The Very Best of F & SF v1 (68 page)

At last the
younger Hassan asked the older, “How did you make such great changes in your
fortune?”

“All I will tell
you right now is this: when you go to buy hemp from the market, and you are
walking along the Street of Black Dogs, do not walk along the south side as you
usually do. Walk along the north.”

“And that will
enable me to raise my station?”

“Just do as I
say. Go back home now; you have rope to make. You will know when to visit me
again.”

Young Hassan
returned to his day and did as he was instructed, keeping to the north side of
the street even when there was no shade there. It was a few days later that he
witnessed a maddened horse run amok on the south side of the street directly
opposite him, kicking several people, injuring another by knocking a heavy jug
of palm oil onto him, and even trampling one person under its hooves. Alter the
commotion had subsided, Hassan prayed to Allah for the injured to be healed and
the dead to be at peace, and thanked Allah for sparing him.

The next day
Hassan stepped through the Gate of Years and sought out his older self. “Were
you injured by the horse when you walked by?” he asked him.

“No, because I
heeded my older self’s warning. Do not forget, you and I are one; every
circumstance that befalls you once befell me.”

And so the elder
Hassan gave the younger instructions, and the younger obeyed them. He refrained
from buying eggs from his usual grocer, and thus avoided the illness that
struck customers who bought eggs from a spoiled basket. He bought extra hemp,
and thus had material to work with when others suffered a shortage due to a
delayed caravan. Following his older self’s instructions spared Hassan many
troubles, but he wondered why his older self would not tell him more. Who would
he marry? How would he become wealthy?

Then one day,
after having sold all his rope in the market and carrying an unusually full
purse, Hassan bumped into a boy while walking on the street. He felt for his
purse, discovered it missing, and turned around with a shout to search the
crowd for the pickpocket. Hearing Hassan’s cry, the boy immediately began
running through the crowd. Hassan saw that the boy’s tunic was torn at the
elbow, but then quickly lost sight of him.

For a moment
Hassan was shocked that this could happen with no warning from his older self.
But his surprise was soon replaced by anger, and he gave chase. He ran through
the crowd, checking the elbows of boys’ tunics, until by chance he found the
pickpocket crouching beneath a fruit wagon. Hassan grabbed him and began
shouting to all that he had caught a thief, asking them to find a guardsman.
The boy, afraid of arrest, dropped Hassan’s purse and began weeping. Hassan
stared at the boy for a long moment, and then his anger faded, and he let him
go.

When next he saw
his older self, Hassan asked him, “Why did you not warn me about the
pickpocket?”

“Did you not
enjoy the experience?” asked his older self.

Hassan was about
to deny it, but stopped himself. “I did enjoy it,” he admitted. In pursuing the
boy, with no hint of whether he’d succeed or fail, he had felt his blood surge
in a way it had not for many weeks. And seeing the boy’s tears had reminded him
of the Prophet’s teachings on the value of mercy, and Hassan had felt virtuous
in choosing to let the boy go.

“Would you
rather I had denied you that, then?”

Just as we grow
to understand the purpose of customs that seemed pointless to us in our youth,
Hassan realized that there was merit in withholding information as well as in
disclosing it. “No,” he said, “it was good that you did not warn me.”

The older Hassan
saw that he had understood. “Now I will tell you something very important. Hire
a horse. I will give you directions to a spot in the foothills to the west of
the city. There you will find within a grove of trees one that was struck by
lightning. Around the base of the tree, look for the heaviest rock you can
overturn, and then dig beneath it.”

“What should I
look for?”

“You will know
when you find it.”

The next day
Hassan rode out to the foothills and searched until he found the tree. The
ground around it was covered in rocks, so Hassan overturned one to dig beneath
it, and then another, and then another. At last his spade struck something
besides rock and soil. He cleared aside the soil and discovered a bronze chest,
filled with gold dinars and assorted jewelry. Hassan had never seen its like in
all his life. He loaded the chest onto the horse, and rode back to Cairo.

The next time he
spoke to his older self, he asked, “How did you know where the treasure was?”

“I learned it
from myself,” said the older Hassan, “just as you did. As to how we came to
know its location, I have no explanation except that it was the will of Allah,
and what other explanation is there for anything?”

“I swear I shall
make good use of these riches that Allah has blessed me with,” said the younger
Hassan.

“And I renew
that oath,” said the older. “This is the last time we shall speak. You will
find your own way now. Peace be upon you.”

And so Hassan
returned home. With the gold he was able to purchase hemp in great quantity,
and hire workmen and pay them a fair wage, and sell rope profitably to all who
sought it. He married a beautiful and clever woman, at whose advice he began
trading in other goods, until he was a wealthy and respected merchant. All the
while he gave generously to the poor and lived as an upright man. In this way
Hassan lived the happiest of lives until he was overtaken by death, breaker of
ties and destroyer of delights.

“That is a
remarkable story,” I said. “For someone who is debating whether to make use of
the Gate, there could hardly be a better inducement.”

“You are wise to
be skeptical,” said Bashaarat. “Allah rewards those he wishes to reward and
chastises those he wishes to chastise. The Gate does not change how he regards
you.”

I nodded,
thinking I understood. “So even if you succeed in avoiding the misfortunes that
your older self experienced, there is no assurance you will not encounter other
misfortunes.”

“No, forgive an
old man for being unclear. Using the Gate is not like drawing lots, where the
token you select varies with each turn. Rather, using the Gate is like taking a
secret passageway in a palace, one that lets you enter a room more quickly than
by walking down the hallway. The room remains the same, no matter which door
you use to enter.”

This surprised
me. “The future is fixed, then? As unchangeable as the past?”

“It is said that
repentance and atonement erase the past.”

“I have heard
that too, but I have not found it to be true.”

“I am sorry to
hear that,” said Bashaarat. “All I can say is that the future is no different.”

I thought on
this for a while. “So if you learn that you are dead twenty years from now,
there is nothing you can do to avoid your death?” He nodded. This seemed to me
very disheartening, but then I wondered if it could not also provide a
guarantee. I said, “Suppose you learn that you are alive twenty years from now.
Then nothing could kill you in the next twenty years. You could then fight in
battles without a care, because your survival is assured.”

“That is
possible,” he said. “It is also possible that a man who would make use of such
a guarantee would not find his older self alive when he first used the Gate.”

“Ah,” I said. “Is
it then the case that only the prudent meet their older selves?”

“Let me tell you
the story of another person who used the Gate, and you can decide for yourself
if he was prudent or not.” Bashaarat proceeded to tell me the story, and if it
pleases Your Majesty, I will recount it here.

THE TALE OF THE WEAVER WHO STOLE FROM HIMSELF

There was a
young weaver named Ajib who made a modest living as a weaver of rugs, but
yearned to taste the luxuries enjoyed by the wealthy. After hearing the story
of Hassan, Ajib immediately stepped through the Gate of Years to seek out his
older self, who, he was sure, would be as rich and as generous as the older
Hassan.

Upon arriving in
the Cairo of twenty years later, he proceeded to the wealthy Habbaniya quarter
of the city and asked people for the residence of Ajib ibn Taher. He was
prepared, if he met someone who knew the man and remarked on the similarity of
their features, to identify himself as Ajib’s son, newly arrived from Damascus.
But he never had the chance to offer this story, because no one he asked
recognized the name.

Eventually he
decided to return to his old neighborhood, and see if anyone there knew where
he had moved to. When he got to his old street, he stopped a boy and asked him
if he knew where to find a man named Ajib. The boy directed him to Ajib’s old
house.

“That is where
he used to live,” Ajib said. “Where does he live now?”

“If he has moved
since yesterday, I do not know where,” said the boy.

Ajib was
incredulous. Could his older self still live in the same house, twenty years
later? That would mean he had never become wealthy, and his older self would
have no advice to give him, or at least none Ajib would profit by following.
How could his fate differ so much from that of the fortunate rope-maker? In
hopes that the boy was mistaken, Ajib waited outside the house, and watched.

Eventually he
saw a man leave the house, and with a sinking heart recognized it as his older
self. The older Ajib was followed by a woman that he presumed was his wife, but
he scarcely noticed her, for all he could see was his own failure to have
bettered himself. He stared with dismay at the plain clothes the older couple
wore until they walked out of sight.

Driven by the
curiosity that impels men to look at the heads of the executed, Ajib went to
the door of his house. His own key still fit the lock, so he entered. The
furnishings had changed, but were simple and worn, and Ajib was mortified to
see them. After twenty years, could he not even afford better pillows?

On an impulse,
he went to the wooden chest where he normally kept his savings, and unlocked
it. He lifted the lid, and saw the chest was filled with gold dinars.

Ajib was
astonished. His older self had a chest of gold, and yet he wore such plain
clothes and lived in the same small house for twenty years! What a stingy, joyless
man his older self must be, thought Ajib, to have wealth and not enjoy it. Ajib
had long known that one could not take one’s possessions to the grave. Could
that be something that he would forget as he aged?

Ajib decided
that such riches should belong to someone who appreciated them, and that was
himself. To take his older self’s wealth would not be stealing, he reasoned,
because it was he himself who would receive it. He heaved the chest onto his
shoulder, and with much effort was able to bring it back through the Gate of
Years to the Cairo he knew.

He deposited
some of his new found wealth with a banker, but always carried a purse heavy
with gold. He dressed in a Damascene robe and Cordovan slippers and a Khurasani
turban bearing a jewel. He rented a house in the wealthy quarter, furnished it
with the finest rugs and couches, and hired a cook to prepare him sumptuous
meals.

He then sought
out the brother of a woman he had long desired from afar, a woman named
Taahira. Her brother was an apothecary, and Taahira assisted him in his shop.
Ajib would occasionally purchase a remedy so that he might speak to her. Once
he had seen her veil slip, and her eyes were as dark and beautiful as a gazelle’s.
Taahira’s brother would not have consented to her marrying a weaver, but now
Ajib could present himself as a favorable match.

Taahira’s
brother approved, and Taahira herself readily consented, for she had desired
Ajib, too. Ajib spared no expense for their wedding. He hired one of the
pleasure barges that floated in the canal south of the city and held a feast
with musicians and dancers, at which he presented her with a magnificent pearl
necklace. The celebration was the subject of gossip throughout the quarter.

Ajib reveled in
the joy that money brought him and Taahira, and for a week the two of them
lived the most delightful of lives. Then one day Ajib came home to find the
door to his house broken open and the interior ransacked of all silver and gold
items. The terrified cook emerged from hiding and told him that robbers had
taken Taahira.

Ajib prayed to
Allah until, exhausted with worry, he fell asleep. The next morning he was
awoken by a knocking at his door. There was a stranger there. “I have a message
for you,” the man said.

“What message?”
asked Ajib.

“Your wife is
safe.”

Ajib felt fear
and rage churn in his stomach like black bile. “What ransom would you have?” he
asked.

“Ten thousand
dinars.”

“That is more
than all I possess!” Ajib exclaimed.

“Do not haggle
with me,” said the robber. “I have seen you spend money like others pour water.”