by Aisha Saeed
“Poor guy.” Ali shook his head, whispering to Jasmine. “As much as I talk about how great Ababwa is, there’s poverty here, too. He looks famished.”
Jasmine watched the man examine a golden-framed painting along the wall. He craned his neck to study the vaulted ceilings, and then his eyes settled on the thrones. His eyes narrowed before he began coughing. Clearing the phlegm from this throat, he gripped the podium with his hands. He studied the two of them for a moment before speaking.
“Twenty-four karat?” he finally said. His voice was deep and gravelly.
“Excuse me?” asked Ali.
“That frame.” The man nodded at the painting of Ababwa he’d been studying. “They look to be solid gold. But surely they’re just an imitation, aren’t they?”
“They were here before my time,” Ali said.
The man walked over to a frame and ran his hand across it.
“Well, it certainly feels as real as gold,” he said, marveling.
“No one touches the property of the palace,” Omar said firmly, marching over to the man.
“Easy there.” The man raised an eyebrow. “Just admiring the premises is all. First time at this…what do you call it? Town hall meeting? My apologies to you,” he said with a smirk. Jasmine wondered if Ali noticed the hostility that laced his words, but when she looked over at him, Ali wore a sympathetic expression instead.
“It’s a big palace.” Ali nodded. “I understand it can be a bit distracting.”
“Big?” The man barked a laugh. “This isn’t just big. This is the largest palace I’ve ever seen. Just how many people did it take to get this place up and running?”
“You know what they say.” Ali laughed awkwardly. “It takes a kingdom.”
“Takes more than a kingdom with this one.” The man snorted. “You some kind of wizard or magician or something? Because the way I—”
“If you have a question for the prince, a problem you need assistance with, please ask him now. Otherwise it is time for you to go,” Omar said, interrupting him.
Doesn’t he see that there is something off about this person? Jasmine wondered. She wanted to nudge Ali, but what could she say? The man was boorish, to be sure, but he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. She simply had a bad feeling about him. And was that fair? She looked at the man now—he stared at their thrones as though he wished to inhale them.
“How can we help you?” Ali asked him.
“Help me?!” the man laughed. He ran a hand over his tattered clothing. “How does a person even begin to address all the problems I have?”
“New clothes?” Ali asked him. “We could start with that. Nothing wrong with what you’re wearing, of course, but if you’d like we can get you some fresh outfits. Omar, can you please send for the palace tailor?”
“At once.” Omar nodded and walked at a steady clip out of the hall.
The man watched Omar leave. He did not thank Ali. He seemed entirely indifferent, his arms crossed against his body. The three of them waited for a few moments in silence until Omar returned with the tailor in tow.
“Easy there,” the man snarled when the woman bent down to measure his arms. “I’m not a mannequin you can just poke your pins into!”
“I haven’t done anything but measure you with my tape,” the tailor responded.
“Sorry,” Ali said. “I know it must feel strange to get fitted for clothing, but I’m sure she will do a good job. When do you think it will be ready?” he asked her.
“I can have something put together by evening.”
“That’ll do,” the man gruffly replied.
Just then, the magic carpet fluttered and stretched. It stuck a tassel up toward Jasmine before settling back down again.
The man’s jaw dropped as he stared at it.
“That rug…It moved all on its own.”
“Oh…” Ali reached down and smoothed out the carpet with his hand. “No, I don’t think so. Probably a gust of wind that came through the opened door. So, your clothes,” he said, quickly changing the subject. “Please do come back this evening, and we’ll get you some food to go with it as well.”
The man did not reply. Instead, he stared at the carpet. His eyes narrowed.
“If that is all…” Omar approached the man. “I can help show you the way out.”
The man looked at Omar and then at both Jasmine and Ali before he turned and stalked out the door.
“That was strange,” Ali said, watching him leave.
“Yes, it was,” Jasmine agreed. She kept her eyes on the man as he stomped down the hallway and out the door. She waited until his figure had disappeared from view and breathed a sigh of relief once he was finally gone.
DONE WITH the open forum, Jasmine and Aladdin returned to the courtyard and stepped into the resplendent palace gardens. Flowers of every shape, size, and color bloomed around them. Sunflowers as tall as he was swayed in the distance. Tulips, poinsettias, and daffodils were spread throughout the grounds. Aladdin leaned down and brushed a hand against a patch of orchids to his left. They were as soft as silk.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a tree sculpted into a flamingo before.” Jasmine pointed to a shrub that did in fact look like a green flamingo, complete with a stick leg raised in midair.
“Me either,” said Aladdin. “I mean, I’ve seen many other designs. I guess I never paid attention to this one before.”
That was close. He was trying his best to act like trees sculpted into stars and birds and animals were ordinary for him, but it was difficult.
“I must admit you were right. This is a lovely surprise,” she said.
“What is?”
“This.” She gestured at the shrubbery. “The designs are very creative.”
“You think this is the surprise? Wait until you see what it actually is.” He pretended to be confident about the direction they were headed. Hopefully by following the paved walkway, the menagerie would pop up eventually.
“What on earth could be more fascinating than…wait a minute…” Her voice trailed off as they approached a white picket fence bordering a large expanse of land. “Is that…” She pointed to a red barnlike structure in the distance. “Is that a horse pen?”
“Looks like it,” Aladdin said, relieved. The horses meant other animals had to be close. They walked over to the stable. There were at least twenty horses inside. Some were snow white, like the one in the foyer painting, but there were all sorts of colors, from black to chocolate brown to golden yellow.
Two chestnut horses approached them and nuzzled against Aladdin’s hands.
“Hey there.” Aladdin leaned down, pulled some orange carrots from a basket next to his feet, and proffered some. They inhaled the vegetables and rubbed their noses against him.
“Prince Ali.” A freckled teenager, the stable hand, approached. He wore brown slacks and a yellow shirt. “Are you here to tour the menagerie?”
“Menagerie?” Jasmine repeated. She glanced toward the horizon and her eyes widened. “Is that a giraffe?”
“Surprise.” Aladdin grinned.
“It’s a fairly big place,” the stable hand told the princess. “I can get saddles for these two horses so you can see as much as you can.”
“Sounds great,” Aladdin said.
The stable hand fitted both horses with saddles and then assisted Aladdin and Jasmine in mounting the steeds.
“Ready, friend?” Aladdin patted the horse’s side once they were both seated. Holding on to the reins, together, Jasmine and Aladdin trotted deeper into the open field.
“Are those rhinos?” she asked incredulously after they had turned the bend past a thicket of trees. Sure enough, there was a family of four in the distance. Three of them were eating grass while one napped under a shade tree. “And ostriches?” She turned to her left. “And camels. And llamas and bears. Just how many animals do you have here?”
“A lot.” Aladdin laughed.
“And those birds.” Jasm
ine pointed to the sky at the pink birds with silver henna-like patterns. “They were the ones we saw when we first came to Ababwa. They were welcoming you because they live here! You didn’t let on!”
“Well, it had to be a surprise,” Aladdin said, thinking quickly.
“This is incredible,” she said.
Yep, thought Aladdin. Genie had outdone himself with this menagerie, and Aladdin could see Jasmine was enraptured by all of it.
An elephant calf that had been lounging with her parents by a mud patch near a pond waddled over to them now. Lifting her ridged gray trunk, she tickled Jasmine’s feet. Jasmine laughed and leaned down to rub her ears before continuing on. The menagerie was filled with all sorts of other creatures, too: spider monkeys, peacocks, llamas, iguanas, even zebras. He hoped Jasmine didn’t ask him to catalogue them all, because he would have no way to know just how many there were.
Farther out into a wide meadow, a cheetah approached, walking gracefully through a patch of tall grass.
“Is it dangerous?” she asked and glanced nervously at Aladdin. “I know I’m not one to talk what with Raja as my companion, but still…”
They watched from atop their horses as the cheetah approached until it was face to face with them. Then, to their surprise, it flopped down on its back.
“I think it wants a belly rub?” Aladdin said.
Dismounting, Jasmine bent down and petted the graceful creature. It let out a loud purr.
“I think she likes me!” Jasmine said.
“What’s not to like?” Aladdin grinned.
Jasmine blushed and reached down again to pet the large cat’s soft fur. Aladdin dismounted and gave it a quick ear rub.
“Raja loved when you did that,” Jasmine said. “He’s so protective over me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him warm up so quickly to anyone before.”
“He’s a pretty great tiger,” Aladdin said. “Now if we could just find a way to bring him here, would there really be a reason to ever leave Ababwa?” He grinned at her. “How about it?”
Jasmine looked at him with a start. She hesitated, as though she were unsure how to respond.
“Oh, I was kidding,” he said quickly. His cheeks flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, I mean, yes, I know you’re joking,” Jasmine said quickly. “Of course. But I guess I just…I wish it didn’t have to end, either.”
They trotted their horses back to the stable.
“Want to check out the streets of Ababwa?” he asked her as they dismounted. “Visit some of the shops and see the town up close?”
“I’d love that.” She smiled.
They left the menagerie and headed toward the palace, talking about the town and the sights contained therein. But he couldn’t shake one thought. Aladdin glanced at Jasmine. He’d been joking at first about moving to Ababwa, but now that he’d said it aloud, the thought wouldn’t leave him. Why did their time here have to end? Why would anyone walk away from a place that was good and perfect and working for both of them to return to a place that wasn’t?
Was it so ridiculous to wonder?
THE PEOPLE of the kingdom of Saravania loved their verdant meadows with grazing goats and bright blue fireflies that glowed yellow against the evening sun. They loved how safe and secure they felt, their kingdom separated as it was from nearby lands by vast oceans.
“Beware the places beyond the sea,” intoned teachers as children huddled close to one another. “Evil lurks beyond the horizon. People who harm and cause heartache and pain.”
It wasn’t that life was perfect on Saravania, for even in their kingdom there was a disease of late afflicting the pomegranate trees—and a rash of unexplained headaches and fevers afflicting the town elders. Still, even with that, life was good. They knew they were more fortunate than most, and of course they had their artwork. Be it stitchwork, painting, or ceramics, the people of Saravania were uncommonly gifted in the arts, and despite the imperfections there may have been, everyone was grateful and content.
Everyone except Princess Zeena.
“It’s really too much,” the sultana, her mother, would admonish her. “You are a princess in a most beautiful kingdom, and yet you pout and sulk and are unsatisfied.”
Zeena gazed out the window and said nothing. It was an argument with no proper resolution. Her younger sisters were gifted artists, stitching oceans from thread and painting fireflies that looked so lifelike one could think they were genuine. And though Zeena admired these pursuits, they could not capture her heart completely.
Zeena often looked out at the deep blue waters from the window of her bedroom tower. Fishermen docked just a few feet from shore, not far from the royal sailboat; their lines sank into the abyss. Seagulls swooped in the sky and dove into the water before flying on. She had grown up on the stories of the dangers beyond the horizon like everyone else, but if there were dangers, she wished to see them for herself. She wondered if other lands had palaces like their own. If they had festivals to celebrate the sun and the moon twice a year. What sorts of clothes did they wear? What languages did they speak? Did they laugh and smile differently from the people of Saravania? How similar were they to her? How different?
Zeena craved different. And she resented the uniformity of Saravania as much as everyone else seemed to find comfort in it. While others drew and painted, Zeena wandered to the shore behind her castle and searched the coves for undiscovered shells and treasures. And it was at such a moment that, one day, her destiny unfolded.
As she sat by a beachy cove one balmy summer afternoon, Zeena heard a loud splash. A fisherman’s boat capsized before her eyes. The man’s hands flailed about, the ocean’s riptide so strong it threatened to carry him out to sea. Zeena leapt up and dove into the water. As she helped him to shore, the fisherman thanked her profusely for saving his life.
And then, Zeena had an idea.
The next day she approached the man as he prepared to board his boat.
“Would you have any idea how to operate a sailboat?” she asked him.
“Yes, Princess.” The man nodded. “I’m proficient with most of the boats on our island.”
“Could you teach me how our royal sailboat might work? And would I be able to count on your discretion?”
“You saved my life. Anything you ask for is yours,” the man said.
As the weeks passed, the man taught Zeena the workings of a sailboat. How the mast flew up and blew out, how to stop it in rough waters to keep from capsizing, and the ways to change its direction based on how the wind blew.
When the sultana walked in later that week to find Zeena stitching red thread onto a white cloth at her desk, she startled.
“What is this?” she asked her daughter.
“Embroidery,” Zeena said, too consumed with her work to even glance up. “The family emblem, for our royal sailboat. I thought it would be nice to have a new look for it.”
“That’s a marvelous idea.” The sultana could have danced for joy seeing her daughter absorbed as she was with her work. “We can display it at the festival, perhaps,” her mother said.
“I don’t know if it will be done by then,” Zeena said thoughtfully.
“Take your time. Art requires the utmost patience.” Her mother squeezed her shoulder and then walked away.
Day after day Zeena worked on the embroidery. Soon brilliant flowers bloomed all along the cloth. Everyone agreed it was the most beautiful sail they’d ever seen.
The day of the festival, Zeena began to cough.
“Are you sick?” her younger sister asked her.
“I am.” Zeena sneezed. Looking at her sister’s concerned expression, she felt a sharp pang of guilt, but she also knew she had to carry out her plan to control her own destiny.
She waved goodbye to her family as they left for the festivities, promising to join them later if she improved over the day. As soon as the palace was empty—for the holiday meant everyone had the day off—Zeena hopped out of bed, grabbed
the embroidered sail and her knapsack filled with supplies for her journey, and quietly slipped out.
When the sun began to set and the sultana and her other daughters returned, they discovered Zeena was missing. No one worried at first. Danger simply did not visit their island, and Zeena loved finding new hideaways; she would return soon enough. But as night deepened with no trace of her, worry grew. Just as the sultana was about to call for the servants to scour the beaches, she heard a scream.
Her youngest daughter pointed out the window. The sailboat was missing from its dock.
A tear rolled down the sultana’s face. Her eldest had chosen to go beyond the horizon. With no sign of the boat to be seen, there was nothing to be done about it now.
As the months passed with no sign of her, even those who had held on to hope—who thought perhaps Zeena would defy the odds—realized she would not return. And life had grown increasingly difficult on Saravania. The crop disease, once confined to the pomegranate trees, had spread, swift as a fire. The date, fig, and olive trees were destroyed. The grapes, all brown and dried, hung limp from their vines. And the headaches and fevers that once afflicted only a handful of the town’s elders now spread to more and more people. It was as though, with Zeena’s departure, a gray cloud had settled over their small kingdom, never to lift again.
Until the day she returned.
It was her youngest sister who saw her first, the white sail of the family boat a speck in the distance glimmering brighter and brighter as it grew closer. News spread quickly and soon every last person in the kingdom stood upon the shore to watch a miracle unfold. Zeena was back—and not only was she definitively not dead, but her skin was a deep golden brown, her hair was kissed by the sun, and she wore a large smile upon her face.
After embracing her mother and sisters and greeting the townspeople, all of whom were too relieved to see her alive to be angry, she listened to the troubles that had befallen the island in her absence.
But as they spoke, Zeena simply smiled.
“What is there to be happy about?” the sultana asked, unable to hide her irritation.
