Amid general rejoicing agreement was reached. They were all living in the real world and did not let a bygone dream spoil it. Then Umm Saad said, “You too, Lady Rasmiya!” And she made known the wish of Abdullah the porter to marry her. Rasmiya gave a slight laugh of surprise; she was neither pleased with the news, nor did she welcome it.
“Marriage is for Akraman and Husniya, not for us,” she said shyly. Then, after a silence, she continued, “Gamasa has not died, his memory is still alive in me.”
Fadil and Abdullah were both happy, each with the news he had received. Yes, Abdullah was upset at having to bury his emotions, but the Gamasa who was hidden inside him was overjoyed.
XI
The wedding was celebrated in Umm Saad’s room. The two families were in attendance. Abdullah the porter was invited, and he brought as a present for the couple some amber and incense with the money he had earned during the day sweeping the courtyard, which he did with the same ardor he had employed when he embarked upon killing Buteisha Murgan, being intoxicated with the burning fragrance of the family, which had transfused into his limbs a lasting state of drunkenness. His heart boiled with the emotions of being a father and a husband, while at the same time love was humbled under the control of piety and love of God the Merciful. He regained the riches of an old emotion and took delight in being so close, burying his secret in a well that overflowed with sadness.
Husniya volunteered to enliven her brother’s wedding, relying on her mastery of poetry and singing and her fine voice. To handclapping she sang melodiously:
“My eye translates from my tongue for you to know,
disclosing to you what my heart conceals.
When we met and tears were shed
I became dumb and my eye spoke of the worries of my secret love.”
They were all moved. So moved was Abdullah that his heart filled with tears. Rising to put wood on the fire, he heard a knocking at the door. As he opened it there loomed up in the cold darkness three spectral figures.
“We’re foreign merchants,” said one of them. “We heard some beautiful singing and told ourselves that noble people don’t turn away strangers.”
Fadil motioned to the women, who hid themselves behind a screen that bisected the room.
“Enter in peace,” he told the strangers. “It is just a wedding that is restricted to the simple people involved.”
“We want only to enjoy a friendly atmosphere with good people,” said one of the strangers.
“It’s beautifully warm here,” said another.
Fadil brought them a dish of the sweet baseema and another of mushabbik with the words: “We have nothing but this—it’s what we make our living from.”
“We praise God, Who has provided us with these delicious things to eat and has made our evening so enjoyable.”
The leading man leaned over and said something into the ear of one of the others, who left the place in a hurry. Abdullah caught some glances from the leading man and it seemed to him that it was not the first time he had seen him. He tried to remember where and when it had been, but his memory failed him. Then the man came back loaded with fried and grilled fish. People’s appetites were sharpened with the prospect of such delicious food.
“Our dwelling is not worthy of someone of your rank,” said Fadil in thanks.
“A dwelling is known by those who live in it,” said the man courteously, then made the request: “Let us hear some music, for it is this that has given us joy in making your acquaintance.”
So Fadil went behind the screen and before he was seated again the voice of Husniya came to them as she sang:
“Had we known of your coming, we would have spread out
our very hearts, the very blackness of our eyes;
Spread out our cheeks that we might meet
through the exchange of glances.”
Everyone was moved and one of the strangers called out, “Praise be to the Great Creator!”
The leading man asked Fadil, “How did you come to own this slave-girl if you are as poor as you claim?”
“She’s just my sister.”
“She has a trained voice that bespeaks a noble origin.”
Fadil was speechless, and it was Abdullah the porter who said, “He is in fact of noble origin but his path was obstructed by the perfidy of time.”
“What’s the story of that perfidy?”
“There is no one in our city,” answered Abdullah the porter, “who does not know the story of the merchant Sanaan al-Gamali.”
The merchant was silent for a while, then said, “It is one of the extraordinary tales we have heard of your city.”
“But do you believe what is related of the genie?” inquired one of his comrades.
“Why not,” asked Fadil in his turn, “when such catastrophes have been brought down upon us?”
“But the ruler cannot summon genies to give evidence or be interrogated, so how can justice be done?”
“It is for the ruler to dispense justice from the beginning so that genies don’t intrude on our lives.”
The leading man of the strangers asked him, “Do you suffer injustice in your lives?”
The caution he had acquired from his past experience in the police force came to his aid.
“We have a just sultan, praise be to God, though life is not devoid of ordeals.”
The conversation continued for a while till the strangers rose and left.
XII
The three of them plunged silently into the darkness. The second merchant turned toward the first and said, “Hopefully Your Majesty found the entertainment he had wished for?”
“A viewing of the afflictions of the heart,” muttered the other.
Then, after a while, “The company of poets no longer exhilarates me, nor do the antics of Shamloul the hunchback make me laugh.”
“May God keep you in His care, Your Majesty.”
“A short and baffling dream,” he said, addressing himself. “No truth shows itself but it vanishes.”
The other waited for the sultan to throw some light on his words, but he kept silent.
XIII
Fadil and Akraman took a room, while a second room did for Rasmiya, Umm Saad, and Husniya. Despite the simplicity of their life, the two newlyweds enjoyed a serene happiness, and Fadil wished for Husniya the same sort of happy outcome as he had had.
He was more successful in forgetting the past than the women were, for he had things to occupy him, while for them the bygone days with their glory and bright lights were not erased from their memory.
He spent time alone with Abdullah the porter exchanging the thoughts of mind and heart. The man was made of sound metal and had a noble soul; his attention was drawn to the worries of mankind, as though he were a man of religion rather than a porter. Had a passerby listened in to the conversation that took place between them, he would have been taken aback and would have thought them to be men of consequence disguised as peddler and porter.
One day Fadil said, “I have opened my heart to you, but you have kept yours closed.”
Abdullah denied this with a movement of his head.
“There’s a secret in your life,” he went on, “and you’re no simple porter.”
“I had a spiritual guide in my native land,” Abdullah said, reassuring him. “There’s no secret about that.”
“That explains it.”
“In any event we both quench our intellectual thirsts from one and the same source.”
“And so I’d like to ask you one favor,” said Fadil boldly.
Abdullah fixed him with an inquiring look and Fadil said significantly, “By reason of your work you come and go in all sorts of houses.”
Abdullah gave a knowing smile and was silent while he waited for him to continue.
“Do you sometimes agree to carry messages?”
“There are people who find meaning to their lives by pursuing troubles,” he said smiling, remembering Akraman affectionately.
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“Do you accept?” he asked, ignoring what Abdullah had said.
“As you wish—and more,” he said quietly.
XIV
He performed this subsidiary task with complete ease and assurance, for he did not reckon it to be a significant addition to his basic function. His personal worries—Rasmiya and Husniya, and his wavering between life and death—though not erased from the surface of his mind, no longer troubled him, while his general worries had disappeared, as the waves of a river disappear into the open sea. The second person in his program was Yusuf al-Tahir or Adnan Shouma, whichever was easier. But he gave precedence over them to Ibrahim al-Attar the druggist, for an anomalous slight that had not previously occurred to him: Abdullah had once carried for him certain goods; they had quarreled about payment, and the powerful merchant had cursed and insulted him.
The lethal arrow became embedded in Ibrahim al-Attar’s heart as he was returning home after the evening session at the café. Terror erupted in the city and memories of the killings of al-Salouli, Buteisha Murgan, and al-Hamadhani were awakened.
Abdullah and Fadil met up on the steps of the drinking fountain at the height of the trouble. They exchanged alarmed looks while in vain trying to conceal their pleasure.
“What terrible happenings!” muttered Abdullah.
The other intuited his views and said in all innocence, “The assassination was not part of our plan.”
Feigning dismay, Abdullah said, “Perhaps it was an act of personal revenge.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But he was no more corrupt than anyone else.”
“The upper class know that he was putting poison into the medicine of the governor’s enemies.”
Abdullah said to himself that his friend knew as many people’s secrets as he knew himself—maybe more. “If the assassination was not part of our plan, then who was the perpetrator?”
“God knows,” said Fadil irritably. “He kills and we pay the price.”
XV
When he put out the candle and took himself to bed, he felt the strange presence crowding in on him. His heart quaked and he mumbled, “Singam!”
The voice asked him coldly, “What have you done?”
“I do in my own way what I believe is best.”
“It was more a reaction to the insult inflicted on you.”
“All I did was to give him precedence,” he said hotly. “His turn would have come sooner or later.”
“Your account is with Him Who is privy to what is in people’s breasts. Beware, man.”
Singam vanished, and Abdullah did not sleep a wink.
XVI
Above the dome of the mosque of the Tenth Imam, in a session replete with tranquillity and the cold of winter, Qumqam and Singam sat enveloped in the cloak of night, while underneath it swarmed the forces of the police, out for revenge, sparks flying from their blood-red eyes. Qumqam whispered scornfully, “O the suffering of mankind!”
“All I did,” said Singam apologetically, “was to save Gamasa al-Bulti’s soul from hellfire.”
“We never once interfered in their lives with things turning out as we wanted.”
“And to connive with them is more than we can bear.”
At that moment there passed below them Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant. Pointing to him, Qumqam said, “I am happy for him that he lives with them as though he too were a human.”
Sharing his opinion, Singam said, “But he is an angel, the Angel of Death, Azrael’s agent in the quarter. His duty requires of him that he mix with them night and day, and he is permitted to do things that we are not.”
“Let us pray to God to inspire us to do what is right.”
“Amen,” replied Singam.
XVII
The activities of Abdullah the porter were obstructed by an incident that troubled him. He had made his way with a large weight of nuts and dried fruit to the house of Adnan Shouma, the chief of police. He had not stopped mulling over the killing of Ibrahim al-Attar the druggist: how much was genuine holy war and how much anger and a desire for revenge? The path of God was clear and it should not be fused with anger or pride, or else the whole structure would collapse from its foundations.
Adnan Shouma’s house lay in Pageants and Festivals Street, a short distance from the house of government. It was a dignified street, on both sides of which were private mansions and large inns; it also had a garden and an open space where slave-girls were sold. As he entered the house he said to himself, “Your turn’s coming soon, Adnan.” Then, about to leave, he was stopped by a slave, who asked him to go and see the master of the house. He went to a reception room, his heart quivering with unease. The man looked at him with his small, round face and cruel, narrow eyes as he fingered his beard, then asked, “Where are you from?”
“Ethiopia,” answered Abdullah humbly.
“I have been told that you have a good reputation and that you don’t miss a single prayer.”
“It is by God’s kindness and His mercy,” he said, having received the first breath of comfort.
“That is why my choice has fallen on you.”
The intended meaning circulated in his head like a strong aroma in a closed room. How many times, when he was chief of police, had he spoken just such words to some man, foreshadowing his recruitment into the organization of spies, the man knowing that to try to slide out of the assignment was tantamount to a sentence of death, that there was no choice but to obey!
“In this way,” said Adnan Shouma, “you gain honor in the service of the sultan and of religion.”
Abdullah pretended to be delighted and proud. He gave him such indications as would reassure him, at which the other said, “Be careful of that which brings the traitor to ruin.”
“It makes me happy to serve in the ranks of God,” he muttered enigmatically.
“Houses are open to you by virtue of your work,” said Adnan, “and all you lack are some directives, which have been set down in secret records since the time of Gamasa al-Bulti.”
XVIII
He left Adnan Shouma’s house bearing a new load, a load heavier than the one he had brought. On meeting Fadil Sanaan, he let him into his new secret. Fadil thought about the matter for a long time, then said, “You have become two-eyed: one for us and one against us.”
But Abdullah was immersed in his worries.
“Don’t you regard this,” Fadil asked him, “as a gain for us?”
“It is demanded of me that I show my sincere devotion to the work,” Abdullah said gloomily.
Fadil took refuge in his silent thoughts and Abdullah continued, “I wonder if he summoned me because he suspects me.”
“They are men of violence,” responded Fadil, “and they have no need of subterfuge.”
“I agree, but how should I prove my loyalty?”
Fadil thought for a time, then said, “Circumstances sometimes require that we send some of our people abroad. I’ll point one of them out to you, so you can report him—and he’ll slip away at just the right moment, as though by chance.”
“A happy solution, but not one that can be repeated,” said Abdullah, his eyes shining at the prospect.
“It’s truly a way of putting them in a fix, though,” said Fadil, talking to himself.
“So at last you’re thinking as I do.” And he asked himself whether he would be able to go on carrying out his secret plan.
Suddenly his thoughts were dispersed as he saw Sahloul crossing the street in front of them, paying no attention to anything. As usual his heart tightened, and he nudged Fadil.
“What do you know about this man?” he asked.
“Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant,” said Fadil in a natural tone. “He was one of father’s friends, and perhaps he’s the one merchant who enjoys a blameless record.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t his inscrutability arouse your curiosity?”
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��His inscrutability? He’s simplicity itself; an active, knowledgeable man who is not concerned with others. What makes you wonder about him?”
After a slight hesitation he said, “He has a penetrating gaze that makes me uneasy.”
“There is no basis for your suspicions—he is a virtuous exception to a corrupt rule.”
Abdullah hoped Fadil was right and that his own suspicions would be proved wrong.
XIX
From his previous experience he was certain that he would be placed under surveillance, as happened with all new plainclothesmen. It would be out of the question for him to undertake any new venture unless he removed Adnan Shouma himself from his path with a successful stroke.
And so he slipped into Adnan’s house for a secret meeting and said to him, “Soon much fruit will fall. The quarter is full of infidels, but I think it best that I avoid coming to see you frequently.”
“I shall appoint a go-between for you,” said Adnan Shouma happily.
“That is sufficient for ordinary matters. But for important ones contact should be restricted to yourself.”
“We’ll arrange that later.”
“The best kindness is the one soonest done,” said Abdullah, quoting the proverb.
“I am sometimes to be found outside the wall of the quarter,” said Adnan Shouma after some thought. “I think it is a suitable place.”
His scheming had worked out better than he had hoped.
XX
With the assistance of Fadil Sanaan he forwarded a report about a young, unmarried man who lived on his own in a rooming house in the cul-de-sac of the tanners. When the force of troops swooped down on where he was living, it became apparent that he had left only minutes before to go on a journey. Adnan Shouma was furious and said to Abdullah, “You aroused his suspicion without realizing.”
Arabian Nights and Days Page 7
