Khodr stomped and ranted. “I should cut off both your heads right this instant. How dare you come into my city without permission? What made you think you could steal from me?”
“We assumed no one was running the city since the mayor got himself killed,” said Othman. “We have just arrived from Cairo, and had we known you were the chief, we would have come and paid our respects first.”
“You are from Cairo?” Khodr al-Bohairi asked. “What luck. Can you recognize a slave who goes by the name of Baybars?”
“But of course,” said Othman. “He is a mere boy. I have stolen his allowance many times, yet he still trusts me. If you wish, I can deliver him in less than an hour.”
“This is most fortunate,” Khodr al-Bohairi said. “Bring me the boy.”
Othman and Harhash returned to the hideout accompanied by Baybars, the Africans, and the Uzbeks. The ensuing melee lasted all of minutes. The warriors killed forty-three bandits but kept the vanquished Khodr al-Bohairi alive briefly. “Where are you holding the daughter of the high judge?” asked Baybars. The bandit chief pointed to a door, and Harhash escorted the unharmed girl out. “You must pay for the heinous crimes you have committed,” announced Baybars, and cut off the bandit’s head.
Baybars returned the girl to her father the next day, and the high judge restored all the stolen goods to their rightful owners. And the heroic deeds were celebrated.
Fatima felt stronger. She got out of bed, picked up her baby, and visited the emir and his wife. The emir’s twelve daughters made way for her to see their pristine brother, a boy who more than matched their famous beauty. “You look divine,” the emir told Fatima, “as if you had just returned from the baths and had never been pregnant.”
His wife, fatigued, disheveled, and in pain, asked, “How did you lose that weight in a matter of hours?” She felt awkward at being envious of an inferior.
“To you,” the emir said, “we are ever so grateful for our great fortune, and a great fortune shall be bestowed upon you. You are now a free woman. Allow your son to be raised with mine. He shall receive the same training and the same opportunities. Most important, I will regale the both of them with the grand tale of King Baybars.”
“Dear Fatima,” the emir’s wife said, “show us your son.”
Fatima held out her boy, and audible gasps escaped all the lips in the room.
“He is so … hmm …,” said the emir’s wife. “Dark. Yes, dark. What an interesting color. Let me see him. Let me hold the two young warriors. What did you call him?”
“He is named Layl,” Fatima said.
The emir’s wife held Shams in the crook of her right arm and Layl in the left. The boys held each other’s eyes. “Let us make sure they are friends forever.”
“Shams and Layl,” the emir said. “What glorious names. Such sturdy boys.”
The emir’s wife was unable to produce suckling milk, whereas Fatima’s breasts had ballooned to a ridiculous size. “I can feed both,” Fatima said.
Eight imps gazed enraptured at the immaculate scene. Violet Adam, blue Noah, and orange Ezra knelt on the floor, hands and heads resting on the majestic divan. Green Job, indigo Elijah, and yellow Jacob sat on its backrest, their eyes unwavering, looking down at the odalisque. Red Isaac and his brother red Ishmael lounged on either side of a naked Fatima cradling the twins. Shams suckled her right breast and Layl her left.
When the well-wishers began to arrive at the palace, the emir’s wife tried to separate her baby from Layl. The little prince would wail if he did not have Layl’s dark face within eyesight.
“You know me,” the emir’s wife said to her husband. “I am not prejudiced. I do not mind that Shams’s playmate is the son of a servant. But the boy is so repulsive. Kings and emirs, sultans and lords are lining up to pay their respects to my son. I cannot present him to his equals while he is in the company of the monstrosity. I cannot bear it.”
“Oh, my dear,” her husband replied, “how delightful that you are so sensitive. Fear not. Everyone will know the ugly one is our boy’s slave. It will give our son a bit of cachet to have a servant at such a young age. The boys will be good for each other.”
On a glorious, cloudless morning, in the palace’s great hall, all the royalty of the land, all the wise men and judges and poets congratulated the emir and his wife on the arrival of the heir. They offered gifts to the newborn, gold and silver, swords and spears, crowns and jewels, sandalwood and musk, frankincense and myrrh. The baby emir ignored all his suitors and their gifts, for he only had eyes for Layl.
“Praise be to God,” the kings said. “Our master has arrived.”
“Such a beautiful boy,” the queens said. “What lovely parrots, and so colorful. Where on earth did you find them?”
At night, the parrots were imps and circled the family—Fatima, Afreet-Jehanam, Shams, and Layl—as the kings and queens and lords and beasts of the underworld arrived to pay their respects. The jinn of the seven circles, the gondoliers of the rivers of death, the sirens, the harpies, and all the demons and devils bowed before Layl. An ebony column rose from the ground and rose and rose, and it was a giant jinni carrying two chests upon his broad shoulders. The first, a camphorwood chest, the jinni opened and presented to the dark prince; full of gems and gold and incense it was. The second he opened and out shot his gorgeous human wife; like a dazzling sun she was. She genuflected and, from a purse dangling between her creamy breasts, extracted a ring and tucked it in the baby’s swaddling clothes. She whispered so her husband could not hear, “This is one of five hundred and seventy-two I own, but it is my favorite, for it belonged to Shahzaman, the best of all lovers, even under duress. Forget me not when you are older.”
Afreet-Jehanam held Layl up for all to see, and the crowd gasped in reverence. “Such a beautiful child,” the imps sang. Scorpions descended upon the babies from all around and stung them over and over, and the boys cooed. Snakes followed the scorpions, and then mosquitoes bit into their skin. Finally, Fatima held one boy in each arm, and a hush fell over the denizens of the underworld. Her eight imps beamed.
“I think the boys are hungry,” Fatima said. “We thank you for your gifts.”
As if on cue, Layl pursed his lips. Shams mimicked him. Layl opened his toothless mouth and yawned. Soon his gaping mouth almost hid his face. It opened wider, and a mewl escaped and grew in volume, until it reached an uninterrupted crescendo of a roar no human can reproduce. Shams joined in, same tone, same pitch. Fatima looked about her. Isaac and Ishmael had begun their bellow. Noah, Job, and Adam. Afreet-Jehanam growled more loudly still. All the devils, all the demons howled in one voice, and all stopped at the same time. Silence.
Layl and Shams slept.
“Our master has arrived,” cried the demons. “Now our story begins.”
Harhash approached Baybars and said, “My prince, as you know, I have no family to speak for me. I have dedicated my life to your service and consider you my brother. I wish to marry the high judge’s daughter. She is a beauty and an untouched virgin. I would be honored if you spoke to him and proclaimed my wishes.”
Baybars agreed. He met with the high judge and asked for his daughter’s hand for his companion. The high judge replied, “It would be an honor.” And so it was. The company returned to Cairo, and an exultant Harhash rode with his lovely new wife. Othman was envious. “I, too, want to marry a virgin,” he told Baybars. “I want to be happy as well.” And Baybars said, “I want you to be happy. Have your mother find a wife for you. She is your family.”
Back in Cairo, Othman asked his mother to find him a wife, and she agreed to look for one. She put on her robe and walked to the maqâm of Lady Zainab. She entered the shrine, knelt, and prayed to the great lady for guidance in selecting the perfect bride for her once-prodigal son. She opened her eyes, and there, not far from her, knelt a young woman of exquisite beauty. Othman’s mother rubbed her eyes, for she assumed that the kneeling supplicant was an apparition of Lady Zainab, but
it was not so. The girl was praying. Her devotion and supplication rendered her face angelic in appearance. Othman’s mother asked, “What is your name, my daughter?” and the young woman told her it was Layla. “And the night, your namesake, struggles to match your beauty. I pray you, tell me to whose family you belong, for I wish to ask your hand for my son.”
Layla said, “I have no family but my brother, and he is the high judge of Giza.”
Othman ran to Baybars. “My mother has found me a wife. She is none other than the sister of the high judge. Will you please speak for me as you have for Harhash?”
Baybars agreed wholeheartedly and sent a letter to the high judge of Giza, telling him of the happy news and asking for his sister’s hand for Othman. The high judge’s reply said, “My lord. I cannot deny you any wish. I will gladly offer my young sister in marriage to your companion. However, I have not seen or heard from her in years. Are you sure she is worthy of such an honorable man? Would he not prefer to marry a woman more devoted to our faith?”
Baybars read the letter to Othman. “More devoted?” he yelled furiously. “My future wife was praying at Lady Zainab’s Shrine. The Lady chose her for me. My wife is most faithful and committed. Write and tell him.”
The high judge’s next letter said only, “My sister?”
Othman’s wedding lasted three days, with King Saleh and his entire court attending. Baybars set up a feast to end all feasts for his friend, and even the Africans and Uzbeks celebrated and congratulated their companion. Finally, when the wedding night arrived, the couple retired to their room, leaving behind a heckling party.
“Reveal yourself to me.” Othman knelt before his wife on one knee. “Show your beauty, my life.” Layla took off her marriage veil, and a dazzled Othman wept. “If I prayed to Lady Zainab every second of my life, I would not be able to show how grateful I am. If I offered my life in gratitude, it would not suffice. You are the most lovely being ever to have graced my miserable life. I am humbled by your charms.”
“And you, my husband, are most eloquent,” Layla said. “Come.”
She pulled him to her and kissed him with a passion that surprised him. She undressed him while he fumbled with her knots. She laid him on the bed, his head on the pillow, and continued kissing him. He tried to remove her robe. “Relax,” she whispered from above. Soon she descended upon him. He unleashed a cry of ecstasy that mingled with the laughter in the halls outside their room. “You are my husband,” she said. “Mine.” And she poked and pinched places he did not know existed. His next cry was of joy mixed with pain.
“Wait,” he shouted, but she did not.
“No,” he said, but he did not mean it.
“But,” Othman said, “you are not a virgin.”
Her face registered surprise. “I never claimed to be.”
“No,” he said. “No. That cannot be. Lady Zainab picked you for me.”
“So?”
“Only the devout pray at the shrine.”
“Do not be foolish,” she said. “I have been praying all my life. What has virginity got to do with it? Do you not remember me?” She pulled up her left sleeve and showed him the brand. “I thought that was why you married me.”
“Oh, no,” he moaned. “What kind of dove were you?”
“Luscious,” she said, affronted. “Please.”
“My life is over. I will be the mockery of every man in Egypt.”
“You will be the envy of every man in Egypt.”
“I was supposed to marry a virgin.”
“And you were not supposed to be one.”
“Do not whisper of it to anyone,” he pleaded.
“You are my husband,” she said. “Your shame is my shame, and mine is yours. I will never betray you, and you will never betray me. We share honor.”
Othman covered his eyes. “I am being punished for all the wrongs I have committed.”
“Punished?” Layla asked, aghast. “You think marrying me is punishment? Keep thinking that and I will show you what actual punishment is. If you ever consider that I am not your ideal partner, even if the thought only crosses your mind, I will turn your life into a nightmare. You will think you are in the seventh circle of hell, married to Afreet-Jehanam. Punishment, bah. I am Layla, your ideal wife, your perfect love. Practice saying it every moment of your life. Lady Zainab offered you to me. She is never wrong. You are the perfect man for me.”
“But you are not what I asked for,” Othman objected.
“What you asked for? Has it occurred to you that the Lady was answering my prayers, not yours? I did not ask for a husband. I prayed for a companion, a partner, someone to share my joy. I had given up my profession, and I was bored. I asked Lady Zainab to point out a friend who could make me laugh, who could tell me stories, who could take me on an adventure. And she appeared before me. ‘Listen to me, my daughter,’ she said. ‘You have served me well and brought me joy. I will reward you with your ideal husband. He is God’s servant, and was one long before his vows to me. He is a trickster and serves to bring a smile to His face. If your future husband can polish the dust off God’s heart, surely yours will glimmer for eternity.’ ”
“She said that?”
“And your mother approached me as the Lady ended her speech. You are the answer to my prayers. I do not know whether I am the answer to yours, but you had better believe that I am, for my prayers require that you love me and make me happy, and it shall be so.”
Othman’s smile appeared slowly, and then the frown returned.
“How can I face the morning with a clean sheet?” he asked.
She closed her cinnamon eyes and shook her head. “You are childish and have much to learn.” She took his left hand. She kissed it, drew her dagger, and held it before him. “They want to witness the blood of a virgin. We can give it to them.” He nodded, gave her permission. She made a shallow cut in his wrist. She kissed him. “Bleed for me, my husband.” She kissed him again. “I mark you as you have marked me.”
The emir’s wife threw a tantrum. She threw every glass item in the chamber at the wall. The emir tried to mollify her. Whiz went a perfume bottle flying across the room.
“Calm down, my dear,” the emir said. “You are not being rational.”
Splash, as another perfume bottle shattered against the scented wall. “Rational?” his wife shrieked. “You expect me to be rational when my son is involved?”
“Well, break something besides perfume bottles. It is suffocating in here. You are overreacting, my dear.”
“He called that woman mama. His first words, and he directed them not to me but to her. My son thinks the servant is his mother. I will not have it.”
“Trouble yourself not, my dear. It is only temporary. Do you think our boy—or anyone, for that matter—could believe that he, a divine creature, sprang forth from a slave? She spends more time with him. Do you want to be the one changing his diaper? Be patient. It will not be long before he begins to understand the way of the world and a servant’s place in it.”
“Even his sisters cannot play with him. He howls whenever one of them approaches. He prefers to play with those infernal parrots. I am going to pluck each one of those birds feather by feather—pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck.”
“Not yet, darling. You tried to keep them apart for a while, and what happened?”
“He crawled right back to that woman and her baby, shrieking his lungs out until he reached them.”
“And no one could hold the little devil back,” the emir said. “My son takes after me, so strong and powerful.”
“I am going to poison that ungrateful wench and watch her die. A lingering, deliberate poison I shall use, until suffering seeps out of her pores.”
“No, my dear. Wait another year, until Shams is more independent, and then poison her.”
“Pluck me?” screeched Job. “I will pluck her eyes out.”
Shams crawled behind Layl on the carpet, his head almost attached to his twin�
�s behind.
“Pluck,” said Jacob. “Pluck, pluck. That is what she said.”
Fatima rested. She lounged on the divan, her head settled on three fluffy pillows of ostrich feathers.
“Listen, listen,” said Ishmael. “That was not the best part of the tantrum.”
“She means to poison Fatima,” said Isaac.
Fatima laughed into her pillows. All eight parrots cackled, Job so hard he fell off the backrest onto the floor, his two feet sticking up in the air and his feathers shaking in mirth. The cacophony of merriment surprised and amused the twin boys. They looked around them and joined the laughter.
“I will get rid of her,” said Ezra. “I will transport her to another domain.”
“No need,” said Adam. “An asp will pay her fornicating whoriness a visit tonight. She boasts about poison, and it will be delivered.”
“We will have none of that,” commanded Fatima. “This woman is the mother of my son.”
King Saleh was sitting on his throne in the diwan when a messenger approached, carrying a letter from the mayor of Aleppo to the leader of the Muslim world: “Rescue us, Your Majesty. The evil King Halawoon has raised an army, which at the time of this writing is laying siege a spear’s throw away from the walls of our city. Halawoon and his fire-worshipping army must be defeated. Call your armies, and let the true faith raise its banners in victory once more.”
And Arbusto said, “Send Prince Baybars. Give him an army of fifty slaves. With God to guide his swords, he will vanquish Halawoon in no time and return to Cairo within a fortnight.”
“Fifty?” the king asked. “To fight Halawoon’s army? Is that not unwise?”
“Well, then, make it one hundred. Surely a warrior of Baybars’s caliber could destroy Halawoon by breathing on him. Let us try out the new slaves. They have been trained well and will easily dispatch an army of unbelievers.”
“True. But how big is Halawoon’s army?”
“The letter does not say. Personally, I doubt it can be more than a few hundred or they would have walked through Aleppo. Our slave army will massacre them, and we can keep our main forces in Egypt.”
The Hakawati Page 36
