A squall at sea turned into a tempest so powerful and horrific that it destroyed the ship. Those men who could cling to planks and chests paddled to shore.
THE TALE OF SINDBAD THE SAILOR, VOYAGE 4
Scheherazade brushed her hair away from her face and took a deep, calming breath. She had to focus on the evil that men do, for that’s what her husband wanted to hear. Her hands shook. She knew plenty about that evil. She knew that a king could kill his bride for no fault of her own. But she mustn’t tread too close to the situation at hand. She mustn’t risk offending Shah Rayar. Besides, she had come to see him as needy. His fear of being betrayed showed how little confidence he had in himself. He was a man who might well kill her—but who, at the same time, yearned for encouragement. And he was smart. He could learn to be better, stronger. If she helped him. She kissed him between the eyes and began.
n the morning, Sindbad the Porter went to Sindbad the Sailor’s home and ate and drank. Then Sindbad the Sailor told of his fourth voyage.
LIFE WAS GOOD IN BAGHDAD, BUT YOU KNOW HOW IT IS FOR A sailor. Each day I heard the waves in my head, I smelled the fishy air, I tasted the brine on my lips. I had to return to the sea. It was a compulsion.
So off I went on a merchant ship, island to island, sea to sea. A storm arose and the captain cast the anchor to keep us from being buffeted about. The storm shredded the sails and threw us and our possessions overboard. Some caught hold of floating debris and paddled with our feet more than a day. We arrived at an island and wandered inland to a building from which burst fierce men. They dragged us to their king.
The king, however, smiled and fed us strange food, the smell of which turned my stomach. So I held back, even though I was famished, while the others ate. Soon they were reeling and their eyes rolled back in their heads. The fierce men rubbed them with coconut oil so their skin would expand. Day after day they fed them. My fellow sailors grew fat. I wasted away, though, for I remembered the tale of jinn who fattened up humans to eat. But I couldn’t dissuade my friends from eating, for the food drugged them silly. Every day a man took them out to pasture, and they ate and ate. They were cattle to these cannibals.
I followed the others out to pasture, wobbling I was so weak. The herder noticed me and saw that my eyes were clear and my ribs showed and he realized I hadn’t been drugged. Who knows why, but he took pity on me. He gestured to me to turn back. He pointed the direction I should go. I ran as best I could. I came to a road and followed it.
For an entire week I trudged that road night and day, till I came to a group of men. Amazed at my tale, they fed me and took me in their ship to their home. The king of this new land received me warmly. What a marvelous city it was, with all kinds of food and traders with all kinds of goods. The hustle and bustle made me miss Baghdad. The king and I became friends and one day I asked him why he never used a saddle, but preferred to ride bareback.
“What’s a saddle?”
I called a carpenter to fashion a saddle. I made a pad out of wool, covered it with leather, and added straps. I had a blacksmith make stirrups from which I hung silk fringes. The king called it glorious. His vizier wanted one. Other leading men wanted one. I had a thriving business in no time, and I became wealthy and esteemed. The king had me marry a lovely woman—sweet, pretty, and rich. We lived in a large house adjoining the palace. All was right with the world.
Humans domesticated horses some 6,000 years ago. We don’t know exactly when saddles first appeared, but the cavalry used them in Assyria around 700 B.C. Stirrups didn’t show up for maybe another thousand years, when we see evidence of them in China. It wasn’t until medieval times, though, that stirrups made their way westward to Europe and the Middle East. Stirrups had an enormous effect on societies because they allowed the rider much more flexibility of movement, including being able to more accurately hunt and fight using handheld weapons.
One day the wife of a friend died. He wailed, which is suitable, of course, but I told him to be consoled, for the Almighty would present him another wife soon enough. He blinked. “How could that be, when I am to die tomorrow?”
“You are sad, naturally,” I said. “But don’t exaggerate. Men lose wives all the time. You won’t die of this grief.”
“But my wife will be buried tomorrow and I will go with her. That is our custom. Husband and wife share life and death.”
Could it really be so? The next day I followed the funeral procession to a stone-lined well. They threw in the corpse, in the finest gown with her best jewels. They lowered in my friend, her husband, by a rope tied around his chest, with seven loaves of bread and a jug of water. Once at the bottom, he untied the rope. They hauled it up and covered the well with a giant stone. I imagined him quaking down there, also in his best clothes, with rings on his fingers and bells on his toes. What good would all that finery do him now?
I hugged myself so hard, my fingers dug into my flesh. I asked the king if they treated foreigners like me the same as townsfolk. Indeed, they did. Fear made me walk in circles.
As fate would have it, my own wife soon fell ill and died. I screamed that I didn’t share their customs, I wasn’t one of them, they shouldn’t do this to me. But I found myself lowered down the well after her. I refused to untie the rope from under my arms, so they threw it down upon me. The stone clumped into place. The well went dark.
I felt around. Bones and bodies in different stages of decay littered the cavern floor. The stench nauseated me so badly, I had to crawl. I curled up in a niche in the side of the cave and slowly doled out my pitiful supply of water and bread.
I don’t know how long I was like that, perhaps 10 days, perhaps more. I was very careful to eat only when I thought I’d pass out from hunger. I had to make this food and water last till I could find a way to escape. But, alas, it was disappearing. I chewed on my fist to allay hunger. Then I heard the scrape of stone on stone. A shaft of light entered through the well. A dead man came hurtling down. Then a woman was lowered. She untied the rope and it disappeared upward. The stone was set back in place. The light ceased.
The widow cried softly, unaware that I huddled there, listening. And, may the Almighty forgive me, already thinking ahead.
She was doomed. And it was her own fault. She belonged to this country; she believed in this disgusting custom. She deserved to die. She might even look forward to death. But she had with her seven loaves of bread and a jug of water. Why should it go to waste? Especially when I was there. And I did not deserve to die—I did not believe in their vile custom. I picked up a thick bone and slew her. One blow was all it took.
Sindbad the Sailor escaped through a hole in the mountainside. But before he left, he gathered up all the riches he could carry from the dead bodies inside the cavern.
I curled up in a recess in the wall and doled out my pitiful supply of water and bread. I didn’t think about the dead woman. I didn’t think about what would come next. Still, a cold rock of knowledge filled my chest. I don’t know how many moons I survived in that cavern, killing the spouses of the dead and existing on their meager rations, but it was many.
One day, or perhaps night, since the two were the same to me, I heard rummaging. I stood, and the rummaging turned into a scurrying that quickly receded. I followed it to the other end of the cavern and saw a dim light and the tail of the wild beast as it escaped through a hole. The side of the cavern was at such a slant here, I had to lie on my stomach and shimmy along. Hurrah! The hole was large enough and I was now emaciated enough that I could fit through. But I still had my wits about me. So instead of escaping immediately, I went back and gathered the jewels of the dead and wrapped them in their silk clothes. I left that cavern with bundles of wealth.
I headed for the seashore and waited. A ship came and I waved the white blouse of a dead nobleman over my head. They took me aboard and I told the captain my tale. But I didn’t tell him about the well and my time in the cavern. I didn’t think he’d understand the choices I’d made. I didn’t understand them myself.
I returned to Baghdad via Basra. I fed the poor and clothed the widows and provided for the orphans, for no one understood better than me how harsh life could be.
Sindbad the Sailor fell silent. No one spoke. They ate, and Sindbad the Porter collected his hundred gold coins and went home.
Scheherazade fell silent, too.
Rain pattered outside the window. Dawn was gloomy.
No word came from Dinarzad. No word came from Shah Rayar. The evil that men do had silenced them all. 
