One Thousand and One Nights

by Hanan al-Shaykh

  I found myself so curious to see this beauty from the desert that I asked her to be brought to me. Soon the sun itself shed its light on my audience chamber and on my heart and remained there, for the Bedouin woman was indeed a truly rare beauty.

  I gasped when I saw her, and said to her husband, “Bedouin, I will give you three times the number of beasts and camels you lost, one thousand dinars for every month since your wife departed, and on top of that a yearly allowance for your needs. All of this will be in consolation for the loss of your wife.”

  And you should have heard the groan of the man. It was so terribly agonised that I assumed he was on the verge of dropping dead.

  But instead he said, “I asked your help against the Governor. Now from whom can I seek redress for my unjust treatment?”

  I felt deep shame at that moment, but the twinkle in that woman’s eyes made my heart flutter more and more.

  “Prince of the Faithful,” the Bedouin continued, “were you to give me everything you own—even the caliphate itself—still I would want only Su’ad. For she is my food, and my drink.”

  The woman looked at me boldly and gave me a faint and coy smile, and I found myself saying to the Bedouin, “Well, Su’ad must choose between you, Hisham bin Marwan or the Caliph. And I shall help her to do what her heart desires, do you agree?”

  “Su’ad, who is dearer to you?” I asked her, when the Bedouin had sadly nodded his head in assent. “The gracious and noble Commander of the Faithful and all of his palaces? The unjust Governor Hisham bin Marwan? Or this impoverished Bedouin to whom you were married?”

  Su’ad replied passionately:

  “Neither silver, gold, nor marble palaces tempt me

  All I yearn for is my wretched hungry man

  He who once owned camels and horses

  Until Fate herself betrayed him

  My bliss is here with him

  Reliving our golden years,

  I’ll remain thus

  Until the wheel of fortune turns.”

  I still remember how stunned I was at her fidelity and integrity. And so I handed her over to the Bedouin, who took her and left.

  Abu Nuwas couldn’t help but exclaim, “What a story, Oh Commander of the Faithful. What a woman is this Su’ad!”

  The rest of the audience fell silent, but their eyes reflected what they thought. The Caliph’s eyes were lowered; Jaafar’s eyes were fixed on his master; Abu Nuwas’s eyes flicked anxiously like a sparrow from face to face. Meanwhile, the ladies sat with eyes downcast, hoping to avoid being forced into marriage, but at the same time anxious not to give offence. The porter’s heart leaped in hope and sat behind his eyes, which pleaded silently with the mistress of the house and those around her to tell him what would be next.

  But then a rooster crowed and the first faint light of dawn filtered into the room.

  The shopper stood, saying, “May I tell you a story?”

  The Caliph smiled at her. “Of course. Tell me a story or two.”

  And now it was time for the shopper to begin.

  It happened that the rooster you have just heard crow had an ancestor years ago in the faraway lands of India and Indochina at the time of King Shahrayar and the brave and brilliant Shahrazad.

  Shahrazad chose to marry King Shahrayar, knowing that she would be killed the following day like hundreds of virgins before her, daughters of princes, merchants and army officers. The King would deflower one girl each night and then kill her in the morning, wreaking his revenge on womankind after he had seen his wife taking part in an orgy with her slaves.

  Amidst the growing, silent anger of his people, who muttered in hushed revolt and raised prayers to God, begging him to strike King Shahrayar down with a fatal disease, the King continued his campaign of bloodshed.

  Shahrazad, who was none other than the daughter of the King’s Vizier, whose task it was to select a girl for the King each night, decided that she alone could bring an end to this bloodbath. Much to her father’s horror and mortification, she volunteered to be the King’s next bride. But she had a plan: she would tell a story each night, bringing it to a dramatic climax at dawn. Then the King would burn with curiosity to hear the conclusion and would decree that she could live until the following night. Shahrazad’s peaceful, eloquent plan worked. She began with one single story: that of the fisherman and the jinni. And from there, the stories accumulated into heaps of stories, like a dry stone of a date growing into a palm tree, with hundreds of dates covering its branches. Soon Shahrazad’s words took over, becoming her shield against the sword hanging over her like an augury of dawn. The King was hypnotised by her stories and his violent, murderous soul was quelled, tamed. Until one day …

  Acknowledgements

  My gratitude to Tim Supple, who took me by the hand and showed me what I knew.

  My thanks to Margaret Stead, who helped me to let these stories shine in the English language, and to Amal Ghandour, Ten Gorten and Susan Willock who tenderly polished the poems.

  About the Author:

  Hanan al-Shaykh is one of the contemporary Arab world’s most acclaimed writers. She was born in Lebanon and brought up in Beirut, before going to Cairo to receive her education. She was a successful journalist in Beirut, then later lived in the Arabian Gulf before moving to London. She is the author of the collection I Sweep the Sun off Rooftops and her novels include The Story of Zahra, Women of Sand and Myrrh, Beirut Blues, and Only in London, shortlisted for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize. Most recently she published the acclaimed memoir of her mother’s life, The Locust and the Bird. She has written two plays, Dark Afternoon Tea and Paper Husband, and collaborated with Tim Supple on a theatrical adaptation of One Thousand and One Nights. Hanan al-Shaykh lives in London.

  Also available in eBook format by Hanan al-Shaykh:

  I Sweep the Sun Off Rooftops • 978-0-307-76662-5

  The Locust and the Bird • 978-0-307-37836-1

  Only in London • 978-0-307-42713-7

  For more information about Pantheon Books, please visit:

  http://www.pantheonbooks.com

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  The Story of Zahra

  Women of Sand and Myrrh

  Beirut Blues

  I Sweep the Sun Off Rooftops

  Only in London

  The Locust and the Bird