The Forty Thieves

by Christy Lenzi

  The devil-man stands over him for a moment, looking proud and triumphant like a stone god. Finally, he slides his sword into its sheath and makes his escape through the garden door.

  CHAPTER

  23

  I’m jolted out of my shock by the sound of Ali Baba calling my name from the house. It’s still dark; the sun has yet to rise. I push myself from the cold ground where I’ve crawled and collapsed at the crumpled form of poor Abu-Zayed. My limbs are stiff, frozen. Like a person in a trance, I walk to the kitchen, where Ali Baba stands scratching his head in confusion.

  “What’s happening?” he asks, bewildered. “I thought I heard a commotion. It turns out my guest crept away in the night! What kind of merchant travels in the dark?” He shrugs his thin shoulders and shakes his head.

  “Oh, Ali Baba, he was no more a merchant than I am!” I make Ali Baba sit down and, in a trembling voice, tell him what happened. His eyes widen as he listens to the story.

  When I finish, he holds out his arms to me. “Praise to Allah!” he cries. “I owe my life and my family’s lives to you.”

  I breathe in the warm smell of soap and hookah smoke that linger in his clothes and wonder if this is what it feels like to be hugged by a father.

  Ali Baba clasps his hands together and clears his throat as if he has something important to say. “After my brother’s funeral, his property was officially given over to me. Now I can finally declare you and your brother legally free, Marjana. It is certainly the least I can do.”

  I blink in surprise, not knowing what to say. “But Jamal and I don’t have anywhere to go and no connections to find employment….” I can’t bear to leave now. Jamal, Saja, and Ali Baba’s family are the only ones in the world who mean anything to me.

  “I was hoping that instead of looking for work else-where, you and Jamal could work and live here as family servants—we would pay you very well to be sure.” Ali Baba smiles. “We would miss you both if you were to leave.”

  The hollowness inside doesn’t feel so hollow anymore. Being wanted feels good and warm and solid. Almost like it must feel to have a real home. Almost.

  Ali Baba wakes Rasheed and tells him the story, asking him to keep the servants indoors and to recite the Qur’an over Abu-Zayed’s body. Then Ali Baba and I hurry to the magistrate, who summons his men to bind the sleeping thieves and take them away. Ali Baba and I conduct proper burial rights for the dead man. Even though he was a fortune-teller, Ali Baba insists we bathe and enshroud him before praying, turning his head toward Mecca, and finally burying him.

  That evening, after prayers, I slip away to my room, exhausted. The strength I’d gathered to face the danger has finally dissolved. Although I know I’ve done the right thing, my ribs ache from the heaviness of my heart. I fall on my mat and weep until sleep has mercy on me and carries me away.

  Weeks pass with no further signs of the devil-man, though I look for him everywhere. The thieves have all woken up in their prison cells, but not one has said a word in betrayal of their captain to the magistrate. I decide that the devil-man’s fate must have come upon him just as the fortune-teller predicted. I still have moments of nagging worry, but Abu-Zayed had never been wrong before, and I have no reason to doubt his words. I finally allow myself to breathe easier and begin settling back into ordinary life.

  Although Saja says Red Beard has returned to the dumping grounds and the street battles have resumed, all is quiet in Ali Baba’s neighborhood. Jamal and I spend our evenings listening to Rasheed’s adventure tales of jinn and giants, pirates and kings. Often, when Rasheed finishes his story, he asks us to accompany him on our instruments as he plays the ney.

  Since that night I ran to fetch Abu-Zayed without my scarf, I never wear it around the house anymore. I’ve grown comfortable with Ali Baba and his family seeing my unveiled eyes when I speak to them. My smile always seems to nudge one to the lips of Ali Baba and Leila. My frown causes little lines to crinkle on Rasheed’s forehead, and when I grimace, it pulls a laugh from deep within his throat. So many of my feelings have been hidden by my scarf. Sharing them with Ali Baba’s family soon feels as natural as breathing.

  One morning, I’m trimming the rose vines near the windows at the front of the house, when something small and hard hits me on the head.

  “Ow!” I glance around to see who threw the pebble.

  A boy with dark curly hair and no turban pokes his head out from behind a cypress tree. Stinger! He checks to see that the street is clear, then runs up to the house. He doesn’t seem to recognize me. He bows politely, despite the fact he’s just hit me with a stone. “Hey you—girl! I have to ask you a question. Is this where Ali Baba lives?” He scratches his dirty chin with the wildcat’s fang.

  I frown at him. So it’s true about Red Beard’s plan! I slam my knife, which I’m using to cut the roses, against the sill. “You tell Red Beard and his gangs that they’d better stay away from Ali Baba’s madrasa, or I’ll … I’ll …” I can’t think what to say next.

  Stinger’s eyes grow wide in surprise. “How do you know about Red Beard?”

  “I—” I don’t know what to say. I pick the knife up again and stick the point into the sill.

  He squints at my eyes, then stares at the dagger. His mouth falls open. He searches my face. “Khubz?” He stumbles backward from the shock.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I whisper. “I was just trying to keep an eye on my little brother that night. That’s not important right now—tell me what Red Beard’s planning to do!”

  Stinger shakes his head, as if trying to wake from a dream. “But … you’re a girl.”

  I glare at him.

  He eyes my fingers tightening around the dagger. “A girl with a knife,” he adds.

  “Is Red Beard planning a battle for Ali Baba’s property or not?”

  “Yes!” Stinger spits a wad of his black chewing leaves into the dirt. “He wants the bathies to break in tonight and take everything, just like the plan to raid the merchant’s on Umar Hill. We’re supposed to battle them, but they’ll get the loot anyway.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Yep, Red Beard says the winnings will be tremendous. It will be the biggest, bloodiest gang battle in the history of Baghdad.”

  I shudder. How will we be able to defend ourselves?

  “He says scribes will write about it in the city’s history accounts.”

  “But—”

  “And that if I do this right, I’ll become one of his men.”

  “Stinger—”

  “But I won’t.”

  “What?”

  “We won’t let them take a thing.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “Our gang knows Ali Baba, and we’re going to fight for his building.”

  I almost fall into the rosebushes. “How do you know Ali Baba?”

  “He’s come to the mosque on our street almost every morning for years. He learned all our names and always invites us in to pray. At first, none of us did, but lately, he’s brought a big basket of food and gives us a morning meal every day, so now most of us go. And we heard he’s building a madrasa and a shelter for street kids.” Stinger glances at the large house and adjoining building. “I guess he had some good fortune and wants to share it with us.”

  I’m speechless.

  Stinger stands up straighter. “He’s a good man. It doesn’t seem fair to us that Red Beard wants to take everything Ali Baba has when he actually uses his wealth to help so many people. We can’t let the bathies and Red Beard destroy his building.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” I cut the thorns off a yellow rose and smile as I hand the flower to Stinger. “We definitely can’t let that happen.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  The night presses against the mango-colored sun till its juices trickle out across the horizon. From our window, Jamal and I watch for Saja. Soon her familiar silhouette appears against the sunset, and I reach through the window and help her over the ledg
e.

  Inside, Saja greets me with a kiss on both cheeks. “I got here as soon as I could.” When she notices Jamal, Saja stares sadly at him for a moment. I know she’s missing her own brother. Then Saja smiles at him and kisses his cheeks, too. Though he screws up his eyes as if the kisses bring him pain, he doesn’t squirm away.

  “I’m glad you came,” I tell her. “Stinger says we can help by holding off the gang if they get here early before his gang arrives. He says it will be a small group—just the bathhouse boys—Red Beard won’t even show up, but we have to make sure they’re stopped before they ruin Ali Baba.”

  “Eww!” Saja groans, pinching her nose. “What’s that stench?”

  “That’s the smell of our secret weapons.” I nod to the corner where I placed the baskets of rotten produce Leila picked from the garden.

  “Secret weapons!” Jamal’s eyes light up.

  “Good thing Cook is so lazy.” I take hold of his chin and squish his cheeks so his lips pucker. “Now you have to follow my orders, understand?” I try forcing him to look me in the eye, but his gaze keeps straying to the secret weapons.

  “We don’t want Ali Baba and his family to even know about this or worry about us. We can help them just like they’ve helped us. So, go listen to Rasheed’s story, Jamal, but after everyone goes to bed, meet us on the roof of his madrasa, next door. Just climb the tree. We’ll be waiting for you there. With these!” I lift the lid of one of the baskets, and Saja and Jamal both moan at the smell of the rotten fruit and vegetables. When Jamal leaves, Saja and I slip on our boy clothes in preparation for the battle and sit near the window in the falling dark. The thought of spoiling Red Beard’s plan and helping Ali Baba, Leila, and Rasheed gives me a thrill and makes me feel more alive.

  My dreams about Umi coming back will never come true, but there are things I never dreamed of—having a new kind of family—that seem to be within my reach. I finally know what it is I really want. And I’m willing to fight for it.

  Saja and I hurry to put on our turbans. She hands the smelly baskets out the window to me, and I carry them over to the bushes near the madrasa. We run to the back courtyard to get a rope from the stable. I carry it around my neck as I climb the ancient cypress tree’s gnarled branches that cling to the side of the building.

  When I step to the roof, I stand there, gazing out at the city. Baghdad twinkles like firebugs in the dusky evening. Over the rooftops, the world spreads out before me and I’m at the center of it. Its circling rim meets the edge of the heavens above me. The sight takes my breath away. Being at the center of such a vast space makes me feel both small and enormous at the same time.

  The apothecary shop, the market, the bathhouse, the mosque, and even Umar Hill are in view. In the distance, a bit of the dumping grounds and the beautiful Taj Palace are visible as well. At that moment, it feels as if the whole world belongs to me. The night air is like a tonic; I drink it in and let it fill up every part of my body.

  “Marjana!” Saja shakes some branches of the tree to get my attention. “Throw down the end of the rope.”

  I let it drop, and Saja ties one of the baskets to the end. As I pull it up, the rope makes a scratching sound against the edge of the roof, and the basket bangs against the wall.

  “Stop!” Saja whispers. “Someone’s coming.”

  She jumps into the bushes to hide. I peer over the roof and try to keep the basket from moving as it hangs suspended, halfway up.

  Cook stumbles around the corner and through the alleyway between the house and madrasa, clutching one of Master’s wine jugs. Since Ali Baba and his family don’t drink the wine left in Master’s house, Cook had gotten into the habit of helping herself to a jug every once in a while after her work is done. She looks as if she’s almost drained the one in her hand.

  “Who’s there?” Cook calls into the darkness.

  I move slightly, and the basket thuds against the wall.

  “Be you men or jinn?” Cook cries. Her voice slurs, and she looks as if she might tip over. She stands almost directly under the basket now. If she looks up, she’ll surely see it, hanging like a magical gift in the sky. A rustling in the bushes startles her.

  The noise startles me, too. I lose my grip on the rope for a moment, and the basket tips. A very soft, very rotten carrot falls onto Cook’s head.

  She squeals and swats at it. The limp carrot slips down her front and slaps against her jug of wine before landing on the ground. Cook gasps. “’Twas the Devil’s hand! He wants the evil drink!” She moans and throws the bottle into the bushes. “I’ll never drink again! In the name of Allah, I swear I’ll never touch another drop!” She turns and flees the alleyway as a loud snort issues from the bushes and the jug of wine flies back out.

  Saja emerges from the bush rubbing her head, her turban lopsided. “Seems whenever I’m with you, I get hit by flying objects and end up in the bushes!” she grumbles.

  I try not to laugh as Saja ties the other basket to the rope. After I pull it over the ledge, Saja struggles up the tree, and I help her onto the roof. Short of breath, we lie down to rest and stare up at the stars to wait for Stinger’s gang or the bathhouse boys to arrive. Everything is quiet.

  Saja points to the brightest star, glowing like an ember below the swollen moon. “Look how big that star is. Make a wish, Marjana.”

  I gaze at its light and whisper, “I wish to keep this, always.”

  “Keep what?”

  “This moment. This freedom.”

  Saja whispers, “Marjana, what does it feel like to be free?”

  “The freedom Ali Baba gave me?” I think for a moment. “Like someone gave me a knife to cut the ropes around my heart.”

  “I still think of that dream I had about being free and having my own shop. My own life.” Saja sighs.

  “I know it’s very different to have real freedom. But Saja, in a way, you’re freer than many people I know. Abu-Zayed had been enslaved by his treasure cave, just as the devil-man is now. Master was prisoner to his greed and his obsession with changing his fortune. Even me; I wouldn’t let anyone in after Umi died, until you came along. My thoughts don’t have a master. Neither do yours.” I smile at the stars. “No matter what binds us on the outside, Saja, our hearts will always be free to do as they wish. Who can stop them?”

  Saja gazes at the heavens, too. “No one?”

  A shooting star streaks across the sky. Somewhere an angry angel hurled it at the nosy jinni. I imagine the jinni hurrying to a fortune-teller to share the news of some mortal’s fate. I close my eyes and think of the vengeful Abu-Zayed.

  Saja shivers as a breeze sweeps over the roof of the madrasa. “But no one can change their fate—slave or free.” Her voice sounds small.

  “Well, someone once told me that the threads of fate are our own, and we have the power to make them strong and beautiful.” I sigh. “But sometimes I don’t know if I have it in me.”

  Saja smiles. “Well, I know that you do. I will tell you what someone once told me: ‘There’s a universe inside you.’”

  I laugh.

  At that moment, the tree starts shaking. Saja lets out a little scream. Jamal’s face appears over the edge. He hunches down on his hands and knees as soon as he crawls over the ledge and whispers, “They’re coming!”

  “Here!” I hand Jamal a basket of rotten fruit and vegetables and peek over the edge. A swarm of armed bathies run up the street, headed toward the madrasa.

  “Where’s Stinger’s gang?” Saja cries.

  “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “He’ll be here. We’ll hold them off until they come. Now, wait until the bathies start to break in. At my signal.”

  We all grab a weapon. Saja screws up her face at the smell, but wraps her fingers around a moldy melon. I choose an ancient head of lettuce.

  The bathies’ white qamis glow like bleached stones on the dark street. They’re close enough for us to see their faces. Several carry lamps, and some have large clubs to break down the
doors and shutters. The others brandish their weapons in case anyone tries to stop them. As soon as the boys raise their clubs to the door, I whisper, “Go!”

  I aim at one of the clubbers and hurl my rotten lettuce right at his face. The blow is so unexpected that the boy drops his club and falls into the bathie behind him, who was just raising his arm to throw a stone.

  A boy next to them gawks in confusion at his friends, struggling in the dirt.

  Jamal gets another boy while his club is in mid-swing. He falls to the ground with mango smeared over his face.

  The gang members glance around wildly at each other, trying to figure out what’s happening.

  Saja misses the boy she’s aiming for, but manages to knock the stone from the hand of his companion. Jamal quickly pummels two rotten apples into the gang, knocking over three boys. By this time, the bathies have noticed the rotten smell—they wrinkle their noses and look around.

  Then they look up.

  When they see us, they scurry over the ground looking for rocks to throw at their mysterious enemies on the roof.

  I think quickly and aim my onion at another boy. When the onion hits his arm, he drops his lamp in the dirt, spilling the oil and snuffing it out. “Aim for the lamps!” I whisper.

  “But they’ve found the tree!” Jamal points at some boys running into the alleyway.

  “Keep them on the ground. Saja and I will work on the others!”

  “They’re already halfway up!” Jamal yells.

  We can’t keep going much longer. I aim at another lamp holder, but miss. I only have a few vegetables left.

  “Marjana!” Saja gasps. “They’re going to break the door down!”

  I lean over the roof to look and get hit on the hand with a rock.

  “Are you okay?” Saja screams.

  I nod. “Just keep throwing!” My fingers turn numb; my wrist goes weak. Although the cut isn’t deep, I won’t be able to throw any more vegetables.

  The roof shakes as the bathies’ clubs hit the door of the madrasa. At that moment, a cry like a wildcat’s pierces the night. A great shout rises up in answer.