Moonlight flooded the balkh trees in Shooting Square, making the smooth bezoar flowers glow, while it also immersed Qumqam and Singam. They were settled on one of the branches of the highest tree on a night when the breaths of departing winter were mingling with those of a spring that was ready to come into being.
“How good is time if it flows under the pleasure of Providence!” said Qumqam.
“When divine immanence abides, the whispering of the flowers is heard as they glorify and praise God.”
“What does man lack for the enjoyment of the blessings of time and place?”
“That’s what baffles me, brother: has he not been granted an intellect and a soul?”
Qumqam pricked up his ears warily, then asked, “Is there not some warning harbinger in the air?”
At this a male and a female genie alighted on a nearby branch, both shamelessly intoxicated.
“Sakhrabout and Zarmabaha,” whispered Singam.
“Godlessness and evil,” whispered Qumqam.
Sakhrabout laughed derisively and commented, “We enjoy existence without fear.”
“There is no happiness for those whose hearts are empty of God,” Qumqam shouted at him.
“Really?” said Zarmabaha sarcastically.
And she and her companion began making love, and sparks flew from their embrace. Qumqam and Singam disappeared, at which Sakhrabout and Zarmabaha let out a shout of triumph, and he said to her, “You’ve been away from me an age.”
“I was playing a trick in a temple in India. And where were you?”
“I made a journey over the mountains.”
“On my return,” said Zarmabaha seductively, “I saw a girl whose beauty stunned me. It must be admitted…”
“I too saw a handsome young man in the Perfume Quarter, whose beauty has no equal among mankind.”
“A glance at my girl would erase from your memory the picture of your young man.”
“That’s an unjustified exaggeration.”
“Come and see with your own eyes.”
“Where is your girl to be found?”
“In the sultan’s palace itself.”
In the twinkle of an eye the two of them were in the reception wing of the sultan’s palace. A girl made her appearance: a prodigious beauty. She was taking off her cloak embroidered with threads of gold in order to put on her nightdress made of Damascene silk.
“Dunyazad, the sister of Shahrzad, wife of the sultan,” said Zarmabaha.
“Her beauty is in truth greater than life itself. No fragile human being is favored with such beauty.”
“You are right—it shines for just a few days, then time impairs it.”
“So you take delight in gloating over them.”
“They have an intellect but they live the life of imbeciles.”
“How very immortal she appears!”
“Perhaps you will now concede that she is more beautiful than your young man?”
“I don’t know,” said Sakhrabout after some hesitation. “Come and see for yourself.”
In less than an instant they were in the shop of the young man, a paragon of handsomeness. He was closing the shop and putting out the lamp before leaving.
“This is Nur al-Din the perfume-seller.”
“His handsomeness is also outstanding. Where is your friend from?”
“As you see, he is a seller. What interest is it to us where he is from?”
“Of all males he is most suited to my young girl, and she of all females is most suited to him.”
“They live in the same city but are as divided as the sky and the earth.”
“This is indeed an irony—and yet it is we who are accused of playing jokes!”
“How is it that the matchmakers are not competing over this girl?”
“Steady! Many would like to have her, among them Yusuf al-Tahir, governor of the quarter, and Karam al-Aseel the millionaire, but who is worthy of the sister of the sultan’s wife?”
“Zarmabaha, this world is weighed down with stupidity.”
“I’ve an idea,” exclaimed Zarmabaha joyfully.
“What is it?”
“An idea worthy of Satan himself.”
“You’ve set my curiosity afire.”
“Let’s have some crafty fun and bring them together!”
The black eyes of Dunyazad were lit up. It was the wedding party at the sultan’s palace, a marvel of luxurious splendor. The palace rippled with the lights of candles and lanterns, setting aglitter the jewels of those who had been invited, and resounded with the singing of the male and female performers. The sultan Shahriyar himself bestowed his blessing by giving her as a present the jewel of the wedding night.
“May your night be blessed, Dunyazad,” he said to her.
She waited in the bedchamber at the end of the night in a dress decorated with gold, pearls, and emeralds. Her mother bade her farewell, also her sister Shahrzad, and alone she waited in the bedchamber, lost in thought, concerned only with her anxious waiting and beating heart. The door opened, and Nur al-Din, in all his Damascene finery, Iraqi turban, and Moroccan slippers, entered. Like the full moon he advanced toward her and removed the veil from her face. Kneeling down in front of her, he clasped her legs to his chest. With a sigh he said, “The night of a lifetime, my beloved.”
He began stripping off her clothes piece by piece in the silence of the bedchamber that was filled with hidden melodies.
Dunyazad opened her eyes. The curtain was letting light through. She found herself immersed in the memories of the magic source from which she had sipped. Her lips were moist with kisses, her ears intoxicated with the sweetest words, her imagination replete with the warmth of sighs. The sensation of being embraced had not left her body, nor the tenderness. This was now the morning, but…Only too swiftly the harsh winds of consciousness blew over her. Where was the bridegroom? What was his name? When had the formalities of the marriage been carried out? O Lord, she had not been proposed to, she had not been given in marriage, and there had been no party at the palace. She was being snatched from her dream like someone being led to the execution mat. Was it really a dream? But the nature of dreams is for them to vanish, not to become so firmly established and corporeal that they can be touched and sensed. The room was still fragrant with his breathing. She jumped to the floor. She found that she was naked and had been despoiled of her innocence. A terrible penetrating trembling assailed her.
“It’s madness!” she exclaimed in despair.
Gazing around her in stupefaction, she again exclaimed, “It’s ruin!” And madness loomed like some pursuing beast.
As for the awakening of Nur al-Din, he was angry and agitated on seeing his simple bedroom in the dwelling that lay above his shop in the Perfume Quarter. Had it been a dream? But what an extraordinary dream, with all the power and heaviness of reality. Here was the bride in all her beauty, a reality that could not be forgotten or erased from his heart. When and how had he been stripped of his clothes? He was still smelling that lovely fragrance that had no parallel among his scents. He could still see the sumptuous bedchamber with its curtains, its divans, and its fantastic bed.
“What’s the point of playing a joke on a sincere believer like myself?”
He was tortured not by reality alone but also by love.
Zarmabaha guffawed with laughter and asked Sakhrabout, “What’s your opinion of this hopeless love?”
“A truly unique jest.”
“Mankind has never known such a thing.”
“Not necessarily,” said Sakhrabout. “They are keen on creating illusions.”
“But how?”
“How many there are who imagine that they have intelligence or the ability to compose poetry, or are possessed of courage.”
“What idiots they are!” she said, laughing.
“I am amazed at why they should have been given preference over us.”
Dunyazad resigned herself to the fact that her secret was too heavy for her to bear alone. She hastened to Shahrzad’s wing of the palace just after Shahriyar had gone off to the Council of Justice. No sooner did Shahrzad see her than she asked anxiously, “What’s wrong with you, sister?”
Seating herself on a cushion at the feet of the sultana, she raised her eyes with an appeal for help. Choking with sobs she said, “I wish it were illness or death.”
“I take my refuge in God—don’t say such a thing. We parted yesterday and you were fine.”
“Then something happened that does not occur in the world of the sane.”
“Tell me, for you have upset my peace of mind.”
Lowering her eyes, she recounted to her the story that had begun with an imagined marriage and ended in real blood. Shahrzad followed the tale with doubt and anxiety, then said encouragingly, “Don’t hide anything from your sister.”
“I swear to you by the Lord of the Universe that in my story I have not added or taken away a single word.”
“Would he be some scoundrel from among the palace men?” inquired Shahrzad.
“No, no, I have never set eyes on him.”
“What man of sense would accept your story?”
“That is what I tell myself. It is a story like one of your amazing tales.”
“My tales are derived from another world, Dunyazad.”
“I have fallen prisoner to the truth of your mysterious world, but I do not want to be its victim.”
Shahrzad said sadly, “I shall know the truth sooner or later, but I am frightened that disgrace will overtake us before that.”
“That is what kills me with fear and worry.”
“If the sultan gets to know your story, his doubts will once more be awakened and he will revert to his low opinion of our sex and will perhaps send me to the executioner and himself go back to his previous behavior.”
“God forbid that any harm should befall you on my account,” exclaimed Dunyazad.
Shahrzad thought for a while, then said, “Let us keep our story a secret, with neither the sultan nor my father knowing it. I shall arrange with my mother what shall be done, but you must return to our house with the excuse of being homesick.”
“How wretched I am!” muttered Dunyazad.
Nur al-Din asked his mother, Kalila al-Dumur to come to see him. The old woman came, moving her lips in a silent recital of verses from the Quran. Her emaciated face bore traces of an old beauty. He sat her down by his side on a sofa from Khurasan and asked her, “Were we visited by any strangers while I was asleep?”
“No one knocked at the door.”
“Was no voice heard coming from my room?”
“None. While I myself sleep, my senses don’t—the faintest of sounds wakes me up. Why do you ask such strange questions?”
“Perhaps it was a dream, though quite unlike other dreams.”
“What did you see, my son?”
“I saw myself in the presence of a beautiful girl.”
“It is an invitation to marriage from the unseen,” said Kalila with a smile.
“It was a reality both felt and sensed,” he said sharply. “I don’t know how to doubt it, but I am also unable to believe it.”
Said the old woman simply, “Don’t worry yourself—get married.”
“Have you ever heard of a reality that disappears in a dream?”
“The Lord is omnipotent—you will forget everything before an hour is past.”
“Yes,” he said with a sigh.
He knew he was lying and that he would not forget, that his heart was throbbing with real love and that his beloved was flesh and blood, a beloved who would not be forgotten, whose impression was ineffaceable.
Nur al-Din opened up his shop and looked at people with a new face. All his adolescent life he had been known for his pure good looks and quickness of mind. But that spring morning he looked distracted and confused. Those who used to rejoice at his appearance wondered what it was that had altered him and taken over his mind. He too was all the time wondering about the extraordinary dream which surpassed reality in its devastating effect. He had reached twenty years of age without marrying because of an old desire to marry Husniya, the sister of his friend Fadil Sanaan. Formerly he had hesitated because of his limited income and the great wealth of her father; after that he had hesitated because of his mother’s objection to his marrying the daughter of a man whose life had been mixed up with a genie.
“Keep away from evil, for we do not know anything about such secrets,” the old woman had said.
He had kept his friendship with Fadil, leaving Husniya to time. But where was Husniya now? Where, too, the world and everything in it? Nothing existed but that sparkling image, the sumptuous bedchamber, and the bed itself which was larger than the whole of his own bedroom. He had seen a vision of reality, had made real love, and here he was now loving in a way in comparison with which any actual love would be weak and feeble. Here he was suffering life’s languor, its loneliness, its melancholy and everlasting sadness in being separated from her; it lingered in his nostrils. As for her whispered words, they repeated themselves with his every breath.
He recollected his youth spent under the wing of Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi learning to read and write and the rudiments of religion. When he had had his fill and was about to bid the sheikh farewell, the man had said to him, “How better suited you are to Love.”
Understanding that the sheikh was inviting him to stay on with him, he said, “My father is ill and I must replace him in the shop.”
“I don’t accept in my company of disciples anyone who does not work.”
“Let worship and devoutness be enough for me.”
He did not fail to keep to his thoughts on this and did not turn aside from the straight path. Now he remembered the spontaneous words of the sheikh: “How better suited you are to Love!” Should he visit the sheikh to seek advice? But he was afraid and conceded that it was appropriate that the secret be kept within his heart.
He followed with his eyes the stream of veiled women. Could his beloved be one of them? She was to be found somewhere, of that he had no doubt: to be found somewhere, in this time now and no other. Maybe our yearnings roam about crazily as they strive after a meeting with the beloved. Maybe He Who had performed the miracle of the dream would work out, through some other dream, its interpretation and fulfillment. It wasn’t possible that such a dream should simply vanish as though it had never been. It wasn’t possible that yearnings so strong should blaze up without rhyme or reason. The lover must attain his goal—rationally or crazily, he must attain it. But how lost is he who searches without a guide!
The vizier Dandan was happy at the return of Dunyazad to his spacious house. As for the mother, she alone suffered—together with Dunyazad—the pain of living with the secret.
“You did wrong, Dunyazad,” she said to her daughter in sadness and anger.
“I resign myself to the will of the Lord of the Worlds,” said Dunyazad, weeping.
“The outcome will not be good.”
“I resign myself to the will of the Lord of the Worlds,” she repeated meekly.
When the signs of her condition became apparent, the woman set about arranging her daughter’s abortion, while asking forgiveness of her Lord.
“We are putting off the disaster, but what happens if a bridegroom presents himself?”
“I have no wish to marry,” exclaimed Dunyazad.
“What shall we say to your father if he finds a suitable person?”
“I resign myself to the will of the Lord of the Worlds.”
Once on her own, she forgot the dangers surrounding her and remembered only her departed lover. When she did so, death itself seemed of no account. Neither did she heed the disgrace, only asking herself agonizingly, “Where are you, my love? How did you find me? What’s your secret? What’s keeping you away from me? Has not my beauty taken you captive as yours has me? Has not the fire that burns in my soul seared you? Do you not take pity on my torment? Do you not miss my love and longing for you?”
An obstacle rose in the path of events and people’s hearts were affected. The town crier had passed by on his mule calling out to the sultan’s subjects, informing them of the attack of the king of Byzantium on one of the ports and of the army being put on alert for a holy war to repel the invaders. Anxiety spread and the mosques were crammed with worshipers; prayers were offered up for the sultan Shahriyar to be victorious. In the evening the habitués of the Café of the Emirs, the high and the low, congregated. One bench was shared by Hasan al-Attar the son of Ibrahim al-Attar, Fadil Sanaan, and Nur al-Din. No one had any subject of conversation except the war. The doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni was heard to say, “You have not witnessed an attack by the enemy—it is a storm of destruction that sweeps over cities and their peoples.”
“God’s army is unconquerable,” said Galil al-Bazzaz the draper.
“God, too, has His underlying reasons for things.”
“Sindbad’s ship may be captured,” said Ragab the porter.
To which Aladdin the son of Ugr the barber said, “You think only of yourself and your friend.”
At which Ugr the barber said, “I had an extraordinary dream.”
But no one asked him about his dream as no one trusted him to speak the truth and because they knew he liked involving himself in other people’s affairs.
Nur al-Din shuddered at the mention of a dream. He said to his friends Hasan and Fadil, “Nothing is more remarkable in the lives of men than dreams,” and he heard a voice commenting on his last words: “You are right in what you’ve said, my son.”
He turned to the adjacent platform and saw Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant gazing at him with a smile.
“You’re wise and experienced, sir.”
“He who is master of dreams is master of tomorrow,” said Sahloul.
He gave his whole heart to the conversation, but Fadil, recollecting what his absent friend Abdullah the porter had told him, quietly nudged him and whispered in his ear, “Stop talking to him.”
“But is he not a man of experience?” asked Nur al-Din.
“He’s also as inscrutable as a dream,” whispered Fadil Sanaan.
And he heard the doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni say, “In my estimation the sultan’s army will be victorious, but the owl will screech in the ruins of the treasury.”
Nur al-Din sighed sadly and asked himself when this yearning of his would end. His eyes were languid, his heart oppressed. He went roaming about in the streets, sometimes by day, sometimes by night, drawn in particular to places where women congregated in their favored markets. More than once he passed the house of the vizier Dandan at the time when Dunyazad was standing behind the wooden latticework looking out, but he did not notice her, nor she him. The unique experience appeared to him as an irrational phenomenon lodged far distant from the domain of hope, or it would whisper to him at times like some extraordinary truth that would be unveiled to him at such time as God’s mercy willed. On another occasion, at the end of the night, he saw a specter approaching which, when it could be seen in the light above a doorway, turned out to be the face of a dwarf—that of Karam al-Aseel the millionaire. What had brought him out of his magnificent house at such a late hour? What was keeping him awake? What was he searching for? He wondered whether the man had fallen captive to some dream as he himself had done and whether his wealth would be of help in discovering who had made him captive. His heart contracted at seeing him abroad for no apparent reason.
Karam al-Aseel liked to walk at night in the empty streets. He loved to wander about the quarter, and there was no part of the quarter without a house or a khan owned by him. In his spacious home he had a wife and tens of slave-girls, but he did not own their hearts in the same way as he owned human beings and things. It was in his power to change destinies, yet not to alter his own shape or form. Thus the world would often appear to him as drab as his own face. Business transactions forced him to mix with people, yet he loved the solitude of the night. He did not like singing and was bored by conversation, but he adored wealth and worshiped power. He had had the pleasure of being accepted as a confidant of the sultan. He would pay the alms tax but practiced no form of charity. He took care of his beard and was proud of it, for it was the most beautiful thing he possessed, with its luxurious growth. He had produced twenty daughters, but had not been granted a single male child. He owned millions and was the richest man in the quarter, in fact in the whole city.
He was also a lover of women and it was perhaps this that had made Nur al-Din follow his shadow with a dark and deeply agitated heart.
Karam was overcome with passion when the veil slipped from Dunyazad’s face as she rode in her howdah at the celebrations for Ashura, the anniversary of the martyrdom of the Prophet’s grandson. His heart, immersed in business worries, shook as when lightning strikes in the dark clouds. He leaned toward Bayumi al-Armal, the chief of police, who was one of those in slavery to his handouts.
“Who’s the slave-girl?”
“Dunyazad,” he answered, smiling, “the sister of the sultana.”
His chest tightened as he told himself that she was not to be bought for any money.
Thus he was proceeding at night in the company of musings that were not pleasant. When he spotted Nur al-Din he ignored him. He envied him his good looks, while protesting to himself angrily for envying another human being. Passing by the house of Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant, he said to himself, “That man will become my rival in wealth.” He regarded him as belonging to that rare minority that obliges others to show them respect, so he hated him more than he hated the others. As he made his way home, he said, “Karam al-Aseel or Abdullah al-Balkhi, which will read for us the unknown? My wealth should give me many times more happiness than I have.”
The doorman said to him, “Sir, Husam al-Fiqi, the private secretary, is awaiting your return in the reception hall.”
What had brought him at this late hour? At once he went to him. They embraced. The private secretary said, “My master, Yusuf al-Tahir, governor of the quarter, awaits you now at his house.”
“What urgent matter brings you?”
“I don’t know, except that it’s important.”
They went off in a hurry. When he was alone with him, Yusuf al-Tahir began in mock pomposity, “Commensurate with people’s efforts…”
Karam al-Aseel looked at him with interest, and the other continued, “Our army has been victorious. You are the first man to be informed of the good news.”
He muttered in confusion, “A favor from the Lord of the Worlds.”
The governor gave him a long look, then said, “The treasury has had expenses beyond its means.”
His heart went cold as he grasped what it was all about.
“The sultan,” continued Yusuf al-Tahir, “is in need of a loan to be paid after the land tax has been collected.”
“And what,” he inquired half in jest, “has this to do with me?”
“The sultan,” said Yusuf al-Tahir with a laugh, “has singled you out for this honor.”
“How much?” he asked without enthusiasm.
“Five million dinars.”
There was no escape, no choice. Yet an idea flashed in his head that was so experienced at driving bargains.
“An opportunity to draw close to the sultan and to gain the reward of the Merciful.”
“Well done!”
“But there’s a request I have which I did not know how to express,” he said quietly.
Yusuf al-Tahir kept smiling in silence, until Karam al-Aseel said, “The hand of Dunyazad, my ultimate hope of achieving the honor of being related.”
Though astonished, Yusuf al-Tahir did not show it. He recollected how much he would have liked to have Dunyazad for himself. He felt unimaginably irritated at the other man, but said calmly, “I shall put forward the request as you wish.”
“What was to be feared has occurred!”
It was with these words that the mother expressed herself, in a state of great agitation. Dunyazad, on the other hand, had been expecting it.
“The bridegroom has come—he has obtained the sultan’s compliance and your father’s agreement.”
Who could it be? Did fate have some new miracle stored up in which lay a remedy? Her eyes asked the question without her uttering a word.
“It’s Karam al-Aseel the millionaire.”
Dunyazad frowned, and desperation wrested the blood from her cheeks.
“Scandal, like thunder, knocks at the door,” said the mother.
“I am innocent and God is my witness,” said Dunyazad, weeping.
“No one will ever believe your story.”
“God is sufficient for me.”
“With Him is forgiveness and pardon.”
“Do I not have the right of accepting or refusing?”
“It is the sultan’s wish,” said the mother, rejecting the suggestion.
“Oh, that I could escape from this world!” she groaned.
“That would be an even bigger scandal, and your sister might not be safe from the consequences.”
As her weeping increased, her mother said, “Would that difficulties were solved with tears.”
“But my tears are all I possess!” exclaimed Dunyazad.
Sakhrabout said to Zarmabaha as he laughed joyfully, “The trick we played has become excessively complicated and will have exciting consequences.”
Zarmabaha, sharing his joy, said, “A rare entertainment!”
“Do you think the beautiful young girl will commit suicide, or be killed?”
“The best would be if she were to be killed and her father were to commit suicide.”
“Is there further scope for having fun?”
“Let’s just let things take their course, seeing that they don’t require our intervention.”
“The fact is that I’m afraid…”
“What are you afraid of, my darling?” she interrupted him.
“That goodness will sneak in from we know not where.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic!” she said scornfully.
Sakhrabout laughed and said nothing.
The news of Karam al-Aseel’s engagement to Dunyazad spread throughout the quarter, dragging in its wake a trail of joy, curiosity, and mocking remarks. The poor dreamed of a generous windfall of charity from a man who did not even know the joy of being charitable, while the people of distinction rejoiced at this relationship by marriage between the sultan and their quarter, although warning whispers were abroad about a monkey marrying an angel. Dunyazad, in her solitude, lamented, while communing with the unknown. “Where are you, my beloved? When are you coming to rescue me from ruin?”
Nur al-Din continued wandering about in the alleyways. The news of the marriage aroused his sadness as he too communed with the unknown. “Where are you, my beloved?” Meanwhile, Qumqam and Singam followed the whispered communings with deep sorrow.
“Look,” said Singam to his companion, “what time and place do.”
“The moans of mankind,” Qumqam said to him, “from of old gush forth into the river of sorrows among the stars.”
Under their tree Sahloul hurried by.
“He’s off on some assignment,” said Qumqam.
“Sometimes,” said Sahloul in confusion, “I receive incomprehensible orders!” And off he went.
Sahloul ended up at the wall of the lunatic asylum where he stood in the darkness.
“Were it not that I have faith, I might ask myself the meaning of all this.”
He imposed his will on the ground between himself and the cell of Gamasa al-Bulti and a tunnel burst open which no humans could have cut through in less than a year. In seconds he was standing in the darkness above the head of Gamasa al-Bulti and listening to his regular breathing. He gently shook him until he woke up and asked, “Who is it?”
“That’s not important,” he said to him. “Release from suffering has come to you, so give me your hand for me to take you to freedom.”
Not daring to believe, Gamasa al-Bulti nonetheless abandoned himself to Sahloul until he was steeped in a cool spring breeze.
“O mercy of God!” muttered Gamasa. “Who are you, stranger? Who has sent you?”
“To your old secluded spot on the riverbank!” said Sahloul, pushing him forward.
When the stranger had gone, Gamasa al-Bulti said to himself, “This is not the work of humans. Remember that, O Gamasa. Remember and ponder it.”
He had lived among madmen until he had come to terms with madness. He had realized that it was a closed secret and an exciting revelation. He had hoped to plunge into its depths and face up to its challenges.
Refreshed by the breeze, his heart made its way to Akraman, Rasmiya, and Husniya. He wished he could visit the rooming house and mingle with his beloved. But who was he? They had shaved his head and beard and he had twice been flogged. Today there was no such thing as Gamasa, nor even Abdullah. Today he was without identity, without name, filled with worries and a striving toward piety.
He took himself to the date palm at the tongue of the river. He remembered his dream friend, Abdullah of the Sea. Once again he said, “A being without identity, his goal is beyond the cosmos, but remember and ponder, for release from suffering has not come to you without some reason.”
Dunyazad was conveyed to the palace so that her marriage might be celebrated under the aegis of the sultan in accordance with his sublime wish. Winds of terror swept over the heart of the bride and that of her sister, the lady of the stories. Shahrzad advised her sister to claim that she was ill and she asked the sultan to postpone the marriage until she had recovered. The doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni was called and he undertook her treatment. He was very soon dubious. Being astute and resourceful, and with an experience of men’s souls no less than his experience of their bodies, he thought it likely that the bride had an aversion to the monkey who was to be her husband. He nonetheless cleverly feigned ignorance in accordance with her wish, burying her secret deep down in the sacrosanct well of his profession and affirmed that treatment would take a long time. Karam al-Aseel, however, was annoyed at the decision and was also assailed by doubts, so he pleaded with the sultan to be allowed to make the marriage contract but for the wedding itself to be postponed till the bride was cured. The sultan agreed to this and the chief cadi was brought and the marriage contract made out. Thus Dunyazad became the lawful wife of Karam al-Aseel the millionaire. Some people awaited with impatience the splendor of the festivities, while others expected imminent catastrophe.
Nur al-Din’s uncertain footsteps led him one evening to the river, where he sat on his own by the tongue of land. In a gentle solitude disturbed only by the breath of spring, ablaze with tongues of yearning, there came to him the sound of someone communing. He felt certain it was the voice of someone at worship. He was drawn to him in his search for ease and solace. He came upon an old man under the date palm and, reluctant to interrupt him, sat down and listened. When he had finished, the man asked him, “Who are you? And what has brought you?”
“I am in torment,” answered Nur al-Din. “And you? Are you from this place?”
“Places are not important to those who have made worship their pleasure. But what is the secret of your torment?”
“I have a strange story.”
He was moved by a strong desire to unburden himself, so he told him his dream in all its details and the madness that followed upon it, then asked, “Do you believe me?”
“Madmen don’t lie,” replied the man.
“Have you an explanation of the secret?”
“There is an angel or devil behind you, but it is a reality.”
“And how shall I be rid of my yearnings?”
He said gently, “We suffer yearnings without number that they may lead us finally to the yearning after which there is no yearning, so love God and He will make everything superfluous for you.”
After a silence Nur al-Din said, “I am a believer and am sincere in my worship, but I am still a lover of God’s creatures.”
“Then don’t stop searching.”
“I am tired out and sleepless.”
“The lover does not tire.”
“It seems to me that you are a person of experience.”
“I knew a man who was deprived not only of those he loved but of existence itself.”
“By death?”
“No, in life.”
“Have you doubts about my state of mind?”
“It’s veritable madness.”
“And sanity too.”
After a hesitation Nur al-Din said, “You are difficult to comprehend and grow more so.”
With a smile the old man inquired, “Then what do you say about your dream?”
Nur al-Din returned to the city, plunging through seas of darkness. The worshiper had not quenched his burning thirst—or had only partly done so. He had urged him to search but had not promised him that he would be successful and had not warned him against despair. He had then made clear that he was one of those afflicted by God. Nur al-Din had not been made for asceticism in the world, but was made for loving God in the world. On this understanding he had parted from Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi that day. In that instant he could not but be certain that his beloved existed somewhere and that she was imprinted with the mark of his love. It was of that that the gentle night breezes spoke to him, in the same way as the twinkling of the stars dipping down between the domes and minarets spoke to him. In his solitude he called out in a loud voice, “Lighten my torment, O You Who are gentle with Your servants.”
“Who complains at this hour of the night?” asked a deep voice.
He was conscious of the shape of two men blocking his path.
“Are you from the police?” he asked.
“We are strangers, merchants who are amusing ourselves in the long night by walking about in your ancient quarter.”
“Welcome to you both.”
“What is your complaint, young man?”
“People are there to help others,” said his companion, “and complaints do not go unanswered among men of honor.”
Moved by his noble sentiment, Nur al-Din said, “I invite you to my lowly house, which is nearby.”
They were soon seated in an elegant room where he provided them with the doughnuts known as zalabiya and glasses of karkadeh made of the petals of the hibiscus flower. They ranged around the question of his complaint, while he asked them where they were from, to which they answered that they came from Samarkand. Again they hinted about his complaining, to which he replied, “He who is at a loss divulges his secret to a stranger.”
“And he may well find in him something that was unexpected,” said the man with the deep voice.
“So let the skies bring down unexpected rain upon us,” said Nur al-Din with a sigh, and he started to recount to them the story of his extraordinary dream until his voice disappeared into an all-pervading silence and he was staring at them shyly. Then the man with the deep voice said, “We have become acquainted through our hearts, as is proper with high-minded people, but the time has come for us to know one another’s names. I am Ezz al-Din al-Samarkandi, and this is my partner Kheir al-Din al-Unsi.”
“Nur al-Din, seller of perfumes,” said Nur al-Din.
“A trade as handsome as your face.”
“God forbid! I am not handsome—God places His beauty only where He wants to place His approval.” Then he asked, “Have you believed me?”
“Yes, young man,” said Ezz al-Din. “I am much traveled and have heard stories of our forebears as would not occur to human hearts. Thus I do not doubt the truth of your dream.”
Hopes revived in Nur al-Din’s heart. “Can I attain my goal of finding my beloved?”
“I do not doubt it.”
“But how and when?” he asked with a moan.
“By patience and perseverance attainment will be achieved.”
Kheir al-Din al-Unsi asked him, “Are you in need of money?”
“I ask nothing of God except that I achieve my goal.”
“Be of good cheer at God’s release which is close at hand,” said Ezz al-Din.
Shahrzad had never seen the sultan so excited. They were on the balcony that overlooks the garden. He had finished his morning prayers and was having his breakfast of milk and an apple. Soon he would put on his official attire and go to the Council of Judgment, but at the moment he looked like a child who has made a new discovery.
“Last night,” he said, “in my wandering I lit upon a story that was like one of yours, Shahrzad.”
Despite her hidden sorrow, she said smiling, “The fact that stories repeat themselves is an indication of their truth, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, yes—the secrets of existence are splendid and more delicious than wine.”
“May God grant Your Majesty enjoyment of existence and its secrets.”
After deliberation he said, “The truth is that I am ever on the move and my heart is never still—the brightness of day and the darkness of night contend for me.”
“Ever thus is living man,” she said gaily, concealing her listlessness of spirit.
“Don’t be in a hurry. My turn has come to tell you a strange story.” And he presented to her the dream of Nur al-Din the perfume-seller. He noticed the expression on her face and said in astonishment, “What an impression it has made on you, Shahrzad!”
“I woke this morning unwell,” she said, as though excusing herself.
“The effect of humidity; it will soon wear off. The doctor will see you. As for me, I would like to charge the town criers to go round with the story so as to bring together the lovers.”
“It is best for us to proceed slowly lest two innocent people be exposed to evil tongues,” she said fervently.
He thought for a while, then asked, “Am I not capable of protecting them?”
Shahrzad told herself that this man used to occupy himself only with cutting people’s heads off, and that the devil in him still had influence that was not to be underrated, though it no longer had total possession of him.
Shahrzad said to her mother, who was staying at the palace on the pretext of looking after Dunyazad in her illness, “An unprecedented event demands of us even more wisdom.”
“My heart,” said the mother with a sigh, “is in no state to face any further events.”
“Mother, the man of the dream has become a reality!”
The woman’s mouth opened wide in astonishment. “Don’t talk to me of dreams,” she muttered.
“He is none other than Nur al-Din the perfume-seller.” And she recounted to her in detail the sultan’s adventure, at which the mother, in bewilderment, said, “It is not possible for someone like him to slip into the sultan’s palace at night.”
“If your doubts are correct, mother, it would have been easy for her to elope with him.”
“But what would that have achieved? Your sister is a legal wife of Karam al-Aseel and the catastrophe draws nearer hour by hour.”
“And the town criers will give out the story, and it is not unlikely that the truth about it will come out.”
“Danger takes us unawares,” groaned the mother.
“It’s the awful truth.”
“Shall we wait like the man who’s been thrown down on the execution mat?”
“I’m frightened,” said Shahrzad, distraught, “for Dunyazad and for myself too. There is no trusting the blood-shedder. The worst affliction a man can suffer is to be under the delusion he is a god.”
“It’s like death—it’s inevitable.”
“Sometimes it seems to me that he is changing.”
“Your father says that too.”
“But what goes on inside him? In my view he is still a mysterious riddle that cannot be trusted.”
“The story may please him when it is far away, but when it beats at his door and concerns him, that’s something else. His delusions may revert.”
“And he goes back to being the devil he was, or something more ghastly.”
“And what have you done wrong?”
“I think we should share our worries with Dunyazad.”
“I am very apprehensive about that.”
“Why should we flee from the truth when it is encircling us?”
The housekeeper Murgan sought permission to enter. “My mistress Dunyazad,” she said fearfully, “has disappeared and has left this message.”
Shahrzad read the following words: “I seek Your Majesty’s pardon, but I am incapable of disobeying your order to marry Karam al-Aseel and yet it is not possible for me to marry him. I have therefore chosen to do away with myself, and God is the Forgiving, the Merciful.”
The mother gave a sob and fainted.
The town criers began broadcasting the extraordinary dream and inviting the two lovers to meet under the protection of the sultan. It was then that the sultan received the news of Dunyazad’s suicide, with sadness and displeasure. He issued an order that her body should be found wherever it was. Karam al-Aseel was so upset that he remained in seclusion far from those who were gloating or making fun of him, and left his house only in the middle of the night. As for Yusuf al-Tahir, the governor of the quarter, he had received the news with a mixture of deep sorrow and joy: joy at the fact that Dunyazad was released from the grip of the monkey-man and deep sorrow at the death of the young girl he had wanted for himself and for whose sake he had seriously thought of arranging a plot to assassinate Karam al-Aseel.
The madman was meditating in the darkness of night under the date palm when his attention was drawn to a specter approaching in the light of the stars. He heard a female voice greeting him and saying, “In the name of God I ask you to direct me to a ship that will take me away from the city.”
“Are you fleeing from some deed that angers God?” he asked her gently.
“I have never angered God in my life,” she said gently.
Her voice reminded him of Akraman and Husniya, and the tenderness of the earth was blended with the cravings of the sky in his heart.
“You must wait,” he told her amiably, “until daybreak, when God will in His mercy take charge of you.”
“Can I wait here?”
He gave a smile which she did not see and said, “The open air has been created for fugitives! Where are you going?”
“I want to get far away from the city.”
“But you are alone and perhaps beautiful.”
When she kept silent, he said, “Perhaps God will help you through me, if you so wish.”
“I want nothing except for you to make it possible for me to travel.”
“Can you swear by God that you are not leaving behind some harm you have done to a human being?”
Reassured, she said in a shaking voice, “It is I who am unjustly wronged. I left my home to kill myself, then was afraid that God would meet me in anger.”
“Why, daughter?”
When she burst into sobs, he called out to the heavens, “You are most knowing as to where to place Your mercy.”
“I am innocent and wronged.”
“I do not wish to intrude upon your heart’s secret.”
“You are one of God’s good servants and to you I’ll divulge my secret,” she said, having decided to abandon herself. And she began to recount her story.
“Are you the person in the dream?” he interrupted her.
“How did you know that?” she exclaimed.
“I knew it from your partner at this same place, and after that I heard it from the town criers.”
“I don’t follow you—do you know my partner in the dream?”
“The town criers are repeating his name everywhere—it is Nur al-Din the perfume-seller.”
“The town criers?” she said as though addressing herself. “Behind them is the sultan! How strange! Nur al-Din…Nur al-Din…But I am married—or rather dead.”
When she had completed her story, the man said, “Go to your husband!”
“Death is easier,” she exclaimed insistently.
“Go to your husband Nur al-Din!”
“But I am a lawful wife to Karam al-Aseel!”
“Go to Nur al-Din and let the dawn come up.”
“What do I see?” said Sakhrabout furiously. “Things are proceeding toward a happy solution.”
Concealing her feelings of bitterness, Zarmabaha said, “Wait, the way is still strewn with thorns.”
They spotted Sahloul under the tree hurrying along in the darkness.
“An unforeseen assignment, angel?” Sakhrabout asked himself.
“Let’s hope it’s for us rather than against us,” said Zarmabaha.
Sahloul went on his way without paying them any heed.
Early in the morning Nur al-Din left his house to open his shop. By his shop he found a young veiled girl, who seemed to be waiting. She wore a dress of Damascene silk that bespoke lofty origins. She looked at him with interest, then gave a deep sigh. Amazed at her, he felt his heart throb, revealing obscure emotions. She soon unveiled her radiant face, while staring at him with submissive ardor. An age passed as, outside all existence, they were immersed in a dream that breathed passionate magic. Spring breezes blew and filled them with the fragrance of the sky’s blue. Their happiness made them forget the memories of torment and confusion. Peace came down to earth and in a movement as spontaneous as the singing of birds they clasped hands.
“Human and alive!” he exclaimed. “Reality and not a dream, here at this moment!”
“Yes,” she whispered in a trembling voice. “You, Nur al-Din—and I, Dunyazad!”
“What act of mercy led you to where I was?”
The words flowed from her mouth as she told him of the tragedy and the way it had been resolved.
“We should have been assured,” he said deliriously, “that the miracle was not happening to no avail.”
“But thunder is stronger than the cooing of pigeons.”
“Together and forever,” he said finally.
“It was fated.”
“Let’s go to the sultan.”
The flame of her fervor was extinguished, “But I’m married to Karam al-Aseel,” she said.
“The sultan’s promise is stronger.”
“False steps, too, possess their own power.”
But he was in an utter state of intoxication.
The sultan’s council was held at noon and was attended by the eminent men of state. Before the throne stood Nur al-Din, seller of perfumes, and Dunyazad, sister of the sultana.
“We have been taken unawares by wondrous and inscrutable happenings,” said the sultan, scowling. “The days and nights have taught us to pay attention to such wonders and to knock at the door of the inscrutable so that it may open wide and reveal light. This wondrous happening, disguised as a dream, has invaded my very home.”
As the sultan fell silent, the heart of Dandan his minister trembled and the faces of Dunyazad and Nur al-Din paled. No doubt conflicting forces strove for ascendancy in the sultan’s heart. The cruel demon had been bewitched by the stories, yet they had not altered his quintessence. Then, with a face more sullen, he said, “But the sultan’s promise is valid!”
The feeling of distress left the hearts of many and faces brightened with the light of hope. Then the mufti, official expounder of the law, said, “But the lady Dunyazad is already married at law.”
“Bring Karam al-Aseel,” the sultan ordered Dandan.
Then rose Yusuf al-Tahir, governor of the ancient quarter.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “Karam al-Aseel was found dead last night not far from his home.”
The news struck at people’s hearts, shaking them like an earthquake, and quickly brought to mind the violent deaths of the governors and leading citizens. Bayumi al-Armal, the chief of police in the quarter, rose to his feet and said, “Our men, after a long search, have found the escaped madman who was wandering aimlessly about at night in the quarter and they have arrested him.”
“Are you accusing him of killing al-Aseel?” asked the sultan.
“He himself admits, proudly and boastfully, that it was he who committed all the crimes.”
“Was he not the man who insisted he was Gamasa al-Bulti?”
“The very same, and he is still insistent.”
Here Yusuf al-Tahir said, “We would ask Your Majesty’s permission to behead him, which is safer than returning him to the madhouse.”
“My vizier Dandan told me that the tunnel by which he made his escape could not have been made by human beings.”
“That is so, Your Majesty,” admitted Bayumi al-Armal.
The sultan hesitated for so long that his close companions felt that for the first time in his life he was being assailed by fear. When Dandan realized this, he said adroitly, “He’s nothing but a madman, Your Majesty, yet he has a secret which is not to be underrated, so let him go—there is no kingdom that does not have a handful of the likes of him who are in divine care. I believe he should be released and that a search should be made for the killer among the Shiites and the Kharijites.”
“You have given good advice, Dandan,” said the sultan, inwardly thanking his vizier for his acumen. Then he looked at Dunyazad and Nur al-Din and said, “You have the promise, so get married. Dunyazad shall have all that she requires from the treasury.”
The assembly was enveloped in an air of peace and happiness.