The Tenth Tale

The lost tale of the 1001 Arabian Nights.

  Shahrazad bowed to her master. “And that is the tale of the powerful sheik Hassan al-Din and the three widows.”

“Fantastic, fantastic!” replied King Shahryar, clapping enthusiastically. “That was truly a tale for the ages, fondest Shahrazad.”

  “My lord, my thanks,” she turned her hand delicately about to the king, effusive and seductive, “that such a tale should be worthy of such a ruler.” Shahrazad adjusted her simple robe, white and pure, ruffled about her, and knelt again. She wore a turquoise necklace, once her mother's, the wife of the king's most trusted wazir. Her father had felt a pang of regret that she insisted she be the next maiden for the king's rampage. He had held the necklace in his hand, testing its three stones, worked about by copper, too ashamed of his fear to make eye contact with his favorite daughter. She had told him the time would have come soon.

  “There is another such tale I could relate to you, dearest master.”

  “And what might that tale be?”
  “It is the tale of Ja'far and the Endless Bazaar.”
  The king clapped again. “Do tell, do tell!”
Shahrazad stood before him. She took up a tambourine,

darkened with hand oils, and came into a slow, sultry stride. “Let us consider Ja'far.” She half-knelt in her strides, long and voluptuous. She shook the tambourine kneeling down, pounding it a few times and gliding with the certainty and grace of a master courtesan. “The son of a merchant, Ja'far al-Rasheed lived in Cairo. His father, a man of fabrics, taught his son of each of the fabrics in the marketplace and what to pay for each, what to sell each at. He showed him dyed silks, blood-red wools, cottons of the bluest sky blue, pale as an ifrit. Ja'far could identify each of them by the simple touch of his fingers, some even by their tastes, as his father was known to lick a fabric to distinguish the rich weave from the poor weave. The two grew prosperous together, man and son, and upon his fifteen birthday, Ja'far's father told him, 'No longer shall I treat you as an apprentice, for today we are now partners in business.' He let Ja'far ride his mule alone into the marketplace, set up their shop by himself, and conduct business without overseeing his every transaction. Ja'far was trebly excited on this day.

  “He conducted he and his father's business all by himself that day. He bought and sold, he tried and tested weaves, and he haggled and bargained like a true merchant's son. Just as the sun was going down, an old woman in mourning-outfit came to Ja'far with a small piece of turban- cloth. 'Here is the last thing I own,' she said, 'and I must get a gold dinar for it so I may bury my faithful husband honorably. I know it isn't much, but will you please consider the price I am asking?'

  “Now Ja'far looked at the turban-cloth, and it was once a piece of finery, but now old and dirty, well-worn and well- abused. He saw old woman, with a few of her teeth missing, wrinkled and agéd, and felt pity for her. 'What was your husband's work,' he asked.

  “'He was a goat-herder, and we were quite prosperous, on the outskirts of such-and-such a town. We had not much, but with his wisdom and hard work, he had multiplied his fortune many times. Alas, the fortune vanished in his loss, and I must come to Cairo to fetch a good price for my honorable man.'

  “'That is a sad tale,' Ja'far said, 'and I must be honest: that your turban-piece is not worth half a silver. But this is my first day trading, and as that I feel pity for your cause, I shall pay you out of my wages and wear the cloth to shield my scalp on the way back home.' So he paid the woman and she went her way.”

  “What an honorable man,” the king said, “what justice, what kindness!”

  “Yes indeed, my lord,” Shahrazad said, “as saith the wise ones:

  “Tis best to be strong of heart and availeth peace, 

  “Than might of sword to be, and sundereth breath. 

  “This young Ja'far was of the former, naturally.” “A kindly soul. May good fortune be worked upon

him!”
  “It is well that you should say that, oh king, for as Ja'far packed away his wares and strode the back of his mule, he pulled back his hood and unwrapped the turban-cloth. It was once fine, once a rather delicate silk cloth unlike he had ever seen, dipped in hues of green and gold, but now in shambles. He waited for the other merchants to leave to their homes, and wrapped the cloth about his pate so that he might get one use for the precious price he paid. It was dark out, and as Ja'far and his mule paced from the marketplace, he spotted torches burning bright in the night around him. He knew the people of the neighborhood around the marketplace to be poor, and have no need to light their houses with torches, so he wondered at this unseeming miracle about him.

  “And soon he heard husky voices calling out, other merchants seemingly, asking Ja'far to come inspect their wares, to stop by and feel their soft silks and fine woven fabrics. It was a strange night to Ja'far, and he could not find his way back to the main road, so he stopped by one of the merchant's booths to ask his way.

  “'Dear sir,' Ja'far said, 'whither to such-and-such a neighborhood?'

  “The man replied, 'That place is neither here nor there, and never have I heard of such a town. Perhaps you should inspect this fine gold canteen?' And at this, the man produced a canteen bladder, such of the like Ja'far had never seen, woven of gold and inlaid with diamonds and rubies.

  “'Inshallah,' he said, 'that I should ever see another piece of workery of the likes!' He felt the studded rubies and stones about its surface. 'And what should be the price of such a piece?'

  “'Three thousand gold dinars,' quoteth the man. 'And it is the finest canteen one might ever possess, unlike anything of its type.'

  “'I should be so lucky to be a king of kings to afford such a piece,' Ja'far said.”

  “That is a worthy canteen,” said the king. “I could not imagine any such a thing of woven gold. The price is barely reachable by most kings' means!”

  “That is not all,” said Shahrazad, “but the next merchant held a piece of the finest silk-cloth of China that Ja'far had never seen, even finer than the turban he had purchased from the old woman. He put his fingers on it to know its fineness, colored in dark blues and greens and reds of the deepest bloods, and when he put his tongue upon the cloth to know it by taste, it melted in his mouth.

  “'The finest silks of Asia,' the merchant said.

  “The sun was far down, giving almost no light, and Ja'far saw he would need to wend his way home in the darkness. 'Kindest merchant,' he said, 'praytell which citywe are in.'

  “'We are in Cairo of the New Age.'

  “'And in what relation is Cairo of the New Age to the Cairo of King Salimar?'

  “The merchant arched his brow, for he did not believe him. 'Cairo of the New Age is where we are, and the Cairo of which you speak is where we cannot be. For it has been a thousand years since Salimar's Cairo has been on this earth. You claim to come from a place much older than one's years.'”

  “Incredible!” The king slapped his knee. “What a strange tale this one is!”

  “Yes my king, strange indeed.” Shahrazad shook her tambourine. “This tale comes from the deepest mountains of India, where merchants sell the strangest wares in the world. Magical furs, carpets of flight, all is available in those distant bazaars.”

  “Then this must be that Endless Bazaar they are in. Tell me more of Ja'far's adventures.”

Shahrazad knelt to Shahryar. “I would, my king, but that it is time we take ourselves to the bed. The sun is gone from the sky, and we must bring ourselves to a fair sleep, for tomorrow's strength issues from tonight's rest.”

  “Well spoken,” he said, and he motioned to his servants to collect their instruments and items and they had their playful rest that night.

The next day, after Shahryar's kingly engagements and meting out wise judgments, the king was moved to hear more of young Ja'far's tale. “It is every night that you must bewitch me with unfinished tales, and this night, I would enjoy a good night's rest having heard the end of one such tale.”

  “And such you shall, my lord,” answered the wise woman.

  “But I wish you to stretch this tale until our rest together,” he said, “for this past week and half have I been kept up upon wonderings of your tales: whither your adventures may go, how such strange things may come upon their close. Last night, I wondered things of the future: should my kingdom still stand, should the world be at peace with itself. Should crime always be. I have had but two hours' sleep since your story addled my brain! So do me such a right as you should but finish a story and let it end there.”

  Shahrazad knew of the king's bloodthirst and often deflected his frequent requests; this particular one, she feared for her life. She thought to herself, “It is in a storymaker's best interests that she keep her audience enthralled: the better to work the magic of her stories into them. I have yet to turn him from his manner of bloodshed, and yet to make an honest king of him. Should I quit tonight, Shahryad may tire of me and have my head.”

  “Dearest king,” she said, “it has simply fallen upon inopportune times to finish a story. I wish to fill your nights with respite and entertainment, as suits a king as yourself. But think of it this way: a story's beginning and end are but short parts of the story as a whole, less so than the middle, so suffice it to logic that we more frequently find ourselves in its middle than at its end. But I will attempt to end our game upon a more opportune time, though my faculties for story-telling are weak upon that way. My apologies,” she bowed, “should we not manage what you are asking of me.”

  “It is of little matter,” he said, “but that I have found myself musing on the nature of the world many years past our own. I suppose we should not live to see it, and yet I wonder: do kings and kingdoms exist? Should all be subjects and goat farmers? Or should things tend more opulent, as Ja'far has made his discovery? A woven gold canteen: may such a thing ever exist! Yet it is folly to suggest that what is not now may never be; perhaps there may be silks that melt to the touch of a man's tongue, in such their fineness. Still, I begin to wonder, what need has a king for such extravagant fineries? There is the show a royal must make, but three- thousand gold for a canteen? Perhaps there is some limit to the show, some limit to what one must possess, for, there are few years in one's life, and all the pieces of gold in all the world cannot buy what Allah willeth not.”

  Shahrazad grew tangled at the king's musings, for her story was to unwind but one way, though her king's mind was striving in another. Yet a good story-teller, as the over- modest woman was, knows that one must follow her audience, that it is their will in which a story remain locked in memory, their will that they applaud and appreciate the tale. So Shahrazad grew a device in her mind, and told the king, “These are not idle musings, oh king, for they form the meat of our tale. It is excellent you have noted them.

  “Consider Ja'far,” she continued, “who wandered about the Endless Bazaar of Cairo of the New Age. By the torchlight he observed many fine and goodly things: saddles of carefully worked silver, studded with ample stones; swords painted in the finest detail, inlaid in their handles with diamonds so large that one could not wrap one's hand around the handle; florists peddling roses and other such flowers painted in gold, rubies, diamonds, turquoise and other gems on the tips of their petals. Each work was finer than the last, each craft shown in that bazaar having come to its absolute, utter perfection. The merchants were all clothed in clothes that shimmered and shined by the torchlight, each woven gold, each worth ten of the canteen he had seen earlier. After some time, Ja'far noticed the other customers of the bazaar were inspecting and feeling the wares, but not a one had purchased an item yet. These were people who admired the items, people his father would try to shoo away for they would scare away true business, the kind his father tossed water at. Some of the merchants in this bazaar did the same.

  “These customers were ragged about themselves, perhaps even worse in Cairo of the New Age than in Ja'far's own time, and the merchants much-abused them with their tongues, calling them beggars and rapscallions and poor. The merchants were kings of kings, surrounded by the harshest and crudest peoples in that New Age, and tossed water upon those they deemed less worthy of themselves.”

  “What cruelty these merchants know,” Shahryar said. “What cruelty rich merchants know,” Shahrazad replied.   “And yet,” she said, “Ja'far, who was dressed not much

better than the poorest of the beggars, was treated like royalty, for his merchant's clothes were unlike any in the bazaar. He passed from stand to stand, touching and studying things that are beyond the comprehension of kings. And who should appear, but that the king's very own caravan! Forty wazirs wearing forty robes, beautiful to look upon, valued at twenty thousand gold dinars each, all on forty camels, each saddled with finer saddles than even Ja'far had seen in the bazaar. Solid gold swords, each inlaid with the largest and finest stones, so large that they could not possibly fight off an intruder with them; these were the costliest of all. One of the forty, dressed even finer than all the others, took off his camel and bestrode himself to a merchant.

  “'The king needs the finest carpet of woven gold,' he told the merchant, and the merchant produced a carpet unlike one Ja'far has ever seen before: shimmering gold in the torch light, glowing carnelians, finer stones and sapphires all gilt around the edges. The man hardly inspected the carpet and paid the fee, ten thousand gold dinars, and the caravan wended their way back to the palace.”

Shahryar gasped. “For what need has any king of such a fine piece! Let alone at night! It makes me ashamed of my own place.”

  “Fear not your kingship,” Shahrazad returned, “for you are a goodly king and able and wise. But the king of Cairo of the New Age was known to all the great riches of the world. Chalices of the finest work. All the finest and rarest furs of the world, carnelians planted for eyes. His palace was of pure marble, and contained all the rare birds of the age, bright plumes, ones from the tallest mountains in India. The palace was a gem in Cairo of the New Age, and much of the people's houses dulled its image.”

  “Whyfore was that, dear Shahrazad?”

  “For that they were of the deepest poverty. These beggars in the bazaar had not two silver dirhams to place between one's fingers, and often had to beg their livelihoods from the king's escort. Ja'far watched the caravan kick and prod the beggars away, and felt pity for their plight. This king was a shameful one, unlike yourself, Shahryar. He would steal and rob every daniq with his excessive taxing from those of the deepest plights, and share the profits with those of his forty wazirs. They were rich beyond riches, and had left the rest of Cairo of the New Age in utter desolation.”

  “How terrible! What an unjust ruler. Why don't the peoples simply walk away?”

  Shahrazad hit her tambourine. “Where to, dear king? There is desert all around, and there is not much water to be had elsewhere. The king in this story does not get his justice while Ja'far was there, but do know that he died at a young age due to excessive drink and enjoyments of the flesh, and the kingdom after him vanished into the sands, as Allah the Destroyer of Delights decrees. But as to Ja'far, he saw this terrible state of affairs and bespoke himself, 'Here is a wicked kingdom, one in which all the deepest delights are taken by a handful of men. That I might return to my Cairo again!' And he fell a-weeping his ill-fortune and his dear lost father.

  “The bazaar stretched for as long as Ja'far and his mule could go, and farther. Until at last, one merchant saw the strange sight of Ja'far in his foreigner's clothing, and told him, 'You do not look as if you are from Cairo of the New Age, dear child.' 'I am not,' Ja'far replied, 'for I come from a time a thousand years past and have become stranded here. But none should believe me.'

  “'I believe you,' he said, 'for I have come from whence you claimed to be. It is a wondrous world around us now, but I would give it for the chance to be back.' And upon saying this, the merchant noticed the dirty turban that Ja'far wore; he wrung his hands with delight. 'How much would you sell that item to me for?'

  “'I would sell it but for the gold dirham I paid for it. It was from an old woman, and I gave her alms to bury her dead husband in exchange for this.'

  “'Then I shall give you a gold dirham for it. It is not worth more than that.' And they exchanged pieces and the merchant growled with greed at his purchase, for he recognized the fabric. It was the same green and gold of a robe that he had purchased from the very same widow, and had brought him into Cairo of the New Age. He had bargained the woman to three daniqs for it, but had lost the robe in the bazaar for half a loaf of bread.

  “Ja'far fell sore and tired and hungry, and wanted his fill of the finest breads of Cairo of old and the finest meats of his father's house. He took the dirham and purchased what he could, a loaf of bread-”

  “How dear the loaf!” King Shahryar said.

  “Dear indeed! The loaf was a stale one, two days old, at that. It was so hard Ja'far almost broke his teeth upon it, and a small child in rags looked up at him in pity. Ja'far, being of a kind heart, offered the child a bite of his bread, for he knew he was hungry, and the child chewed the harsh loaf, for he had known much worse. But the child, not being used to being a beggar, offered Ja'far a dirty head wrap forto keep the sun off of him, and Ja'far accepted it. He offered the child another bite, but he said, 'That is all I have paid for, kind stranger.' And the child went on his way.

  “Now at this, the night had stretched on further than any night Ja'far had known, and was getting darker and darker. The torches in the distance soon dimmed and went out, and in a few more moments, the torches around Ja'far went out, so that he could not see the merchants and their brilliant wares. He felt his way with his mule, trying to find a way out of the maze, and just upon the last moment of his panic, the sun came upon him and showed him in the marketplace of Cairo of old. Ja'far bent and kissed the ground, weeping to himself that he should find his way back, for it was the kindness of the child that had brought him back to his land.”

  Shahryar looked solemn. “What a tale, dearest Shahrazad. It is not as delightful as the last, but there is something to it, I think. I am not sure what to make of it, but I do feel the desire to deal more kindly with the poor who come to my court for justice.”

  Shahrazad bowed. “It was a cruel world Ja'far had visited, and may that world never visit us! Imagine, all the finest fineries at one's hand, and yet well beyond one's grasp!”

  “Indeed. What ever came of Ja'far after his travels?”

  “He grew to be a kindly merchant, always charitable, always giving alms to those who came for it. And he grew quite prosperous at the same time, for he had figured a way to spin gold into thread and had woven it into fine things, but that was much before our time, and his secrets are lostto us now.”

  “Most excellent that it had ended well. Thank you, kind Shahrazad, but it appears we have time to start ourselves another tale.”

  Shahrazad laughed. “We do, dear king, we do! Let me see. I believe I have yet to tell you the tale of the idle mule and the horse, yes?”

Author's Note

Published in The Keeper of Dreams Vol. 1 by Matthew Keefer.