize himself, how could he ever hope to see and know his son?

“At this, his despair was so great who knows what he might have done? But he was spared from making a choice. For unbeknownst to him, the pool he had come upon was sacred to the inhabitants of that place. None might drink there save by the will of the ruler alone.

“Before the king could so much as cry aloud his despair, he was seized, and without further ado, thrown into that country’s darkest dungeon. Many days he resided there without light or sound. While he had knelt beside the pool, it had seemed to him his way could get no darker, but now he discovered that he had been wrong.”

At this, Shahrayar paused and lifted his head to look at Shahrazad.

“What?” she asked. “You chose this tale, not I.”

“Hah!” Shahrayar said. Then he returned to the story once more.

“After the king had been imprisoned for a period of time he had no way to measure, the door to his cell was thrown open and a second inhabitant tossed inside.

‘“Alas, my friend,’ the king said. ‘I am sorry that you have come to such a dreadful place, though I admit I am glad to no longer be alone.’

“I‘m afraid I won’t be very good company,’ replied the other. And so by the sound of their voices, the two moved to sit beside each other in the dark. ‘For I have wasted my days and am in great despair. Indeed, I no longer care whether I live or die.’

‘“In this we are much alike,’ the king said.  ‘For in these words could I describe myself. Tell me your trials, and I will tell you mine. And in this way, we may at least pass the time until we learn what will become of us.’

“And so his companion told of a lifelong search for a father he had never known. Before his birth had the father set out, not yet knowing his wife was with child. All through his youth the boy had waited for the father to return. At last, when he had come to manhood and none could oppose him, he followed the first wish of his heart and set out to learn what had become of the father he had never known.

“But in this, though his intentions were good, he had done a great wrong. For his father had been a king, and he himself had become one when he was grown. Yet he had abandoned his people for his quest, putting the wishes of his heart before their welfare.

“Alas! Alas!’ the king cried when the other’s tale was done.  ‘Your tale is all too familiar, for I have spent my days searching for a son.’

“Now the king related how he had gone to the seer, so long ago. But when he spoke of this, his companion suddenly sat up straight and seized him by the arm.

‘“But I know you!’ he cried. ‘Did you not tumble down this same seer’s mountain only to be carried off by a stone?_

‘“I did,’ the king replied, astonished. ‘I remember now. A young man broke my fall, and I was rude to him, a thing I have since regretted, for he probably saved my life. From that day forward, nothing went the way I hoped.’

“I was that young man!’ his companion replied.  ‘I have regretted my rudeness to you, also. But I was in such a hurry to reach the seer, I hardly paid attention to what I spoke. I hoped she might tell me what had become of my father. Instead, she spoke these words: “If you see what you desire but claim it not, long will be your path and great your sorrow.” And she spoke true, for from that day to this one, nothing I have done has turned out right.’

“At this, the king was seized with wonder. For it seemed to him that he was beginning to understand and that against all odds and hope, the end of his quest was now in sight.

‘“What was your mother’s name?’ asked the king.

“My mother!’ his companion echoed, astonished. ‘Jauhara.’

‘“So was my wife called. She gave me a daughter named Jallanar.’

‘“My mother has a sister by that name!’ the other cried, his astonishment growing.’How can this be?_

‘“In one way only,’ the king replied. You are the son I have desired for so long, and I am your long-lost father. In our anger, foolishness, and pride we failed to see these things when we met before. Therefore, long have been our paths, and great have been both our sorrows. But embrace me now, and let us rejoice in the time that we have left.’

‘“My father!’ the son cried, for so he was.’With all my heart I will do so.’

“As they embraced, there was a noise like thunder.  The ground beneath them shook, and the walls of their prison fell over onto their sides. Father and son sat blinking in the sunshine. When their eyes would work again, they discovered they were once more on top of the seer’s mountain.

‘“Well, that took you long enough,’ the seer remarked as she beheld them. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t know when I’ve ever encountered two more foolish mortals. But you have found each other at last, and I suppose that must count for something. Go home now, together, and repair the damage done to your people, for you may have longer to make amends than you suppose.’

“So saying, she vanished before the king and prince could so much as say thank you.’ And with her vanished the mountain. When they looked around them, the king and his son discovered they were outside the very city from which both had set out so long ago.

“Returning to the palace, they at once made themselves known to the queen. Great was her joy at the sudden reappearance of both her son and her husband! So great, she only took them to task for their foolishness for a month. After that she subsided, and not long after, all was put to rights. The king ruled wisely for many years, and after him, his son. Neither ever left home again, instead leaving the exploration of the wide world to others.

“But that is a different tale altogether.”

And, with these words, Shahrayar fell silent, for his tale was done. “So,” he said after a moment, his eyes twinkling as he gazed at Shahrazad. “My tale was one of a king so foolish he almost lost everything for not being able to see what was right in front of him.”

“You chose it,” Shahrazad said. “Not I.”

“So you have said before,” Shahrayar replied,’And I notice that once again, it is the women who are most wise.”

“It is important for even a tale of magic to ring true,” Shahrazad said, her face solemn. Then, she smiled. At this, all within the chamber began to laugh, but Shahrayar laughed loudest of all.

“What shall become of this now?” he asked, holding up the cloth.

“Will it please you to give it to me?” said Shahrazad.

“Gladly,” Shahrayar answered. And he rose and put it into her hands. At this, Shahrazad rose also. With one great motion, she unfurled the cloth, and all within the room cried out.

For now all could see the figures moving through it. The cloth was dark no longer, but spun of finest gold.

“Wait a moment!” Shahrayar cried. “That is not the king’s story, it is ours!”

“Even so,” said Shahrazad.

And that very night, they took the cloth and hung it in a place of honor behind Shahrayar’s throne. There it stayed through all the days of his reign.  Those days were many, and throughout them, all prospered. Shahrayar and Shahrazad were happy together and raised a family of many fine daughters and sons.

Shazaman returned to Samarkand, and with him went ‘Ajib, and some years later, Dinarzad. For she forgave ‘Ajib his treachery even as she gave him her love. And so they were married. But Shazaman never took another wife, and upon his death, the rule of his great city passed to ‘Ajib and Dinarzad. And I think their descendants are living there still.

Nur al-Din Hasan lived long enough to give his younger daughter in marriage, but soon thereafter, he died. Great was the sorrow throughout all the land at his passing, for he had been much loved. Shahrazad and Shahrayar erected a great tomb in his honor and placed Maju in it beside him along with her ebony trunk. So husband and wife were joined together in death as they had been in life. But the manner of telling stories in the way of the
drabardi
became lost, and now their skill lies mainly in the telling of fortunes.

When the day came that Shahrayar the king breathed no more, Shahrazad his wife took down the cloth of gold from behind his throne. She bathed his body with her tears, then wrapped the cloth of gold around him. Thus was he buried. And so, though the tales that Shahrazad had told to save her life were remembered, the tale of her own life was not. In time, not even her children remembered it, and the tale of Shahrayar and Shahrazad was lost to all others and kept within her heart alone.

Now, you who have read what has here been told may remember or forget it as you will. The telling of it is over, for with these words “The Tale of the Storyteller’s Daughter” at last is done.