He carried the hunchback to the market, and when he found a dark alley, he set him on his feet against a shop door and ran back home. A few minutes later a drunk Christian tradesman wearing a turban came swaying left and right down the alley. He squatted to urinate and looked up to see the hunchback standing before him. Thinking that he was about to snatch his turban, as had happened the night before, the Christian tradesman called out, “Where are you, night watchman? Come and catch a thief!”
He punched the hunchback on his neck, knocking him to the floor. When the hunchback did not make a sound, but lay still, the tradesman was flabbergasted. Surely he hadn’t killed a man with a single blow? He knelt down, and in his drunkenness, fell on the hunchback.
At that moment the night watchman appeared and saw the Christian tradesman on top of the hunchback.
“Oh God, a Christian is killing a Muslim,” he shouted. He lifted the tradesman off the hunchback and when he saw that he was dead, he seized the drunken man, bound him and took him to the Governor’s house.
The Governor locked the tradesman in a room and asked the watchman to bring the dead man and leave him in the same room. The next morning, the Governor went to his King, who was King of China, and described how a Christian tradesman had killed a Muslim in the market. The King immediately ordered that the tradesman be hanged.
The executioner set up a wooden gallows and put a rope around the Christian tradesman’s neck. The tradesman, whose drunkenness had left him, to be replaced by reason, wept.
“I swear by the Almighty that I barely hit the hunchback,” he cried out, but to no avail. Just as the executioner was about to pull the rope tight around the tradesman’s neck, the Muslim cook appeared.
“Stop, don’t hang him! This man didn’t kill the hunchback, it was I!”
And he described to the Governor what had happened the night before, saying, “Is it not enough that I have killed a Muslim? Now a Christian will be killed instead of me, and I will never again live in peace.”
So the Governor ordered the executioner to release the Christian and hang the Muslim cook. The hangman wrapped the rope around the Muslim’s neck, but the second he was about to hang him the Jewish physician appeared, crying out, “Stop! Don’t hang him, this man did not kill the hunchback, it was I!”
And he told the Governor what had happened, how a woman had brought the hunchback to his home, claiming that he was an ill child, and how the doctor had stumbled on him in the dark, killing him. “And so I carried him to the roof and lowered him into the house of the Muslim bachelor next door, and left him there.”
Hearing this, the Governor ordered the executioner to take the rope from the Muslim cook’s neck and put it around the Jewish physician. But just as the executioner was about to pull the rope, a tailor made his way through the crowd. “Stop, don’t hang anyone but me, for I was the one who killed the hunchback,” he shouted.
And he in turn told the Governor what had happened, and how he had choked the hunchback in jest, and how he and his wife had then left the hunchback with the Jewish physician and fled. Hearing this, the Governor told the hangman, “Go ahead and release the Jewish doctor and hang the tailor.”
But the executioner said to the Governor, “To tell you the truth, oh respected Governor, I am so tired of stringing up this one and releasing that one, now the Christian, now the Muslim, now the Jew, now the physician, now the cook, now the tradesman! Thank God there is an end to the matter.”
Then he released the Jewish physician and wrapped the rope around the tailor’s neck. But just as he pulled the rope tight, a man approached saying, “Stop and don’t hang this fellow.” But this time, instead of continuing, “I am the killer,” he addressed the tailor, the physician, the cook and the tradesman.
“I am one of the King’s chamberlains. I must take all of you to the King, because the hunchback you’ve killed was none other than the King’s favourite clown to whose company His Majesty was addicted. He was entertained by him every single night, and when the clown failed to show up last evening, the King ordered us to look for him high and low. We discovered that he had been killed, and now His Majesty wants to hear from you exactly what happened.”
Soon, the four men were brought to the King of China and kissed the ground before him. The hunchback lay in the throne room, stretched out on a grand bed with his head on a silk cushion.
Each one of the four men told the King his story. Tears fell down the sovereign’s cheeks. “Oh my beautiful hunchback, you were funny even in death.” The four men sighed in relief when they heard the King’s kind words.
Then the King addressed the entire company, saying, “Has anyone heard anything funnier than the story of the hunchback?” And then the King shook his head, as if he remembered something particularly funny about the hunchback because he smiled and laughed a great laugh which allowed the four men to laugh with him, then the whole court dissolved in laughter. The Christian tradesman, encouraged, came forward, restraining a chuckle and he knelt down, kissed the ground before the King and said, “Oh King of the Age, would you allow me to tell you a funnier story even than that of the hunchback?”
“Go on, tell me,” was the King’s reply. And the tradesman began his story.
When I was about to go into the tavern last night, I saw a well-known thief leading a donkey. I joked with him, saying, “Don’t tell me, good thief, that you’ve stolen this donkey!” He answered, “But of course I did! And you’re going to be amazed to know that I snatched it while it was being led by its owner.”
The thief continued to brag: “I did it in clear daylight! Am I not known as the thief who can rob lashes from the eye? I love to be challenged, and today I was walking with another thief, who is not nearly as accomplished as I, and he challenged me to steal the donkey, which was being led by a muleteer ahead of us.”
I immediately asked the thief to walk on until we reached a fork in the path, and then I took off my shoes, and gestured to him to do the same. We approached the donkey soundlessly and I removed the halter from the donkey’s head very carefully, gently freeing the animal and handing it to my companion, who led it away down the other path. Then I put the halter over my head, put on my shoes, and allowed myself to be led by the muleteer, mimicking the noise of the donkey’s hooves. When the donkey and my friend were safely out of sight, I froze and refused to move, no matter how hard the muleteer tugged on the halter. Eventually he looked around, and when he saw the halter on my head instead of on his donkey, he trembled and shook with fear.
“Oh! God Almighty, what is going on? Who are you and where is my donkey?” he cried out.
“I am your donkey, but my story is a strange one!” I answered. “I returned home one day so drunk that when my pious mother saw me, she flew into a rage and scolded me, repeating over and over, ‘Repent my son, repent and abandon your evil behaviour and come back to God Almighty.’
“In my drunkenness I too flew into a rage, and began to beat her with a stick. She cursed me and pleaded with God to punish me, in whatever way the Almighty wished. So God transformed me into a donkey, and then someone saw me in an alley and took me to the market and sold me to you. I was your donkey until a few minutes ago, when my mother must have suddenly thought of me, felt pity, and blessed me before God Almighty, who out of generosity has returned me to what I was before, a human being!”
When the muleteer heard my story he cried out: “There is no might and no power except with God the Omnipotent!” He quickly released me from the halter with shaking hands, and sank to his knees. “Forgive me, brother, and I beg you in God’s name not to hold me responsible for treating you as a beast of burden, for riding you and loading you with the heaviest of stones, and above all, for hitting you every time you slowed down.”
He asked if I could find my way home, and I replied that my house wasn’t far away. When we reached his house, we parted. As soon as he went inside, I burst out laughing.
Then I pricked up my ears, not donke
y’s ears, but those of a thief, and listened to his wife speaking to him inside their home.
“For a split-second, I didn’t recognise you without your donkey. Where is it? And why do you look so sad?”
I heard the simpleton sighing as he told her what had happened. She exclaimed, sighed as well, and pleaded with God to pardon them both for treating me as a donkey, saying that she would distribute alms in the neighbourhood.
Two days later my friend and fellow thief and I took the donkey to the market to sell, and who did I see? The same muleteer, trying to buy a donkey. I hid and watched as he recognised his donkey.
“Damn you! I can see that you’ve taken to the bottle again, you ill-omened fellow. You’ve returned to Satan once more, and you must have beaten your mother again too.” The poor donkey must have recognised its master because it brayed and brayed.
But the muleteer put his mouth to its long ears and shouted, “Now stop hee-hawing at once. You won’t succeed in making me feel sorry for you. I’ll never buy you again, you wretched, drunken mother-beater.”
The Christian tradesman reached the end of his story, laughing uproariously, and the three other men laughed with him. Eventually he composed himself, and asked the King with great confidence, “Is my story not more astonishing and entertaining than that of the hunchback?”
But the King of China pouted and yawned. “No it isn’t, and since you have failed to entertain me like my precious hunchback used to, I must hang you all for his death.”
Then the Muslim cook came forward, kissed the ground before the King of China, saying, “Oh, happy King. If I tell you a fantastic story, one more astounding than that of the hunchback and that of the Christian tradesman, will you pardon us?”
“Yes, get on with it.”
Then the cook rose and told his story.
As I have said before, Oh King of the Age, I am cook to an honourable master, who invites and gathers every Friday night many judges, religious men and dignitaries to hear a recitation of the blessed Qur’an. After everyone reads the Fatiha for the soul of their dead we spread a banquet table, with many dishes I have prepared, and the men gather around my famous ragout. This dish of mine contains a secret ingredient, for my grandmother follows the bees to seek out a rare kind of saffron, which tastes like angel’s food with its strong aroma, and picks it for me.
Last evening, I stood beside the table, proud and erect, in case the guests needed me. My master came forward with his cousin, who for many years had lived in foreign lands. But when the cousin looked at the table, he covered his eyes and moaned as if in pain.
“What is wrong with you?” my master asked in surprise.
His cousin pointed at the ragout and turned away as if he had seen his worst enemy. I held my breath, in fear that an insect or even a mouse had fallen into the dish.
“I have taken an oath not to touch ragout, because if I do, I must then wash my hands forty times with soap, another forty times with potash and finally forty times with galingale.”
Still astonished, and now a trifle irritated, my master said, “Go on, cousin, have a taste of this formidable ragout and then wash your hands as many times as you wish.”
Clearly feeling pressured and embarrassed, especially since the guests had gathered around him, filled with curiosity and bewilderment, my master’s cousin sat down and stretched a trembling hand to the ragout. He began to shake all over, but this didn’t deter him; he dipped it reluctantly in the ragout. But the food kept slipping from his hand, no matter how hard he tried.
Finally my master exclaimed, “Cousin, I don’t recall that you were born without thumbs!”
“No, my generous God Almighty didn’t create me without thumbs. I am afraid that losing them is connected to this ragout.”
When my master and all the guests demanded to hear his story, the cousin began.
* * *
It seems that I have no escape from facing my tormented past: I am descended from a family of most prominent merchants, stretching back to my great-great-grandfather. But my father didn’t follow suit, he spent his days drinking and playing the oud and hopping from one concubine to another until he lost all his money and left his business in great debt. But when he died, I wasn’t deterred from reopening the shop, and traded by selling and buying very modestly to make ends meet even with no capital. Early one morning, when mine was the only shop open, a lady riding a mule, led by one slave and followed by another, with a eunuch walking at her side, stopped and entered the shop while the eunuch stood guard at the door. She removed her veil, and I glimpsed her face and encountered beauty itself. Then she asked me to show her my finest wares.
“I’ve none that would satisfy your extravagant tastes, for I’m poor, my lady, but as soon as the other shops are open I’ll get you only the best from each of them.”
And this is what I did: I got her everything she wanted, at a cost of more than five thousand dirhams. Then she stood up and bade the eunuch to load her purchases on the mule, mounted the creature, and left.
As she disappeared on the horizon, I sighed with grief and lamented my luck, because not only had she failed to pay me, and I now owed the other shopkeepers five thousand dirhams, and would have to persuade them to wait to be repaid, but the beautiful creature had also taken my heart.
For a whole month, I reproached myself for not asking the eunuch or her slaves about the identity of the woman. Then one morning, to my utter surprise and joy, the woman reappeared with her entourage, entered my shop, unveiled her face and smiled at me, telling me that she had come to pay me the money that she owed. In reply, I could produce only a moan followed by a sigh.
“Are you married?” she asked, out of the blue.
“No, I am not,” I answered, and I wept.
“Why are you weeping?” she asked.
I mumbled, unable to speak, and she stepped out of my shop. As he paid me, I asked the eunuch who she was, and he told me that she was none other than lady-in-waiting to the Lady Zubeida at the Caliph’s palace, charged with purchasing all the goods of the Lady and doing her errands. The Lady treated her like her daughter, for she had brought her up since she was a little girl.
The despair must have shown on my face, for how could I ever reach such a woman? I asked the eunuch if he would be the go-between, offering to pay him some dirhams. He laughed.
“She is more in love with you than you are with her. That’s why she didn’t pay you the first time she came: she wanted to see you again.”
He walked out of the shop and I accompanied him.
“I’m going to tell you why I wept: it is because I have fallen in love with you,” I found myself saying to her.
She ignored me, and instead addressed the eunuch, saying, “Soon you shall carry my message to him.”
She mounted her mule, leaving me to spend a sleepless night.
Next day I went to my shop even earlier than usual and waited for the eunuch. He soon appeared, saying, “She told Lady Zubeida all about you, describing how you had trusted her with the money the first time you met, and asking Lady Zubeida’s permission to marry you. Lady Zubeida wants to see you and decide if you are a good match. It’s not easy to enter the palace; but if you succeed you are alive and if you are caught out you are dead. Do you think it is worth trying?”
“I’m ready to face every danger in the world to be with her,” I answered quickly.
The eunuch told me to wait for him and my lady at the mosque by the Tigris River. I arrived early in the evening, and waited all alone until dawn, when I saw the eunuch disguised as a servant and my lady step out of a boat, which was filled with boxes and baskets of goods bound for the harem of the palace.
My lady wept as she hid me in a big basket which was made of palm tree leaves and locked it, and then the eunuch put me on to the boat, among all the chests and baskets. The boat sailed for a short time before I was lifted up, probably on to the shoulder of a slave, and I heard an angry voice yelling, “Come on, open every
thing you have. Not one thing, not even a tiny ant is allowed to enter the harem of the palace without inspection.”
The servant stood still, waiting for my basket to be checked, and I panicked and wet myself, and my urine ran out of the basket. I clutched my heart, waiting to be undone, when I heard my young lady say to the angry voice:
“Chief! You ruined me. What shall I tell Lady Zubeida when she sees that her dresses are stained and spoiled! I put a bottle of holy water in among the dresses and it must have tipped over and made their colour run.”
“Take the basket and go,” the angry voice answered.
I was lifted up again and as I sighed with relief, I heard voices saying, “The Caliph, the Caliph.”
My heart stopped beating as I heard the Caliph say to my lady, “So many chests you have, what is in them?” And I heard the voice of my lady reply with all the courage I lacked: “Garments and clothes I purchased for Lady Zubeida.”
“Open all of them.”
And my young lady answered with even more courage: “But Lady Zubeida insisted that no one should see their contents.”
But the Caliph only became more determined to see what was inside the chests. He ordered the guard to open them one by one, and when it was the turn of my basket and I was set down before the Caliph, I wept silently as I held my head in my hands and blocked my ears, so that I would not hear the sound of the sword striking my head.
“I beg you, Commander of the Faithful, not to open this particular basket except in the presence of the Lady Zubeida, because in this is her secret,” I heard my lady say, and the ferocious throbbing of my heart nearly broke my ribs.
As I bade my life goodbye, I heard the Caliph order the eunuch to carry all the chests and basket to the harem quarters.
Soon my lady opened the basket and asked me to climb out and go upstairs, then enter the first room on my right. I did what I was told, and in a few moments she came in and said, smiling, “You made it, my hero, and Lady Zubeida is on her way to meet you. I pray to God that she will like you so that you will win my hand and be the happiest of men.”
One Thousand and One Nights Page 11
