The Very Best of F & SF v1 (69 page)

Ajib dropped to
his knees. “I have been wasteful. I swear by the name of the Prophet that I do
not have that much,” he said.

The robber
looked at him closely. “Gather all the money you have,” he said, “and have it
here tomorrow at this same hour. If I believe you are holding back, your wife
will die. If I believe you to be honest, my men will return her to you.”

Ajib could see
no other choice. “Agreed,” he said, and the robber left.

The next day he
went to the banker and withdrew all the money that remained. He gave it to the
robber, who gauged the desperation in Ajib’s eyes and was satisfied. The robber
did as he promised, and that evening Taahira was returned.

After they had
embraced, Taahira said, “I didn’t believe you would pay so much money for me.”

“I could not
take pleasure in it without you,” said Ajib, and he was surprised to realize it
was true. “But now I regret that I cannot buy you what you deserve.”

“You need never
buy me anything again,” she said.

Ajib bowed his head.
“I feel as if I have been punished for my misdeeds.”

“What misdeeds?”
asked Taahira, but Ajib said nothing. “I did not ask you this before,” she
said. “But I know you did not inherit all the money you gained. Tell me: did
you steal it?”

“No,” said Ajib,
unwilling to admit the truth to her or himself. “It was given to me.”

“A loan, then?”

“No, it does not
need to be repaid.”

“And you don’t
wish to pay it back?” Taahira was shocked. “So you are content that this other
man paid for our wedding? That he paid my ransom?” She seemed on the verge of
tears. “Am I your wife then, or this other man’s?”

“You are my wife,”
he said.

“How can I be,
when my very life is owed to another?”

“I would not
have you doubt my love,” said Ajib. “I swear to you that I will pay back the
money, to the last dirham.”

And so Ajib and
Taahira moved back into Ajib’s old house and began saving their money. Both of
them went to work for Taahira’s brother the apothecary, and when he eventually
became a perfumer to the wealthy, Ajib and Taahira took over the business of
selling remedies to the ill. It was a good living, but they spent as little as
they could, living modestly and repairing damaged furnishings instead of buying
new. For years, Ajib smiled whenever he dropped a coin into the chest, telling
Taahira that it was a reminder of how much he valued her. He would say that
even after the chest was full, it would be a bargain.

But it is not
easy to fill a chest by adding just a few coins at a time, and so what began as
thrift gradually turned into miserliness, and prudent decisions were replaced
by tight-fisted ones. Worse, Ajib’s and Taahira’s affections for each other
faded over time, and each grew to resent the other for the money they could not
spend.

In this manner
the years passed and Ajib grew older, waiting for the second time that his gold
would be taken from him.

“What a strange
and sad story,” I said.

“Indeed,” said
Bashaarat. “Would you say that Ajib acted prudently?”

I hesitated
before speaking. “It is not my place to judge him,” I said. “He must live with
the consequences of his actions, just as I must live with mine.” I was silent
for a moment, and then said, “I admire Ajib’s candor, that he told you
everything he had done.”

“Ah, but Ajib
did not tell me of this as a young man,” said Bashaarat. “After he emerged from
the Gate carrying the chest, I did not see him again for another twenty years.
Ajib was a much older man when he came to visit me again. He had come home and
found His chest gone, and the knowledge that he had paid his debt made him feel
he could tell me all that had transpired.”

“Indeed? Did the
older Hassan from your first story come to see you as well?”

“No, I heard
Hassan’s story from his younger self. The older Hassan never returned to my
shop, but in his place I had a different visitor, one who shared a story about
Hassan that he himself could never have told me.” Bashaarat proceeded to tell
me that visitor’s story, and if it pleases Your Majesty, I will recount it
here.

THE TALE OF THE WIFE AND HER LOVER

Raniya had been
married to Hassan for many years, and they lived the happiest of lives. One day
she saw her husband dine with a young man, whom she recognized as the very
image of Hassan when she had first married him. So great was her astonishment
that she could scarcely keep herself from intruding on their conversation.
After the young man left, she demanded that Hassan tell her who he was, and
Hassan related to her an incredible tale.

“Have you told
him about me?” she asked. “Did you know what lay ahead of us when we first met?”

“I knew I would
marry you from the moment I saw you,” Hassan said, smiling, “but not because
anyone had told me. Surely, wife, you would not wish to spoil that moment for
him?”

So Raniya did
not speak to her husband’s younger self, but only eavesdropped on his
conversation, and stole glances at him. Her pulse quickened at the sight of his
youthful features; sometimes our memories fool us with their sweetness, but
when she beheld the two men seated opposite each other, she could see the
fullness of the younger one’s beauty without exaggeration. At night, she would
lie awake, thinking of it.

Some days after
Hassan had bid farewell to his younger self, he left Cairo to conduct business
with a merchant in Damascus. In his absence Raniya found the shop that Hassan
had described to her, and stepped through the Gate of Years to the Cairo of her
youth.

She remembered
where he had lived back then, and so was easily able to find the young Hassan
and follow him. As she watched him, she felt a desire stronger than she had
felt in years for the older Hassan, so vivid were her recollections of their
youthful lovemaking. She had always been a loyal and faithful wife, but here was
an opportunity that would never be available again. Resolving to act on this
desire, Raniya rented a house, and in subsequent days bought furnishings for
it.

Once the house
was ready, she followed Hassan discreetly while she tried to gather enough
boldness to approach him. In the jewelers’ market, she watched as he went to a jeweler,
showed him a necklace set with ten gemstones, and asked him how much he would
pay for it. Raniya recognized it as one Hassan had given to her in the days
after their wedding; she had not known he had once tried to sell it. She stood
a short distance away and listened, pretending to look at some rings.

“Bring it back
tomorrow, and I will pay you a thousand dinars,” said the jeweler. Young Hassan
agreed to the price, and left.

As she watched
him leave, Raniya overheard two men talking nearby:

“Did you see
that necklace? It is one of ours.”

“Are you
certain?” asked the other.

“I am. That is
the bastard who dug up our chest.”

“Let us tell our
captain about him. After this fellow has sold his necklace, we will take his
money, and more.”

The two men left
without noticing Raniya, who stood with her heart racing but her body
motionless, like a deer after a tiger has passed. She realized that the
treasure Hassan had dug up must have belonged to a band of thieves, and these
men were two of its members. They were now observing the jewelers of Cairo to
identify the person who had taken their loot.

Raniya knew that
since she possessed the necklace, the young Hassan could not have sold it. She
also knew that the thieves could not have killed Hassan. But it could not be
Allah’s will for her to do nothing. Allah must have brought her here so that he
might use her as his instrument.

Raniya returned
to the Gate of Years, stepped through to her own day, and at her house found
the necklace in her jewelry box. Then she used the Gate of Years again, but
instead of entering it from the left side, she entered it from the right, so
that she visited the Cairo of twenty years later. There she sought out her
older self, now an aged woman. The older Raniya greeted her warmly, and retrieved
the necklace from her own jewelry box. The two women then rehearsed how they
would assist the young Hassan.

The next day,
the two thieves were back with a third man, whom Raniya assumed was their
captain. They all watched as Hassan presented the necklace to the jeweler.

As the jeweler
examined it, Raniya walked up and said, “What a coincidence! Jeweler, I wish to
sell a necklace just like that.” She brought out her necklace from a purse she
carried.

“This is
remarkable,” said the jeweler. “I have never seen two necklaces more similar.”

Then the aged
Raniya walked up. “What do I see? Surely my eyes deceive me!” And with that she
brought out a third identical necklace. “The seller sold it to me with the
promise that it was unique. This proves him a liar.”

“Perhaps you
should return it,” said Raniya.

“That depends,” said
the aged Raniya. She asked Hassan, “How much is he paying you for it?”

“A thousand
dinars,” said Hassan, bewildered.

“Really!
Jeweler, would you care to buy this one too?”

“I must reconsider
my offer,” said the jeweler.

While Hassan and
the aged Raniya bargained with the jeweler, Raniya stepped back just far enough
to hear the captain berate the other thieves. “You fools,” he said. “It is a
common necklace. You would have us kill half the jewelers in Cairo and bring
the guardsmen down upon our heads.” He slapped their heads and led them off.

Raniya returned
her attention to the jeweler, who had withdrawn his offer to buy Hassan’s
necklace. The older Raniya said, “Very well. I will try to return it to the man
who sold it to me.” As the older woman left, Raniya could tell that she smiled
beneath her veil.

Raniya turned to
Hassan. “It appears that neither of us will sell a necklace today.”

“Another day,
perhaps,” said Hassan.

“I shall take mine
back to my house for safekeeping,” said Raniya. “Would you walk with me?”

Hassan agreed,
and walked with Raniya to the house she had rented. Then she invited him in,
and offered him wine, and after they had both drunk some, she led him to her
bedroom. She covered the windows with heavy curtains and extinguished all lamps
so that the room was as dark as night. Only then did she remove her veil and
take him to bed.

Raniya had been
flush with anticipation for this moment, and so was surprised to find that Hassan’s
movements were clumsy and awkward. She remembered their wedding night very
clearly; he had been confident, and his couch had taken her breath away. She
knew Hassan’s first meeting with the young Raniya was not far away, and for a
moment did not understand how this fumbling boy could change so quickly. And
then of course the answer was clear.

So every
afternoon for many days, Raniya met Hassan at her rented house and instructed
him in the art of love, and in doing so she demonstrated that, as is often
said, women are Allah’s most wondrous creation. She told him, “The pleasure you
give is returned in the pleasure you receive,” and inwardly she smiled as she
thought of how true her words really were. Before long, he gained the expertise
she remembered, and she took greater enjoyment in it than she had as a young
woman.

All too soon,
the day arrived when Raniya told the young Hassan that it was time for her to
leave. He knew better than to press her for her reasons, but asked her if they
might ever see each other again. She told him, gently, no. Then she sold the
furnishings to the house’s owner, and returned through the Gate of Years to the
Cairo of her own day.

When the older
Hassan returned from his trip to Damascus, Raniya was home waiting for him. She
greeted him warmly, but kept her secrets to herself.

I was lost in my
own thoughts when Bashaarat finished this story, until he said, “I see that
this story has intrigued you in a way the others did not.”

“You see clearly,”
I admitted. “I realize now that, even though the past is unchangeable, one may
encounter the unexpected when visiting it.”

“Indeed. Do you
now understand why I say the future and the past are the same? We cannot change
either, but we can know both more fully.”

“I do
understand; you have opened my eyes, and now I wish to use the Gate of Years.
What price do you ask?”

He waved his
hand. “I do not sell passage through the Gate,” he said. “Allah guides whom he
wishes to my shop, and I am content to be an instrument of his will.”

Had it been
another man, I would have taken his words to be a negotiating ploy, but after
all that Bashaarat had told me, I knew that he was sincere. “Your generosity is
as boundless as your learning,” I said, and bowed. “If there is ever a service
that a merchant of fabrics might provide for you, please call upon me.

“Thank you. Let
us talk now about your trip. There are some matters we must speak of before you
visit the Baghdad of twenty years hence.”