The Sleeper in the Sands (22 page)

Leila met his stare unblinkingly. ‘I do not know what you mean.’

‘You know full well.’ Haroun crossed to his wife. He felt his anger boiling up inside him, and he opened his mouth again to demand that she tell him the secret.

But Leila stilled his fury with a single smile. ‘Tell me, O my dearest,’ she asked, easing Haidee’s head from her lap, ‘do you not remember your oath?’ She rose to her feet and clasped him tightly, so that he felt himself enfolded in the tresses of her hair. Then she reached up on her toes to whisper in his ear: ‘Do you not love me more than all the world?’

She kissed him, and as she did so Haroun felt the final embers of his anger fade away, and he thought once again, as he met her parted lips, how he had no greater blessing and joy in his life. ‘More than all the world,’ he whispered. ‘More than Paradise itself And so he pressed her no further; and all his fears and doubts were laid to rest upon her kisses. And that same night, his pleasure with his wife was very great.

But the next day, when he called upon his neighbour, it was to find that the servant’s condition had grown worse. As Haroun bent down to inspect him he was shocked to discover, still damp upon the man’s chest, a second violent scar.

Again Haroun sought to comfort the wretch as well as he was able, but he had little success; and so once more he returned in perturbation to his wife. As before, he found her with Haidee asleep upon her lap.

‘Where were you,’ he demanded, ‘last night?’

She smiled up at him. ‘Do you really need to be reminded, O my love?’

‘But afterwards, I slept so deeply and so well that it was as though I had been drugged with mandragora. Where were you then? Asleep by my side -- or abroad, O my Wife, upon the poisonous winds of the night?’

And again he felt his rage boiling up within him; but again Leila stilled it with a single smile, and she reached up to embrace him and fold him in her arms. And again, she kissed him and whispered in his ear, ‘Do you not love me more than all the world?’

And again Haroun was silenced; and he said nothing more.

But the next day the same events occurred, save that this time, when Haroun called upon his neighbour, it was to discover the servant lying dead upon the floor; and indeed the corpse already seemed a skeleton, for its flesh had been picked away from its bones. And when Haroun saw this, he shuddered and offered up a prayer to Allah; and then he hurried from the house and returned to his wife.

He found her as he had done the past two days, sitting with Haidee asleep upon her lap. Haroun gazed at them in silence a moment, and as he did so, he could feel his dread start to fade before the bright flame of his love. But he clenched his fists tightly, then crossed to Leila and sat down by her side.

He gazed into her face, into the fathomless beauty of her black, silk-lashed eyes. ‘What are you,’ he whispered, ‘what nature of thing?’

‘Why,’ she smiled back, ‘your wife, O my love.’

But Haroun shook his head. ‘Do not lie to me. You have said that you come from a kingdom in the skies, and I believed you’ - he shrugged - ‘for I have seen and heard many strange things in my life. But I believe you no longer.’

‘Then what’ - she smiled more faintly - ‘do you think that I can be?’

Haroun shuddered, both with terror and with the force of his desire. ‘I fear,’ he whispered softly, ‘that you are one of those Jinn who were flung down from Heaven, and who have never bowed their heads before Allah. And if that should truly be the case’ -- he glanced down at his daughter, and softly stroked her cheek - ‘then I dread to think what your purposes may be.’

‘No purpose,’ Leila whispered back, ‘save to love you, as I told you, until you cease to love me.’

Both gazed in silence at the other. Then at last Haroun moaned, and shook his head. ‘How can I believe you?’ he whispered. ‘For Leila, O my beloved -- how I long to believe!’

Her ruby smile faded. ‘Let me give you this,’ she murmured after a lengthy pause. So saying, she slipped a golden ring from her finger; she kissed it briefly, then passed it across to him.

Haroun inspected it in puzzlement. The ring was not plain but decorated with an image of the disk of the sun, beneath which were the outlines of two figures on their knees. ‘What is this thing?’ he asked.

‘It possesses this magic, O my dearest,’ Leila replied, ‘that whosoever wears it shall always be guarded by the power of my love.’

Then she reached up to embrace him. Haroun sought to brush her aside and rise to his feet, but even though he struggled, his efforts were very faint. He felt her perfumed breath fall softly upon his cheek; and then he moaned, and sat back, and reached for her kiss.

Leila smiled once again. After a lengthy while, she broke from his lips and whispered in his ear, ‘Do you not love me more than all the world?’

Haroun gazed for a moment upon the image on the ring. ‘More than life itself he whispered at last. He slipped on the ring. ‘Allah have mercy -- more than life itself

From that time on, when people came to him with the news of a strange sickness, marked by an oozing scar upon the chest, Haroun would tell them that he could do nothing to help. Such news, that the famous physician was powerless to combat the mysterious disease, only added to the terror which it was beginning to inspire, for rumours, like the garbage on the wind, were gusting and swirling through the streets of the city. Some claimed that the sickness was not a sickness at all, but the mark of the anger of a terrible jinni who came upon the breezes, and whose lips brought death. Some claimed to have seen a black figure, shrouded behind a veil, by the beds of those who would then fall sick; some claimed to have seen the black veil fall and glimpsed, just for a moment, glittering eyes, deep and very lovely but deathly like poison. There was a Jew who had lately sickened and died, and his wife said that she had seen a figure upon his chest the very night he had fallen ill. ‘Lilith,’ she had wailed, ‘Lilith is come!’ Now the same cry had spread far beyond the Jewish quarter, and there was not a household in Cairo which had not learned to dread the nights.

Throughout the spell of this panic, however, Haroun still kept away from the sick, nor did he answer the appeals of those who sought him out. Instead, he kept himself immured with his wife and his daughter, playing with Haidee and reading books with her, and seeking to teach her all that he could, so that she would be instilled with his own sense of wonder at the world. And each evening, Leila would come to him and fold her arms about his neck, and then she would whisper in his ear, ‘Do you not love me more than all the world?’ And always he would answer, ‘Yes’; and each night, after an ecstasy of pleasure, he would sink into deep and dreamless slumber.

Then it happened one evening, as Haroun was sitting with Haidee, that his servant announced a messenger arrived from the Caliph, and when Haroun looked up, he saw it was Masoud. You must come at once,’ the blackamoor said. ‘The Princess Sitt al-Mulq has fallen sick, and the Commander of the Faithful is frantic with despair.’

‘What are the symptoms of the Princess’s fever?’

‘She is very pale, with terrible dreams -- and across her breast is a bleeding scar.’

Haroun felt a tightening across his chest. ‘I cannot help her.’

‘The Caliph commands it.’

‘Yet as I have said -- I cannot help.’

The blackamoor glanced at Haidee. ‘It is never wise,’ he whispered, ‘to refuse the Caliph’s wishes. If you know what is best for you and for those you love’ - he paused to bare his teeth in a hideous grin -- ‘then you will come with me at once.’

Haroun sat still a moment more, oppressed by dread and uncertainty, then kissed his daughter upon her brow and rose to accompany Masoud to the Palace. When he arrived there, he found the Caliph by the bedside of the Princess Sitt al-Mulq. A single glance was sufficient to confirm his worst fears, but nevertheless, although he knew it would serve little purpose, he did his best to ease the Princess’s pain.

Despite his efforts, however, she continued to moan and the Caliph, watching her, suddenly thrust Haroun aside and clasped her tightly in his arms. ‘Why do you not heal her?’ he cried out, stroking the side of her breast with his fingers and gazing down in horror at the bleeding scar. ‘I am helpless, O Prince.’

‘You cannot be! You are the wisest physician in the whole of Cairo!’

‘I can give her this potion, which may help her to sleep.’

‘Do it,’ the Caliph ordered. ‘And the next day, come without fail, and bring with you a cure. Or else, O Physician . . .’ - he drew his knife -- ‘or else . . .’

Haroun returned to his house with a heavy heart. Leila was nowhere to be seen, nor did she reappear all that long night. Haroun passed it instead in watch upon his daughter, and when Masoud arrived the next morning he gazed upon Haidee as though he might never see her face again. But Masoud grinned horribly and, crossing to the girl, picked her up and placed her on his shoulders. Haroun sought to protest, but Masoud shook his head. And so father and daughter went together to the Palace.

Once arrived in the Princess’s sick-room, Haroun saw at once that her condition had worsened. A second scar had appeared across her breast, and she was waving her arms as though to ward away a phantom. The Caliph, sitting beside her, gazed up at Haroun with hatred in his eyes. ‘Why has my sister not recovered?’ he hissed. You swore she would be cured.’

‘No, O Prince, I swore no such thing.’

The Caliph continued to stare at him raw-eyed. ‘She shall be cured,’ he whispered at last. Then he turned back to his sister, and began to hug her despairingly and kiss her on the lips. But even as he did so, she began to scream and beat at him with her arms, and Haroun rushed forward to attempt to calm her down. ‘I must give her an opiate again,’ he said, reaching into his bag.

The Caliph s eyes gleamed. ‘Will it cure her?’ he asked.

‘It will help her to sleep, for she must have rest.’

The Caliph nodded distractedly. At the same moment, however, somewhere from the city there came the sudden howling of a dog; and immediately the Caliph screamed for his guards. ‘You hear the noise of these animals?’ he cried. ‘Listen to them! They bark and howl while all the time my sister lies here sick -- and still the curs howl! Well? Why do you stand here? Have you no love, no concern for your Caliph at all?
My sister needs rest!’

The guards stared at him uncertainly. Then one of them bowed low, and they retreated in haste from the Princess’s room. It was not long before Haroun heard the first yelpings of agony from the distant streets below, and he gazed up in horror and disbelief at the Caliph. But the Caliph himself was smiling with excitement as he stood upon the balcony, surveying the slaughter and shaking with mingled pleasure and rage. ‘So shall all those be served,’ he muttered to himself, ‘who dare to think that my sister may not live!’ He turned back to Haroun, and as he did so his eye was caught by Haidee, who sat huddled, confused and afraid, in the corner. The Caliph stood a moment as though transfixed by the sight, then crossed to the girl and crouched down beside her. As her eyes grew ever wider, he began to stroke her cheek.

‘She is pretty, your daughter, very pretty,’ he whispered. He gazed up at Haroun with a look of sudden venom. ‘Yet my sister is lovelier - and you say she may not live? Does that seem fair to you, O Haroun?’ His eyes blazed, and Haidee shrank back even further against the wall. ‘She will die,’ the Caliph muttered, rising to his feet. ‘If my sister dies, then your daughter too will die!’

He glanced once more at where his sister lay, then swept from the room. Haidee, watching him depart, began suddenly to sob and Haroun, rushing across to her, rocked her in his arms. ‘Do not worry, O my flower, O my lily, do not fear.’ And so saying, he slipped off the ring which had been the gift from his wife and bound it to a string about Haidee s neck. ‘There,’ he whispered softly, ‘now you are guarded by your mother’s magic, and need never be afraid.’

But although he sought to smile, and comfort his daughter, he could feel nothing in his heart but a terrible sickness, and horror at the thought of what might now lie ahead.

That evening, once he had settled Haidee to sleep, Haroun ordered guards to be posted in the Princess’s room. He stationed them not only by the doors but also by the windows, although the wall below them rose so steeply that it seemed impossible to ascend. Nevertheless, Haroun was insistent and, although he would not explain who or what it was he feared, he warned the guards not to close their eyes for a moment.

Then, when all had been readied, Haroun left the Palace, for he could not endure to pass the night within its walls. Sometimes, as he walked aimlessly through the streets, he would glance behind him at its distant silhouette and try to identify the Princess’s room, although even as he did so he dreaded to imagine what it was that he might see, what figure or strange phantom framed upon its balcony. Seeking to banish all such thoughts from his mind, he dwelt instead upon the sights around him - but in the streets as well, there were horrors to behold.

Everywhere the dust wore a caking of blood. The corpses of dogs lay piled amidst the garbage and already, in the burning heat of night, a hideous stench was infecting the air. The streets, normally such a ferment of noise, seemed preternaturally quiet, and Haroun smiled with grim despair at the thought of how gratified the Caliph would be. But then, even as he imagined the whole of Cairo to have been silenced by the slaughter, he heard a soft, anguished whimpering and, looking round, he saw an injured dog struggling to rise upon its paws. With a great deal of effort, it finally succeeded and tottered, still whimpering, a few unsteady paces. It approached a couple of mangled bodies, and as it did so its whimperings grew ever more frantic. It began to lick their sodden fur and Haroun, drawing nearer, saw how tiny the corpses were. The dog, he supposed, must have been their mother, and even as he thought this the bitch began to howl. At once Haroun gathered her up into his arms, for he was afraid that the soldiers might still be abroad, but the bitch still howled and squirmed in his hold, trying to return to her murdered brood. Haroun sought to muffle her beneath his cloak, and as he hurried away the bitch subsided once again into a mournful whimpering. He began to stroke her, and whisper in her ear, and by the time he had arrived back at his house she was almost asleep. He tended to her wounds, then ordered his servants to ensure that she was given plenty of food and drink while he was away. Before he left her, he decided to name her Isis, because she had cared for her loved ones even after death.