The Hakawati (53 page)

“I know, but it’s your father’s favorite necklace of mine. He was always complimenting me on it. I thought maybe, you know, if …”

I folded Uncle Jihad’s clothes, put them in his suitcase. I went over his room inch by inch, combing every nook, making sure I forgot nothing.

Melanie and I packed my father’s things while he sat cataleptically in
the corner. I knelt before him, held his hand. It took him a while to look at me.

“I have to get you dressed,” I said. “You’re going home.”

I made sure he wore a light cotton shirt. I debated whether to give him his favorite wingtips or his moccasins, which would be easier to take off during the flight. I chose the wingtips, appearance being paramount to my father. He had his best tie on, double-knotted.

“You know where to get hold of me,” Melanie said. “All you have to do is call Mike. He’ll always know where to reach me. If you ever need anything …” Her voice trailed off.

I took my father to the airport in the hotel’s limousine. I waited till an Air France representative arrived to escort him. When she tried to walk him through the metal detector, he refused to let go of my hand. “I want to come along,” I said. “Until he gets on the plane.”

A stewardess came out to escort him to his seat. I stood up and hugged him. He swayed gently back and forth on his heels, but his arms remained at his side. I watched the jumbo jet lift into the shimmering air, taking my father home.

I went to the Guitar Center on Sunset before returning to my suite at the Beverly Wilshire. With my American Express card I bought a Gibson J200, the most expensive guitar I could think of, the same kind that Elvis played.

Eleven

F
atima sweated and the parrots squawked. A servant poured hot water from a ewer into a porcelain basin. Fatima concentrated on the steam rising out of the bowl as it melded into the arabesque turquoise design of the ewer. “Quawk,” bellowed Ishmael.

“Enough,” cried Fatima, gripping the damp sheets. “Be quiet or begone.”

“Breathe,” said Elijah. “Concentrate on your breathing.”

“I am in too much pain.”

Elijah began to breathe loudly, with a military cadence. The other parrots followed suit. “Inhale,” said Job. “Exhale.” And Fatima’s breathing matched that of cockswain Job.

She screamed again. “My back hurts.”

“Turn around,” said Isaac. “It will relieve the pressure.”

The frantic, disheveled midwife’s assistant rushed into the room. She staggered upon seeing Fatima on all fours with three parrots walking along her lower back and the other five breathing in unison. “My mistress asks if you can hold off for a while,” the assistant said. “The emir’s child arrives, and his mother is having trouble. My mistress cannot come right now.”

In spite of the pain and discomfort, Fatima wanted to laugh. “Hold off? Can day hold off night? Tell your mistress she need not worry about me.”

The assistant ran out. The parrots stared anxiously at Fatima. She glanced back at the remaining servant and said, “Leave. You are not needed here.” Fatima winced in pain.

“Should you not return to our world?” asked Adam. “This fornicating palace is not a good place to give birth.”

The assistant re-entered the room. “My mistress says I should deliver your child.”

“No, you imbecile,” yelled Fatima. “I am the one delivering my child.”

The two wails echoed simultaneously. The midwife cut the cord of the emir’s son at the same moment as her assistant cut the cord in the other room.

“It is a boy,” announced the midwife’s assistant.

“I know,” replied Fatima.

“It is a boy,” announced the midwife.

“He is dark,” said the emir.

“He will surely lighten when we wash him.” The midwife handed the boy to a servant, who took him to the assistant to be bathed.

The servant and the assistant opened the doors in unison, wailing bundles in hand. They walked down the corridor to the baths. The boys quieted as soon as they lay side by side. The assistant washed them with light soap and water, rubbed them in olive oil and lavender. She reached for the cotton cloths to wrap them with and stopped midway, astounded by the babies before her. She had been a midwife’s assistant for two years, had seen many babies delivered, but she had yet to see anything resembling this pair. One was the most beautiful child. His hair was the color of yellow fire, of sun-drenched fields of wheat. His skin was as white as calcite, his features tiny perfections. The other was the ugliest child. His hair was the color of soot, and his skin even darker. Big ears, big nose, big mouth, beady eyes, a horrible concoction of humanity.

The assistant wrapped both boys and handed the light boy to the servant and walked out with the dark one. “Here is your boy,” the assistant said. “He seems very healthy.”

Fatima held the baby, and all eight parrots squawked loudly.

“This is not our boy,” said Isaac as soon as the assistant left.

“This is not my nephew,” said Noah.

“This is not your son,” said Ishmael.

“He is my son,” replied Fatima. “Both boys are.” She kissed the baby’s forehead.

The emir’s face brightened when he saw his light-faced heir. His wife extended her arms to take the baby. “He is so beautiful, my husband. The most perfect boy.”

“Yes, it is all my doing. My tale of Baybars worked its magic, and I shall delight in regaling him with the rest of it.” The emir leaned over the mother and child. “He is indeed a worthy son,” he said. “Bright like the day, glorious like the sun, after which he will be named. Welcome into what will soon be your world, Shams.”

In the other room, the imp Ishmael held the baby. “What shall your name be?” He kissed the boy and passed him to Isaac, who said, “Welcome, my master,” and kissed the boy as well.

“In darkness and in light,” said Ezra.

“In devotion and in fickleness,” said Jacob.

“In obscurity and in clarity,” said Job.

“In sun and in rain,” said Noah.

“In sorrow and in rapture,” said Elijah.

“In profusion and in paucity,” said Adam. “We will follow you and stand by your side.”

“We are family,” said Isaac.

And Fatima whispered to her boy, “As beautiful as an onyx, as dark as the darkest night, after which I name you. Welcome to what has always been your world, Layl.”

“Rise, son,” said Ishmael, “and greet your own.”

And Layl opened his eyes, and in the emir’s room, Shams opened his.

The king’s judge, Arbusto, sent a letter to Khodr al-Bohairi in Giza. “My dear fellow, I wish to inform you of the appearance of a king’s favorite, a much-hated slave who goes by the accursed name of Baybars, upon whom the king has bestowed much power and honor. I ask you, my son, to help me do away with the usurper and rid the people of this slave’s rule. Send your Arabs out to cause trouble, to steal from the people of Giza, to rob travelers and elicit havoc in your area. I will advise the king to send out the slave boy to control the situation, and you will kill him once he arrives. As a reward, I will recommend that you become the mayor of Giza.” Upon reading the note, Khodr al-Bohairi saw bright gold in his future.

That evening, he and his men waylaid the mayor of Giza and killed him. Within a fortnight, the king received news of chaos and upheaval in Giza—a mayor murdered, officials slain, tax collectors ambushed, merchants burgled. Arbusto said, “The only man who can purify Giza
and exorcise its evil is the man who purified our Cairo, its mayor, Prince Baybars.”

Giza’s high judge cried, “Help me, Prince Baybars. Khodr al-Bohairi has kidnapped my virgin daughter with the intent of selling her. We have no heroes in Giza who can face him but you. No one has been able to find the criminal or his hideout.” Baybars said, “I cannot rescue her or kill Khodr al-Bohairi if I do not know where they are,” and the high judge moaned, “Ah, my daughter, if we do not find you tonight, your life will be forfeit.”

“We will find her tonight,” Othman said, and Harhash added, “Before the sun rises.”

This story comes from the Bedouin tribes of Arabia. Pay attention.

Once there was a wise and important Bedouin who took his young son with him to the camel market. While the man haggled with a merchant, his boy was abducted. The Bedouin searched everywhere, but could not find his son. He hired a crier, who walked up and down the market shouting, “My patron will pay one hundred rials for the safe return of his son.” Greed blossomed in the kidnapper’s heart. He decided to wait for the price to rise. But the next day, the crier shouted, “My patron will pay fifty rials for the safe return of his son.” The abductor assumed it was a mistake. The third day, the announcement was “My patron will pay ten rials for the safe return of his son.” The kidnapper quickly returned the boy and claimed the reward. He asked the Bedouin why the price had dropped so drastically, and the father said, “On the first day, my son was angry and refused your food. On the second day, he ate a little of what you offered to assuage his hunger. On the third day, he probably asked for the food. On the first day, my boy had his honor and pride, and on the second, hunger bargained with honor. By the third day, when he humbly had to beg his captor for food, his pride was lost and his worth was less.”

By the time the moon rose in Giza, Othman and Harhash had burgled eight houses, broken into five stores, and relieved a money merchant of a large bundle of cash as he returned home with two incompetent guards. They turned the loot over to the high judge and went back at it. By midnight, they had attacked three more stores, including a wine
shop, where they tied the owner upside down from the ceiling by his ankles.

“This is ridiculous,” said Othman. “These people are inept.”

“They are bunglers,” replied Harhash. “We have to make more mistakes. I am losing interest.” And Othman said, “Women. The women must be smarter.” They broke into a brothel. Through the window they entered, avoiding the busy main hall, and ascended the back stairs. Half-naked women with drawn scimitars and daggers awaited them inside an upstairs room.

“Most men come in through the front,” said the leader of the women.

“But that is not always satisfying,” replied Othman. “We are finally captured, and stand helplessly before you.”