One Thousand and One Nights

by Hanan al-Shaykh

  Zumurrud tried to speak in a deep manly voice. “I am no common man, I was born to a noble family but I fell out with my father, and so I left, and my lucky fate brought me and my gold to you.”

  Everyone called for blessings on the King. “How fortunate that we have found you, Your Majesty,” said one of the emirs.

  “And how wonderful and fortunate that I have found you and become your King,” Zumurrud replied.

  Then she entered the city in a grand procession, escorted by officials, who led her to the palace and sat her on the throne. When night fell she dismissed all of her slaves and eunuchs, so that they would not see her without her turban and men’s clothes.

  She prayed, whispering, “Thank you, God, for making me a King. I plead with you to reunite me with my master one day.”

  Zumurrud proved to herself and her people that she was the greatest of Kings. She opened the coffers and gave money to the needy, and everyone obeyed her and loved her for her justice and virtue. When it was rumoured that the King had no wife and never visited the concubines, Zumurrud said, “The King is saving himself to marry and have children, but only when he has fulfilled all of his many duties.”

  Zumurrud erected a big arena in the heart of the city, where tables were set out, laden with food of all kinds, free for the people to come and eat on the first day of each week. She issued a decree that anyone who didn’t come to eat from the free dishes would be hanged, and anyone who helped themselves to the plate of rice pudding in the centre of each table would also be hanged. And the first day every single person, young or old, came and ate at the King’s tables, while the King sat watching, remaining there all day, until every one of her subjects had eaten their fill and left, having prayed that she would be granted a long life.

  Zumurrud went back to her palace that night and prayed that God would send her Nur al-Din, weeping with longing for him. She continued to attend the lunches in the big arena each week, and her subjects assumed that the King was wonderfully generous in wishing to feed the people. But in truth, Zumurrud was trying to see any foreigner who came to her city, wishing that a miracle would bring her master to her tables.

  Her plan at last succeeded, but, alas, instead of finding her master she found the robber, from whom she had fled, taking his horse and gold. He entered the arena, snatched the plate of rice pudding from the middle of the table, and asked for more sugar.

  Zumurrud asked the soldier to bring forward the man who didn’t obey the rules.

  “I am going to ask you your name and your occupation and what brings you to our city, and I expect you to be truthful in every word you utter. Be certain that if you don’t, you’ll be hanged.”

  The thief said that his name was Ahmed and that he was a doctor, and, “I came here to help the sick and the needy.”

  “Bring me the divination table and the brass pen,” Zumurrud said to her chamberlain.

  Once they were in front of her, she shook the sand and threw it over the table, then drew a man carrying goods on his back next to forty dots.

  “Aren’t you a robber who belongs to a gang of forty thieves outside Alexandria? Let me tell you what you do in life! You rob people of their goods, money and animals, then, having deprived them of what they once owned, you terrorise and kill them. Is that true, you wretch, or not?”

  She didn’t add that he was here to look for her, and for the gold she had snatched from the cave.

  The robber hesitated for a moment, but then seeing how angry the King was, he said, “It is true, my King.”

  “Take him and cut off his head, for fate has brought him here so that we may stop his atrocious behaviour.”

  All of the King’s subjects, from emirs, ministers, down to the common people, murmured, “Our King is the master of geomancy, glory to God who granted him this magical gift.”

  And nobody dared to eat from the rice pudding plate, until a week later, when a man rushed in, taking the best seat at the table, eating and eating and then stretching his hand out for the rice pudding. When the soldier brought him to Zumurrud, she asked his name, occupation and why he had come.

  “My name is Grain and I do nothing but fill my stomach with food. I come from beyond the mountains. As I am very greedy, and snatch food even from my children, my wife suggested I travel to the place where a generous and good King feeds his people and visitors to the city.”

  Zumurrud pretended to consult the sands and those gathered expected to hear her pronounce a sentence of death, but she surprised them by instead saying, “You’re an honest man, eat whatever you wish and take some food back with you to your family.”

  Months passed and Zumurrud despaired of ever seeing Nur al-Din again.

  The third foreigner to the city was none other than the Persian, who grabbed at plates, and when he reached for the rice pudding, the man next to him said, “Don’t touch it, brother, or you’ll be hanged.”

  “I know that you’re scaring me so you can eat it yourself,” said the Persian, helping himself.

  Zumurrud ordered a soldier to seize the Persian, and when he was brought before her, she said, “Man, answer only the truth or I’ll cut off your head. What is your name, occupation and the reason for visiting our city?”

  “My name is Uthman, and I am a gardener. I was told that here I might find the dardar tree and with it cure my poor dying mother.”

  “What a wonderful son! But let us see if you’re telling the truth!” said Zumurrud.

  She shook the sand and threw it over the table, and pretended to draw things.

  “Dog, how dare you disobey kings and lie to them! You’re known by the name of the Persian, and you seize women, force yourself on them, and rape them, putting them to the worst of despair and pain! You heartless, foul creature. Then, when they escape your tyranny, you seek every despicable, horrifying trick to snatch them back. Is that not the truth?”

  “Yes, it is true. You know everything, in the way of the prophets, Your Majesty. But since I am only passing through this city, forgive me and I promise to be good from now on!”

  “I don’t think that you know the real meaning of the word ‘promise,’ ” Zumurrud said. Then she turned to her soldiers. “Cut off his head, so that we may teach criminals to follow the right path,” she said, and the Persian was taken immediately to his death.

  Zumurrud earned even greater respect and love from her people, drawing secret criticism only over the fact that she remained unmarried. Her advisers hinted more than once about her celibacy.

  One day an old prince visited Zumurrud.

  “Our precious King, since the customs of our city dictate that the King should marry, and since you promised your court that you would some day, let me suggest that you marry my daughter. She is beautiful, has high scruples like you, she’s God-fearing.”

  Zumurrud’s forehead broke out in sweat, as she thought to herself, “For how much longer can I delay my marriage, and yet how can I marry while I am a woman!”

  “Yes, I am willing to marry your daughter,” she said, thinking to herself, “I may be disgraced but I have no other choice if I am to remain King.”

  There was great celebration throughout the city, and decorations were put on every tree and everyone came to congratulate the King and pay their respects.

  “Now our King is complete, let us pray that his reign might continue for ever,” they said to one another.

  After the wedding ceremony was over, the bride was brought to the King’s chamber and the doors were closed and curtains were drawn, and flowers of every kind were laid on the prepared bed.

  Zumurrud sat beside her bride, whose name was Hayat, held her and kissed her on the mouth. Then she pretended to be allergic to the flowers, she had a coughing fit and didn’t stop coughing even when Hayat removed the flowers. The bride waited and waited for the King to approach her, but when he failed to do so she fell asleep.

  The next day, the prince and his wife came to see their daughter and she told them everything. Th
ey both asked her to be patient. The next night Zumurrud sat with Hayat, patted her on her shoulders, sighed as the tears fell from her eyes, kissed her between her eyes, sighed again and got up and performed her ablutions and began to pray, and each time Hayat thought that the King had finished, Zumurrud prayed some more, on and on until once more Hayat fell asleep.

  The next day when her parents came to visit her she said, “My husband the King is a jewel, he is pious and kind and intelligent but for some reason he keeps praying and sighing and weeping in silence.”

  “Be patient,” her father counselled. “Wait and see what happens tonight, but if he continues with this behaviour then I’ll have a word with him.”

  When Zumurrud entered the chamber that night, she found that Hayat had lit many candles around the room. She sighed, kissed Hayat on the head and wept, and then as she stood up to pray Hayat grabbed the bottom of Zumurrud’s robe, saying, “Master, this is our third night together and you have left me all alone. Is it because you’re so handsome and conceited that you don’t need anyone? What do I tell my parents tomorrow?”

  “But, my darling, what are you telling me?” Zumurrud asked.

  “What I am saying, my King, is that I want you to come and lie with me. Take my virginity; let us be bride and bridegroom, man and a woman, husband and wife.”

  Zumurrud’s eyes filled with tears again as she thought, “I have nowhere to go from here, and this city is the ideal place for Nur al-Din to find me. But at the same time I can’t avoid my responsibilities any longer, or my bride’s father will tell all the emirs and viziers and they’ll discover that the King is not complete.”

  Then she said to Hayat, “I am entrusting my affairs to God and to you. I must tell you the truth. I have behaved in this way because I am not able to deflower you, for I am not a man. I will tell you my story.”

  Zumurrud told her everything and Hayat couldn’t but feel sympathy towards her, though she was utterly astonished. She promised to keep her secret, saying, as she pointed to her heart, “I shall keep your secret inside a locked room, my woman King.”

  They embraced and kissed on the mouth, cuddled each other in bed and slept happily. Early in the morning Hayat managed to lure a pigeon which had landed on her windowsill. She cut the bird’s throat and smeared blood over her nightgown and drawers and shrieked as loud as she could.

  Waiting outside, Hayat’s mother ululated happily and so did the woman’s slaves. The King had finally deflowered his bride and the marriage was complete. The two women carried on blissfully fooling everyone around them, and Zumurrud’s secret remained secure.

  One day, a young man came in late and took the only empty place in the arena, opposite the rice pudding plate. Zumurrud’s heart throbbed and fluttered as she looked at him, studying him carefully until she was sure that he was her master and lover. She nearly cried out in joy, but kept her emotions concealed until the hungry Nur al-Din reached for the rice pudding plate.

  His neighbour tried to tell him not to eat it or he would regret it, but Nur al-Din started to devour it. Zumurrud thought he looked so pale and thin that she waited for him to finish eating the rice before she sent a eunuch, who asked the stranger very gently to come and speak to the King. Nur al-Din kissed the ground before Zumurrud, who spoke to him respectfully and then asked him three questions, telling him to be truthful or he would be hanged.

  “My name, oh King, is Nur al-Din, I come from a merchant family in Cairo, and I’ve been looking for a slave girl whom I lost because of my weakness and greed and I will keep looking until I die because she is dearer to me than my eyes. I lost her, but still she holds my soul.”

  Nur al-Din wept and then fainted. Zumurrud tried to compose herself and not to revive him with a kiss. She ordered rose water to be sprinkled on his face, and when he recovered she pretended as always to divine the truth.

  “You’ve told the truth and let us hope that God will unite you with your slave soon,” she said.

  She ordered her chamberlain to take him to the baths and bring him back to the palace. She told Hayat about Nur al-Din, and Hayat rejoiced with her and joked, saying that she wouldn’t let them spend the night together.

  While she was waiting, Zumurrud made herself beautiful, combing her hair, but then wrapped her hair in a turban. She lit candles throughout the room, and sent for Nur al-Din.

  The King’s advisers grew suspicious, and the rumour that the King had fallen in love with the merchant boy was on every lip in the palace.

  “Oh! poor, poor Queen Hayat, who is so innocent and knows nothing of what is going on,” they whispered.

  In reality, of course, Hayat was in an adjoining room. When Nur al-Din was brought in, he bowed and kissed the ground before Zumurrud and she said, “Eat some of the chicken and drink some wine and when you’re done come and sit here.”

  “To hear is to obey,” he said.

  When he had eaten his fill, he came to the couch and remained standing until she ordered him to massage her feet. He obeyed, thinking how soft they were, softer than silk.

  “Go higher,” she said, and he massaged her legs, thinking to himself, “Do Kings in this country pluck the hair from their legs? This King’s legs are as soft as velvet.”

  “Go higher, higher,” she ordered him.

  But Nur al-Din said, “Forgive me, my lord, but I can’t go higher than your knees.”

  “If you disobey me then this night will be unlucky for you! If you do as I ask, I’ll appoint you as one of my emirs.”

  “What do you want me to do, Your Majesty?” Nur al-Din asked.

  “Take off your trousers and lie on your face.”

  “Let me, Your Majesty, leave your city in peace, for what you’re asking me to do is something I have never done and will never do. If you force me, my God will be my witness and I shall take my case against you on the day of judgement.”

  “Take off your trousers and lie on your stomach or I will cut off your head.”

  Nur al-Din started to cry and weep as he took off his trousers. He lay on his face and Zumurrud sat on his back. He felt the softest and lightest body, like the wings of a butterfly.

  When she didn’t move Nur al-Din said to himself, “Praise to God, the King can’t get an erection.”

  But his happiness died as Zumurrud said, “Nur al-Din, I will never get an erection if my penis is not stroked. Hurry, stroke it until it rises and if you decline I’ll kill you.”

  She arched her back and Nur al-Din placed his hand on her vagina.

  “What an extraordinary, unusual thing. This King has a vagina.”

  Nur al-Din’s lust was suddenly aflame, and when Zumurrud saw that his penis had grown to its fullest, just as she remembered it, she laughed.

  “Master Nur al-Din, don’t you recognise me?” she asked.

  “But who are you, King?”

  “I am Zumurrud, your slave girl!”

  He pounced on her, kissing her and embracing her, and then the two of them turned the couch into a volcano that erupted with desire and ecstasy, love and yearning, as they rose and fell and cried out in pleasure, so loudly that all the eunuchs heard them and they hurried to peek through the keyhole, one after another.

  In the morning Zumurrud introduced Hayat to Nur al-Din. Zumurrud told her that she was leaving, and Hayat asked Nur al-Din if he had a brother as handsome as he was.

  “A cousin, who is like my brother. He will fall in love with you and marry you at once.”

  Zumurrud the King sent for the whole army, emirs and state officials. When they were all standing before him, he said, pointing at Nur al-Din, “I am going with my wife to this man’s land. Find someone to rule on my behalf until we return.”

  Then the three of them returned to Cairo, bearing many treasures and gifts, but above all filled with the joy and bliss of having found each other. They continued to enjoy each other’s company until they were overtaken by death, the destroyer of delights.

  The Fourth Voyage of Sindbad
the Sailor

  t was observed that the porter was cheering after each story was told, whether it was in favour of women or against them. And when the flogged sister had finished telling the story of Zumurrud and Nur al-Din, the porter stood up.

  “Can I tell a story, Oh Commander of the Faithful?”

  “It had better be as good as the others,” said the Caliph. The porter bowed.

  “I assure you, Commander of the Faithful, that my story is far better than every single story you’ve heard so far.”

  The Caliph smiled and the porter began. “They say marriage is nothing but a graveyard of love, but my Caliph, Vizier, gentlemen and ladies, I don’t believe in this saying, and I yearn to be a husband and a father. But since you are all here disputing the relative superiority of men and women, and telling stories to prove your point, I thought that I’d pretend to be greatly involved in this battle. In reality, I just want to be able to tell a story like everyone else, and let me stress again that I believe in marriage, and that my love for the mistress of the house …”

  But the Caliph interrupted him. “Tell us the story.”

  “I am known as the porter to all of you, but my name is Sindbad,” the porter began, and then he paused for a second as everyone in the room fell silent and listened intently.

  I set out as usual one day, which wasn’t just like any other day because it was extremely hot and humid, making me completely lethargic. I toiled with the heavy load on my head, feeling as if I was carrying the city itself with all of its markets, homes, furniture and mules. As I passed by the grand gate of a merchant’s house, I noticed that the ground before it was sprinkled with water, and when I saw a bench to one side of the gate, I found myself taking my load off my head and sitting down to enjoy the breeze wafting down from the high trees around the house and drying the heavy sweat on my brow. I sat there, listening to the songs of bulbuls and turtle doves, smelling the appetising aroma of food, which I imagined was being prepared by cooks and slaves, and soon I found myself singing: