The fisherman’s fourth haul was a jar. When he pried open the stopper, out came a jinni who threatened to kill him. But the clever fisherman asked a tricky question first.
THE TALE OF THE FISHERMAN & THE JINNI CONTINUES
That night, when Dinarzad begged her to continue, Scheherazade began immediately. After all, the king had insisted—she must go where he insisted. She must run there; she must race there. His wish was everything.
is heart full of prayer, the fisherman cast his net for the fourth time. It snagged something heavy. He dove into the water and carried the net to shore. Inside was a brass jar with a lead stopper. Clearly, it had been in the water many years. But it was still sound and the workmanship was remarkable. The fisherman laughed; he could sell it at the copper market.
The fisherman pushed the jar onto its side, to roll it to market. But the jar was too heavy to budge. It must be full. With his knife he pried the stopper free. He tilted the jar. Nothing came out.
The fisherman put his eye to the jar’s mouth. It burned! He jumped away. Smoke came out. The spiral grew into a column that took form: a jinni, uglier than the monsters of your most demented dreams. His teeth were jagged boulders, his eyes were torches.
“Rejoice,” cried the jinni. “I shall kill you now.”
“What! I just freed you. You’d be an ingrate to kill me.”
“Make a wish.”
The fisherman smiled, relieved. “At last you’re being reasonable.”
“Choose how you’ll die. For my first 400 years in the jar, I vowed to make rich whoever freed me. No one came. For my next 400 years, I vowed to give every treasure imaginable to whoever freed me. No one came. After that I vowed to make my rescuer a king. No rescuer came. Year after year, no one. Until I decided I would kill whoever freed me. Then you came. Choose how you want to die.”
“Please, if you spare me, the Almighty will reward you. If you destroy me, the Almighty will punish you.”
“Choose!”
“I choose instead to ask a question,” said the fisherman. “Were you really in this jar?”
“You saw I was inside.”
“No. I opened the jar and smoke appeared. When it cleared, there you were. But you’re too large to fit inside.”
“I am not.”
They argued, until the jinni jumped into the jar and called out, “See? I fit.”
The fisherman jammed the stopper into place.
“No!” wailed the tricked jinni. “Let me out and I’ll make you rich.”
“You lie,” said the fisherman. “You would do to me as Sage Duban did to King Yunan.”
“I don’t know that story,” said the jinni. “Tell it.”
Morning warmed Scheherazade’s cheeks. She let her eyelids drop. Her sister Dinarzad exclaimed about how exciting this tale was. Shah Rayar expected this. It had become routine. He looked at the quiet face of his bride. “Your tales overflow with injustice.” Scheherazade wanted to say, “Naturally.” Instead, she kept her eyes closed. “The culprit in your stories is always an unreasonable jinni. Do you know nothing of human injustice?” “Ah,” breathed Scheherazade. She wanted to say, “The carpenter’s door is falling apart,” just as her mother said when people couldn’t see their own faults. Instead, she whispered, “I do.” Shah Rayar didn’t see the irony in his question. But the girl’s answer worried him. Did she guess what his first wife had done? No one should know his shame. But, of course, everyone probably did. After all, why else would he have slain the queen and her servants? He swallowed the painful lump in his throat. The past was behind. The future would be better. No other wife could serve him so poorly. Still, perhaps he should visit this bride on and off during the day. To check. She would never get the opportunity to betray him that way. Besides, she was nice to look at. 
