Arabian Nights and Days

by Naguib Mahfouz

  And so Ugr found himself madly talking about her to every client he went to.

  “She has completely disrupted my vow to repent and pierced me with an arrow of everlasting torment,” he would say.

  And he would say, “She summoned me to trim her locks and to pare her nails. Were she a decorous woman she would have called in a lady’s maid, but she is a veritable firebrand from the Almighty.”

  He had learned that her name was Anees al-Galees. So many contradictory things were said of her that doubt was stirred up even in those describing her. Some said she was fair-skinned and blonde; some that she was golden brown; some described her as plump, while others lauded her slender build. All this so inflamed the secret wells of passion that the well-to-do and the notables rushed off to take the unknown by storm.

  IV

  It was Yusuf al-Tahir who was the first to start something. Since being dismissed, being a wealthy man, he had suffered from the boredom of having no work. Thus comfort and ease had come to him. At night he had gone to the Red House and knocked at the door. It had been opened to him by the slave.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I am a stranger who is seeking shelter at the house of generous people,” boldly answered the man who had for a time ruled the quarter.

  The slave disappeared for a while, then returned and stood aside for him, saying, “Welcome to the stranger in the house of strangers.”

  He showed him into a reception room whose walls were decorated with arabesque, the floors spread with Persian carpets, and sofas from Antioch, the whole embellished with objets d’art from India, China, and Andalusia: luxury not to be found outside the homes of princes.

  A veiled woman made her appearance; her form, concealed by her Damascene garment, giving her an air of splendor.

  “From what country are you, stranger?” she asked, sitting down.

  “The fact is that I am a lover of life,” he said, drawing upon his vitality as though it were wine.

  “By the sultan, you have deceived us.”

  “My excuse,” he said with fervor, “is that a palmist has informed me that I live for beauty and will die in its cause.”

  “I am a married woman,” she said in a serious tone.

  “Really?” he asked anxiously.

  “But I don’t know when my husband will join me,” she added.

  “What strange words!”

  “No less strange than yours,” she muttered sarcastically.

  Coyly she drew the veil from her face and there shone forth a beauty that had been created as though for him alone and which brought into being his most fugitive dreams. His mind no longer his own, he knelt down. From his pocket he took out a small ivory box; he placed it between her feet. It held a jewel that gave out a light like that of the sun. In a trembling voice he whispered, “Even the jewel of the crown is not good enough for your feet.”

  He awaited the judgment that would decide his fate.

  “Your greeting is accepted,” she said softly.

  Rejoicing in his hope, he trembled all over. With his arms he embraced her legs, while he lowered his head and kissed her feet.

  V

  The start made by Yusuf al-Tahir was like an opening of doors to surging waves of madness that poured forth and engulfed the quarter like a deluge, striking at its richest sons. As for the poor, they were afflicted with sorrow and regret. The Red House in the Weapons Market became a focus of attention for Husam al-Fiqi, Hasan al-Attar, Galil al-Bazzaz, and others. Presents and more presents were taken there, hearts were lost and minds were led astray; extravagance and foolishness took control; possible consequences were brushed aside; the concept of time having vanished, nothing remained but the present moment, while the world, following in the footsteps of religion, became lost.

  Anees al-Galees was a fascinating sorceress, loving love, loving wealth, and loving men. No object of desire slaked her thirst and she was ever demanding more. The men vied madly with one another through love and jealousy. No single one appropriated her, no single one renounced her. All were, with one single force, descending to ruin.

  VI

  Master Sahloul had not known such activity as in those days. He was the man of auctions and the first to make his appearance when bankruptcy overtook anyone. The first to fall was Husam al-Fiqi. He was concerned not so much by the loss of money as by the loss of Anees al-Galees. He was less distressed by the fate of his women and children than by being deprived of her.

  “Nothing destroys a man like his own self,” he said to Master Sahloul.

  “And no one can save him like his own self,” said Sahloul enigmatically.

  “Exhortations were long ago bankrupt,” said al-Fiqi derisively. In his fall he was joined by Galil al-Bazzaz, then Hasan al-Attar. As for Yusuf al-Tahir, he reeled on the very edge of the abyss. Commenting on Sahloul’s increasing activity, Ugr the barber said to him, “Some people benefit from the misfortunes of others.”

  “It is they who are the perpetrators and they the victims,” said Sahloul with little concern.

  “If only you’d seen her, master, your soul would have fretted itself to madness,” sighed Ugr sadly.

  “She is nothing but the smile of a devil.”

  “I am amazed at how you didn’t fall in love with her.”

  “The fates have ordered that in every crazy city there is to be found a single sensible man,” said Sahloul, smiling.

  One night, while Sahloul was plunging leisurely through the darkness, his path was blocked by Qumqam and Singam, and they exchanged a sacred greeting.

  “See the foolhardiness that is raging through the city,” said Qumqam.

  “I have lived millions of years and nothing astonishes me,” said Sahloul.

  “Their souls will be seized one day when they are oozing sin,” said Singam.

  “Repentance may precede the coming of the hour of death.”

  “Why is it not permitted to us to assist the weak?”

  “God has granted them something better than you possess: a mind and a soul,” said Sahloul simply.

  VII

  Husam al-Fiqi reeled drunkenly to the Red House and knocked at the large door. The cup of his madness had flowed over and had led him to the door of deliverance, but no one opened to him.

  “Open, O Opener of Doors,” he shouted out angrily into the night. But no one heeded his call, so he withdrew into a corner under the wall in troubled obduracy. Soon he saw a shape approaching. Then he saw the face under the light of a hanging lamp and recognized it as that of his former chief, Yusuf al-Tahir, and he blazed up into angry wakefulness. The man knocked at the door and it was quickly opened to him. Husam al-Fiqi rushed forward in his wake, but the slave barred his way, saying, “I’m sorry, Master Husam.”

  Furious, he slapped him on the face, at which Yusuf al-Tahir said to him calmly, “Bestir yourself and behave as you should.”

  “Wealth and faith have been lost, so what is left to me?” he asked in anguish.

  Yusuf al-Tahir turned aside to go in but the other leapt on him like a tiger, stabbing him in the heart with a poisoned dagger. At this the slave let out a scream that roused people from their sleep.

  VIII

  Husam al-Fiqi made no effort to flee and was arrested. Bayumi al-Armal regarded him with pity and said, “I am sorry for you, my old friend.”

  “Do not be sorry, Bayumi,” Husam said quietly. “It is only an old story with which the elderly warm themselves: the story of love, madness, and blood.”

  IX

  The slave said to Anees al-Galees, “My beloved Zarmabaha, soon Bayumi al-Armal, the chief of police, will honor our house with a visit.”

  “As we have planned, Sakhrabout,” the woman said, “and we are awaiting him.”

  “Allow me to kiss the head that contains such genius.”

  X

  The trial of Husam al-Fiqi took only moments, after which he was beheaded. The governor Suleiman al-Zeini was meeting with the chie
f of police. The private secretary al-Fadl ibn Khaqan and the chamberlain al-Mu’in ibn Sawi were also present. Addressing himself to Bayumi al-Armal, al-Zeini said, “What is this that the witnesses have said? Dozens of men are going bankrupt and two men lose their lives, all because of a strange and debauched woman? Where were you, chief of police?”

  “Debauchery is a secret sin, while we are engaged in pursuit of the Shiites and the Kharijites,” said Bayumi al-Armal.

  “No, no, you are the eye of the law of Islam. Investigate the woman. Confiscate her illegal wealth. Make good what you have failed to do before you are asked about it in front of the sultan.”

  XI

  Bayumi al-Armal stood among a selected group of his men in the reception hall at the Red House looking around him and wondering. Did the sultan’s palace excel this house in anything? The woman, her face veiled and her form modestly clothed, appeared.

  “Welcome to the chief of police in our humble house.”

  “You have no doubt learned of the crime that was committed at the entrance to your house,” he said roughly.

  “Don’t remind me of it. I have not slept a wink since it was committed,” she replied with feeling.

  “I am not taken in by your act,” he said sharply. “Answer my questions truthfully. What is your name?”

  “Anees al-Galees.”

  “A suspect name. From what country do you come?”

  “My mother is from India, my father from Persia, and my husband from Andalusia.”

  “You’re married?”

  “Yes, and I have just received a letter from my husband informing me that he will be coming shortly.”

  “Is it with his knowledge that you practice debauchery?”

  “God forbid! I am an honorable woman.”

  “And what are the men doing who so frequently visit you?”

  “Friends from among the gentlemen of the town who enjoy discussing canonical law and literature.”

  “God’s curse be upon you—is that why they go bankrupt and fight among themselves?”

  “They are generous, and that is not my fault. It is not a part of good manners for me to refuse their gifts. I do not know how it was that the Devil crept in among them.”

  “I have an order to confiscate your illegal wealth,” he said, his patience exhausted.

  He motioned to his men, who spread out through the house searching for pieces of jewelry, precious stones, and money. During all this time the two of them remained alone and silent. He sent inquiring glances through her veil, but without effect. She showed no concern. She resigned herself to fate—or so it appeared.

  “Shall I, as from today, live from selling off my furniture?” she asked in rebuke.

  He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully as she removed the veil from her face, saying, “I’m sorry, but the summer heat is unbearable.”

  Bayumi looked at her and was stupefied. Though not believing his eyes, he was thunderstruck. He gazed at her intently, unable to avert his eyes. He swam in a tumultuous sea of madness. He lost power, function, hope. With his own hands he buried the chief of police and from his grave there emerged a hundred and one genies. Thousands of hands pushed at him and he would have collapsed had it not been for the noise of his assistants as they roamed round the rooms. The observers and spies were arriving as well. But Bayumi al-Armal was lost forever.

  “I ask you to behave generously, chief of police,” she once again pleaded.

  He wanted to give her a rough answer, an answer that would be suitable to the situation. At the same time he wanted to give her an answer that was gentle. However, he sank into silence.

  XII

  At midnight he lost his self-control and rushed secretly to the Red House. He appeared before her submissively, telling himself it was a question of fate, against which one could take no precautions and for which there was no precedent. Pretending not to see the state he was in, she said sadly, “O chief of police, I have nothing further for you to confiscate.”

  “I have done my duty,” he said humbly, “but there is a part of me that is merciful.” And he threw at her feet a bulging purse. She smiled sweetly and muttered, “What a gallant man you are!”

  He knelt down in humility, wrapped her legs in his arms, then prostrated himself and kissed her feet.

  XIII

  Complaints began to rise from those who were claiming money from the treasury. Its clerks whispered among themselves that the money was not being spent on its lawful purposes as al-Zeini had ordered. The news reached the governor, who sent out spies and tightened control. He charged the private secretary, al-Fadl ibn Khaqan, and his chamberlain, al-Mu’in ibn Sawi, to undertake a secret investigation. Finally he decided to call in the chief of police and faced him with reliable reports. Bayumi al-Armal appeared submissive and indifferent. Surprised at him, the governor said, “I see in you someone else, someone I don’t know.”

  “The old structure, sir, has been demolished.”

  “I did not imagine that you would make off with the money of Muslims.”

  “It is the madman who has taken up residence in me who has made off with them,” he said in an even tone.

  Sentence was passed on Bayumi al-Armal and he was beheaded. His place was taken by al-Mu’in ibn Sawi, and once again the wealth of Anees al-Galees was confiscated and a guard mounted permanently at her door to prevent any man from entering.

  XIV

  Her case was referred to the mufti, but he gave a judgment to the effect that there was no legal evidence of her moral depravity. Al-Mu’in ibn Sawi was performing his job at police headquarters when a woman sought permission to see him. He looked at her heavy veil without interest and asked, “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I am Anees al-Galees, who has been wronged,” she answered with spirit.

  The man turned his attention to her. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely.

  She removed her veil and said, “You have confiscated my money and I have become entitled to alms and charity, so include me among those who are so entitled.”

  The man comprehended nothing of what she said. He forgot countless things, including himself. In vain he tried to find some strength in his conscience. His foot slipped and he tumbled into the abyss. He heard her voice repeating what she had said but again without understanding it.

  “What did you say?” he finally asked her, breathing heavily.

  “Include me among those entitled to alms and charity,” she said, ignoring the state he was in.

  “When shall I send you your needs?” he asked, hurling his reputation through the window.

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” she said coquettishly, “just before the noon prayer.”

  XV

  She burned with energy and vitality, saying that it was the day of decision and victory. She laughed at length, just as Sakhrabout did. At once she went to see the private secretary, al-Fadl ibn Khaqan. The same game and tragedy were repeated. She made an appointment with him for before the sunset prayer. As for Suleiman al-Zeini, his appointment was for before the evening prayer. Nur al-Din, the spirit-loving man and son-in-law of the sultan, agreed to go two hours after the evening prayer; he had also penned for her a note requesting a meeting with the vizier Dandan and another with the sultan Shahriyar, on the plea that with either of them she would achieve justice and fair treatment. All men toppled and each awaited his appointment, deprived of all good sense—even Dandan and Shahriyar.

  XVI

  Al-Mu’in ibn Sawi came to his appointment with cosmic accuracy, his eyes reflecting the preoccupation of an old lover. He threw down the purse with the zest of a happy young child, seeing nothing in splendid existence but his own brilliant star. He was drunk with rapture when he came to rest at her feet. There was nothing but the false flashes of happy promises, and no place for consequences. Sometimes he would drink from the hand of the slave, at others from her own hand. He reached such heights of passion that he tore off his clothes, reverting to
a primitive state. But as he was rushing with her toward the bed, the slave hurried in and whispered—it would seem—some dread secret in her ear. She jumped up and covered her voluptuous body with her flowing robe.

  “My husband has arrived,” she whispered in fevered tones.

  The man awoke from his drunken state in an instant. She pulled him by the hand into an adjoining room and let him into a cupboard, which she firmly locked.

  “You will leave safely at the appropriate time,” she told him, trembling with agitation and terror.

  “Bring me my clothes,” the man called out.

  “They are quite safe,” she told him, as she moved off. “Now be quiet—not a sound or a movement or we’re done for!”

  XVII

  The men followed one after the other: al-Fadl ibn Khaqan, Suleiman al-Zeini, Nur al-Din, Dandan, Shahriyar. They all submitted to the captivating call. Drunk with boisterous frenzy, they were led off naked to cupboards. The voice of Anees al-Galees came to them as she laughed scornfully, and they realized that they had fallen into a well-contrived snare.

  “Tomorrow, in the marketplace,” she told them, “I shall put the cupboards up for sale—with their contents.”

  Once again she laughed, and continued, “The people of the marketplace will witness their sultan and his men of state being sold naked.”

  XVIII

  When she returned to the reception hall she saw before her the madman, standing there quietly. She trembled in alarm. What had brought him? How had he invaded her house? Had he heard what she had said to the men?

  “How did you enter my house without invitation or permission?” she demanded.

  “I saw the men following one after another, and my curiosity was aroused.”