Rabih Alameddine - The Hakawati

His wife, fatigued, disheveled, and in pain, asked, “How did you lose that weight in a matter of hours?” She felt awkward at being envious of an inferior.

“To you,” the emir said, “we are ever so grateful for our great fortune, and a great fortune shall be bestowed upon you. You are now a free woman. Allow your son to be raised with mine. He shall receive the same training and the same opportunities. Most important, I will regale the both of them with the grand tale of King Baybars.”

“Dear Fatima,” the emir’s wife said, “show us your son.”

Fatima held out her boy, and audible gasps escaped all the lips in the room.

“He is so … hmm …,” said the emir’s wife. “Dark. Yes, dark. What an interesting color. Let me see him. Let me hold the two young warriors. What did you call him?”

“He is named Layl,” Fatima said.

The emir’s wife held Shams in the crook of her right arm and Layl in the left. The boys held each other’s eyes. “Let us make sure they are friends forever.”

“Shams and Layl,” the emir said. “What glorious names. Such sturdy boys.”

The emir’s wife was unable to produce suckling milk, whereas Fatima’s breasts had ballooned to a ridiculous size. “I can feed both,” Fatima said.

Eight imps gazed enraptured at the immaculate scene. Violet Adam, blue Noah, and orange Ezra knelt on the floor, hands and heads resting on the majestic divan. Green Job, indigo Elijah, and yellow Jacob sat on its backrest, their eyes unwavering, looking down at the odalisque. Red Isaac and his brother red Ishmael lounged on either side of a naked Fatima cradling the twins. Shams suckled her right breast and Layl her left.

When the well-wishers began to arrive at the palace, the emir’s wife tried to separate her baby from Layl. The little prince would wail if he did not have Layl’s dark face within eyesight.

“You know me,” the emir’s wife said to her husband. “I am not prejudiced. I do not mind that Shams’s playmate is the son of a servant. But the boy is so repulsive. Kings and emirs, sultans and lords are lining up to pay their respects to my son. I cannot present him to his equals while he is in the company of the monstrosity. I cannot bear it.”

“Oh, my dear,” her husband replied, “how delightful that you are so sensitive. Fear not. Everyone will know the ugly one is our boy’s slave. It will give our son a bit of cachet to have a servant at such a young age. The boys will be good for each other.”

On a glorious, cloudless morning, in the palace’s great hall, all the royalty of the land, all the wise men and judges and poets congratulated the emir and his wife on the arrival of the heir. They offered gifts to the newborn, gold and silver, swords and spears, crowns and jewels, sandalwood and musk, frankincense and myrrh. The baby emir ignored all his suitors and their gifts, for he only had eyes for Layl.

“Praise be to God,” the kings said. “Our master has arrived.”

“Such a beautiful boy,” the queens said. “What lovely parrots, and so colorful. Where on earth did you find them?”

At night, the parrots were imps and circled the family — Fatima, Afreet-Jehanam, Shams, and Layl — as the kings and queens and lords and beasts of the underworld arrived to pay their respects. The jinn of the seven circles, the gondoliers of the rivers of death, the sirens, the harpies, and all the demons and devils bowed before Layl. An ebony column rose from the ground and rose and rose, and it was a giant jinni carrying two chests upon his broad shoulders. The first, a camphorwood chest, the jinni opened and presented to the dark prince; full of gems and gold and incense it was. The second he opened and out shot his gorgeous human wife; like a dazzling sun she was. She genuflected and, from a purse dangling between her creamy breasts, extracted a ring and tucked it in the baby’s swaddling clothes. She whispered so her husband could not hear, “This is one of five hundred and seventy-two I own, but it is my favorite, for it belonged to Shahzaman, the best of all lovers, even under duress. Forget me not when you are older.”

Afreet-Jehanam held Layl up for all to see, and the crowd gasped in reverence. “Such a beautiful child,” the imps sang. Scorpions descended upon the babies from all around and stung them over and over, and the boys cooed. Snakes followed the scorpions, and then mosquitoes bit into their skin. Finally, Fatima held one boy in each arm, and a hush fell over the denizens of the underworld. Her eight imps beamed.

“I think the boys are hungry,” Fatima said. “We thank you for your gifts.”

As if on cue, Layl pursed his lips. Shams mimicked him. Layl opened his toothless mouth and yawned. Soon his gaping mouth almost hid his face. It opened wider, and a mewl escaped and grew in volume, until it reached an uninterrupted crescendo of a roar no human can reproduce. Shams joined in, same tone, same pitch. Fatima looked about her. Isaac and Ishmael had begun their bellow. Noah, Job, and Adam. Afreet-Jehanam growled more loudly still. All the devils, all the demons howled in one voice, and all stopped at the same time. Silence.

Layl and Shams slept.

“Our master has arrived,” cried the demons. “Now our story begins.”

Harhash approached Baybars and said, “My prince, as you know, I have no family to speak for me. I have dedicated my life to your service and consider you my brother. I wish to marry the high judge’s daughter. She is a beauty and an untouched virgin. I would be honored if you spoke to him and proclaimed my wishes.”

Baybars agreed. He met with the high judge and asked for his daughter’s hand for his companion. The high judge replied, “It would be an honor.” And so it was. The company returned to Cairo, and an exultant Harhash rode with his lovely new wife. Othman was envious. “I, too, want to marry a virgin,” he told Baybars. “I want to be happy as well.” And Baybars said, “I want you to be happy. Have your mother find a wife for you. She is your family.”

Back in Cairo, Othman asked his mother to find him a wife, and she agreed to look for one. She put on her robe and walked to the maqâm of Lady Zainab. She entered the shrine, knelt, and prayed to the great lady for guidance in selecting the perfect bride for her once-prodigal son. She opened her eyes, and there, not far from her, knelt a young woman of exquisite beauty. Othman’s mother rubbed her eyes, for she assumed that the kneeling supplicant was an apparition of Lady Zainab, but it was not so. The girl was praying. Her devotion and supplication rendered her face angelic in appearance. Othman’s mother asked, “What is your name, my daughter?” and the young woman told her it was Layla. “And the night, your namesake, struggles to match your beauty. I pray you, tell me to whose family you belong, for I wish to ask your hand for my son.”

Layla said, “I have no family but my brother, and he is the high judge of Giza.”

Othman ran to Baybars. “My mother has found me a wife. She is none other than the sister of the high judge. Will you please speak for me as you have for Harhash?”

Baybars agreed wholeheartedly and sent a letter to the high judge of Giza, telling him of the happy news and asking for his sister’s hand for Othman. The high judge’s reply said, “My lord. I cannot deny you any wish. I will gladly offer my young sister in marriage to your companion. However, I have not seen or heard from her in years. Are you sure she is worthy of such an honorable man? Would he not prefer to marry a woman more devoted to our faith?”

Baybars read the letter to Othman. “More devoted?” he yelled furiously. “My future wife was praying at Lady Zainab’s Shrine. The Lady chose her for me. My wife is most faithful and committed. Write and tell him.”