Part 33

“One day Yussuf, hearing good reports from those who were training Hussein in thieving, took him to the top of a hill traversed by a road, where, seeing a peasant carrying a sheep on his back approaching, Yussuf Ben Ali asked of Hussein, now renamed Abou so that he might not be found: ‘How shall we get the sheep without the peasant learning that we have taken it?’ Trained by fear of punishment to use his wits, Abou, after some thought replied: ‘When thou seest the sheep alone, take it!’ Stealing from the thicket, he placed one of his shoes in the road and then hid. The peasant came and saw the shoe, but left it lying there because there was but one. Abou ran out and picked up the shoe, reappearing from the wood far ahead of the peasant where he put down the mate to the first shoe and then hid again. The peasant came and examined the shoe, then tied his sheep to a stake and ran back for the first one. Yussuf, seeing the sheep alone, now came out and hurried off with it, while Abou followed, picking up the last shoe.”

“He was a donkey to leave his sheep in the road,” interpolated Parfi, the carrier, solemnly.

“But more of a donkey not to have taken up the first shoe,” added Soudi.

“Anna! Anna!” insisted Gazzar-al-Din, seizing upon this occasion to collect from those who had newly arrived. “’Tis a marvellous tale! Remember the teller of good tales, whose gift it is to sweeten the saddest of days. He lightens the cares of those who are a-weary. Anna! Anna!” And with a clawy hand he held out the tambour to Zad-el-Din and Azad Bakht, who began to regret their interest.

“Cannot a man speak without thou demandest anna?” grumbled Zad-el-Din, fishing in his purse and depositing an anna, as did Azad Bakht and several more. Whereupon, the others beginning to grumble, Gazzar continued:

“The peasant coming back to where he had seen the first shoe and not finding it, was dazed and ran back to his sheep, to find that that and the second shoe were gone. Yussuf was much pleased and rewarded Abou with a new coat later, but for the present he was not done. Judging by long experience that the peasant had either bought the sheep and was taking it home or that he was carrying it to market to sell, he said to Abou: ‘Let us wait. It may be that he will return with another.’”

“Ah, shrewd,” muttered Ajeeb, nodding his head gravely. “Accordingly,” went on Gazzar-al-Din, “they waited and soon the peasant returned carrying another sheep. Yussuf asked Abou if he could take this one also, and Abou told him that when he saw the sheep alone to take it.”

“Dunce!” declared Chudi, the baker. “Will he put another sheep down after just losing one? This is a thin tale!” But Gazzar was not to be disconcerted.

“Now Yussuf was a great thief,” he went on, “but this wit of Abou’s puzzled him. Of all the thieves he had trained few could solve the various problems which he put before them, and in Abou he saw the makings of a great thief. As the peasant approached, Abou motioned to Yussuf to conceal himself in a crevice in the nearby rocks, while he hid in the woods. When the peasant drew near Abou placed his hands to his lips and imitated a sheep bleating, whereupon the peasant, thinking it must be his lost sheep, put down behind a stone the one he was carrying, for its feet were tied, and went into the woods to seek the lost one. Yussuf, watching from his cave, then ran forth and made off with the sheep. When the peasant approached, Abou climbed a tree and smiled down on him as he sought his sheep, for he had been taught that to steal was clever and wise, and the one from whom he could steal was a fool.”

“And so he is,” thought Waidi, who had stolen much in his time.

“When the peasant had gone his way lamenting, Abou came down and joined Yussuf. They returned to the city and the home of Yussuf, where the latter, much pleased, decided to adopt Abou as his son.” Gazzar now paused upon seeing the interest of his hearers and held out his tambour. “Anna, O friends, anna! Is not the teller of tales, the sweetener of weariness, worthy of his hire? I have less than a score of anna, and ten will buy no more than a bowl of curds or a cup of kishr, and the road I have traveled has been long. So much as the right to sleep in a stall with the camels is held at ten anna, and I am no longer young.” He moved the tambour about appealingly.

“Dog!” growled Soudi. “Must thy tambour be filled before we hear more?”

“Bismillah! This is no story-teller but a robber,” declared Parfi.

“Peace, friends,” said Gazzar, who was afraid to irritate his hearers in this strange city. “The best of the tale comes but now—the marvelous beauty of the Princess Yanee and the story of the caliph’s treasury and the master thief. But, for the love of Allah, yield me but ten more anna and I pause no more. It is late. A cup of kishr, a camel’s stall—” He waved the tambour. Some three of his hearers who had not yet contributed anything dropped each an anna into his tambour.

“Now,” continued Gazzar somewhat gloomily, seeing how small were his earnings for all his art, “aside from stealing and plundering caravans upon the great desert, and the murdering of men for their treasure, the great Yussuf conducted a rug bazaar as a blind for more thievery and murder. This bazaar was in the principal street of the merchants, and at times he was to be seen there, his legs crossed upon his pillows. But let a merchant of wealth appear, a stranger, and although he might wish only to ask prices Yussuf would offer some rug or cloth so low that even a beggar would wish to take it. When the stranger, astonished at its price, would draw his purse a hand-clap from Yussuf would bring forth slaves from behind hangings who would fall upon and bind him, take his purse and clothes and throw his body into the river.”

“An excellent robber indeed!” approved Soudi.

“Yussuf, once he had adopted Abou as his son, admitted him to his own home, where were many chambers and a garden, a court with a pool, and many servants and cushions and low divans in arcades and chambers; then he dressed him in silks and took him to his false rug market, where he introduced him with a great flourish as one who would continue his affairs after he, Yussuf, was no more. He called his slaves and said: ‘Behold thy master after myself. When I am not here, or by chance am no more—praise be to Allah, the good, the great!—see that thou obey him, for I have found him very wise.’ Soon Yussuf disguised himself as a dervish and departed upon a new venture. As for Abou, being left in charge of the rug market, he busied himself with examining its treasures and their values and thinking on how the cruel trade of robbery, and, if necessary, murder, which had been taught him, and how best it was to be conducted.

“For although Abou was good and kind of heart, still being taken so young and sharply trained in theft and all things evil, and having been taught from day to day that not only were murder and robbery commendable but that softness or error in their pursuit was wrong and to be severely punished, he believed all this and yet innocently enough at times sorrowed for those whom he injured. Yet also he knew that he durst not show his sorrow in the presence of Yussuf, for the latter, though kind to him, was savage to all who showed the least mercy or failed to do his bidding, even going so far as to slay them when they sought to cross or betray him.”

“Ay-ee, a savage one was that,” muttered Al Hadjaz, the cook.

“And I doubt not there are such in Yemen to this day,” added Ajeeb, the cleaner of stalls. “Was not Osman Hassan, the spice-seller, robbed and slain?”

“Soon after Yussuf had left on the secret adventure, there happened to Abou a great thing. For it should be known that at this time there ruled in Baghdad the great and wise Yianko I., Caliph of the Faithful in the valleys of the Euphrates and the Tigris and master of provinces and principalities, and the possessor of an enormous treasury of gold, which was in a great building of stone. Also he possessed a palace of such beauty that travelers came from many parts and far countries to see. It was built of many-colored stones and rare woods, and possessed walks and corridors and gardens and flowers and pools and balconies and latticed chambers into which the sun never burst, but where were always cool airs and sweet. Here were myrtle and jasmine and the palm and the cedar, and birds of many colors, and the tall ibis and the bright flamingo. It was here, with his many wives and concubines and slaves and courtiers, and many wise men come from far parts of the world to advise with him and bring him wisdom, that he ruled and was beloved and admired.

“Now by his favorite wife, Atrisha, there had been born to him some thirteen years before the beautiful and tender and delicate and loving and much-beloved Yanee, the sweetest and fairest of all his daughters, whom from the very first he designed should be the wife of some great prince, the mother of beautiful and wise children, and the heir, through her husband, whoever he should be, to all the greatness and power which the same must possess to be worthy of her. And also, because he had decided that whoever should be wise and great and deserving enough to be worthy of Yanee should also be worthy of him and all that he possessed—the great Caliphate of Baghdad. To this end, therefore, he called to Baghdad instructors of the greatest wisdom and learning of all kinds, the art of the lute and the tambour and the dance. And from among his wives and concubines he had chosen those who knew most of the art of dress and deportment and the care of the face and the body; so that now, having come to the age of the ripest perfection, thirteen, she was the most beautiful of all the maidens that had appeared in Arabia or any of the countries beyond it. Her hair was as spun gold, her teeth as pearls of the greatest price, lustrous and delicate; her skin as the bright moon when it rises in the east, and her hands and feet as petals in full bloom. Her lips were as the pomegranate when it is newly cut, and her eyes as those deep pools into which the moon looks when it is night.”

“Yea, I have heard of such, in fairy-tales,” sighed Chudi, the baker, whose wife was as parchment that has cracked with age.

“And I, behind the walls of palaces and in far cities, but never here,” added Zad-el-Din, for neither his wife nor his daughters was any too fair to look upon. “They come not to Hodeidah.”

“Ay-ee, were any so beautiful,” sighed Al Tadjaz, “there would be no man worthy. But there are none.”

“Peace!” cried Ahmed. “Let us have the tale.”

“Yea, before he thinks him to plead for more anna,” muttered Hadjaz, the sweeper, softly.

But Gazzar, not to be robbed of this evidence of interest, was already astir. Even as they talked he held out the tambour, crying: “Anna, anna, anna!” But so great was the opposition that he dared not persist.

“Dog!” cried Waidi. “Wilt thou never be satisfied? There is another for thee, but come no more.”

“Thou miser!” said Haifa, still greatly interested, “tell thy tale and be done!”

“The thief has rupees and to spare, I warrant,” added Scudi, contributing yet another anna.

And Zad-el-Din and Ahmed, because they were lustful of the great beauty of Yanee, each added an anna to his takings.

“Berate me not, O friends,” pleaded Gazzar tactfully, hiding his anna in his cloak, “for I am as poor as thou seest—a son of the road, a beggar, a wanderer, with nowhere to lay my head. Other than my tales I have nothing.” But seeing scant sympathy in the faces of his hearers, he resumed.

“Now at the time that Abou was in charge of the dark bazaar it chanced that the caliph, who annually arranged for the departure of his daughter for the mountains which are beyond Azol in Bactria, where he maintained a summer palace of great beauty, sent forth a vast company mounted upon elephants and camels out of Ullar and Cerf and horses of the rarest blood from Taif. This company was caparisoned and swathed in silks and thin wool and the braided and spun cloth of Esher and Bar with their knitted threads of gold. And it made a glorious spectacle indeed, and all paused to behold. But it also chanced that as this cavalcade passed through the streets of Baghdad, Abou, hearing a great tumult and the cries of the multitude and the drivers and the tramp of the horses’ feet and the pad of the camels’, came to the door of his bazaar, his robes of silk about him, a turban of rare cloth knitted with silver threads upon his head. He had now grown to be a youth of eighteen summers. His hair was as black as the wing of the duck, his eyes large and dark and sad from many thoughts as is the pool into which the moon falls. His face and hands were tinted as with henna when it is spread very thin, and his manners were graceful and languorous. As he paused within his doorway he looked wonderingly at the great company as it moved and disappeared about the curves of the long street. And it could not but occur to him, trained as he was, how rich would be the prize could one but seize upon such a company and take all the wealth that was here and the men and women as slaves.

“Yet, even as he gazed and so thought, so strange are the ways of Allah, there passed a camel, its houdah heavy with rich silks, and ornaments of the rarest within, but without disguised as humble, so that none might guess. And within was the beautiful Princess Yanee, hidden darkly behind folds of fluttering silk, her face and forehead covered to her starry eyes, as is prescribed, and even these veiled. Yet so strange are the ways of life and of Allah that, being young and full of the wonder which is youth and the curiosity and awe which that which is unknown or strange begets in us all, she was at this very moment engaged in peeping out from behind her veils, the while the bright panorama of the world was passing. And as she looked, behold, there was Abou, gazing wonderingly upon her fine accoutrements. So lithe was his form and so deep his eyes and so fair his face that, transfixed as by a beam, her heart melted and without thought she threw back her veil and parted the curtains of the houdah the better to see, and the better that he might see. And Abou, seeing the curtains put to one side and the vision of eyes that were as pools and the cheeks as the leaf of the rose shine upon him, was transfixed and could no longer move or think.

“So gazing, he stood until her camel and those of many others had passed and turned beyond a curve of the street. Then bethinking himself that he might never more see her, he awoke and ran after, throwing one citizen and another to the right and the left. When at last he came up to the camel of his fair one, guarded by eunuchs and slaves, he drew one aside and said softly: ‘Friend, be not wrathful and I will give thee a hundred dinars in gold do thou, within such time as thou canst, report to me at the bazaar of Yussuf, the rug-merchant, who it is that rides within this houdah. Ask thou only for Abou. No more will I ask.’ The slave, noting his fine robes and the green-and-silver turban, thought him to be no less than a noble, and replied: ‘Young master, be not overcurious. Remember the vengeance of the caliph.... ‘Yet dinars have I to give.’... ‘I will yet come to thee.’

“Abou was enraptured by even so little as this, and yet dejected also by the swift approach and departure of joy. ‘For what am I now?’ he asked himself. ‘But a moment since, I was whole and one who could find delight in all things that were given me to do; but now I am as one who is lost and knows not his way.’”

“Ay-ee,” sighed Azad Bakht, the barber, “I have had that same feeling more than once. It is something that one may not overcome.”

“Al Tzoud, in the desert—” began Parfi, but he was interrupted by cries of “Peace—Peace!”

“Thereafter, for all of a moon,” went on Gazzar, “Abou was as one in a dream, wandering here and there drearily, bethinking him how he was ever to know more of the face that had appeared to him through the curtains of the houdah. And whether the driver of the camel would ever return. As day after day passed and there was no word, he grew thin and began to despair and to grow weary of life. At last there came to his shop an aged man, long of beard and dusty of garb, who inquired for Abou. And being shown him said: ‘I would speak with thee alone.’ And when Abou drew him aside he said: ‘Dost thou recall the procession of the caliph’s daughter to Ish-Pari in the mountains beyond Azol?’ And Abou answered, ‘Ay, by Allah!’ ‘And dost thou recall one of whom thou madest inquiry?’ ‘Aye,’ replied Abou, vastly stirred. ‘I asked who it was that was being borne aloft in state.’ ‘And what was the price for that knowledge?’ ‘A hundred dinars.’ ‘Keep thy dinars—or, better yet, give them to me that I may give them to the poor, for I bring thee news. She who was in the houdah was none other than the Princess Yanee, daughter of the caliph and heir to all his realm. But keep thou thy counsel and all thought of this visit and let no one know of thy inquiry. There are many who watch, and death may yet be thy portion and mine. Yet, since thou art as thou art, young and without knowledge of life, here is a spray of the myrtles of Ish-Pari—but thou art to think no further on anything thou hast seen or heard. And thou dost not—death!’ He made the sign of three fingers to the forehead and the neck and gave Abou the spray, receiving in return the gold.”

“Marhallah!” cried Soudi. “How pleasant it is to think of so much gold!”

“Yea,” added Haifa, “there is that about great wealth and beauty and comfort that is soothing to the heart of every man.”

“Yet for ten more anna,” began Gazzar, “the price of a bed in the stall of a camel, how much more glorious could I make it—the sweetness of the love that might be, the wonder of the skill of Abou—anna, anna—but five more, that I may take up this thread with great heart.”

“Jackal!” screamed Ajeeb fiercely. “Thou barkst for but one thing—anna. But now thou saidst if thou hadst but ten more, and by now thou hast a hundred. On with thy tale!”

“Reremouse!” said Chudi. “Thou art worse than thy Yussuf himself!” And none gave an anna more.

“Knowing that the myrtle was from the princess,” went on Gazzar wearily, “and that henceforth he might seek but durst not even so much as breathe of what he thought or knew, he sighed and returned to his place in the bazaar.

“But now, Yussuf, returning not long after from a far journey, came to Abou with a bold thought. For it related to no other thing than the great treasury of the caliph, which stood in the heart of the city before the public market, and was sealed and guarded and built of stone and carried the wealth of an hundred provinces. Besides, it was now the time of the taking of tithes throughout the caliphate, as Yussuf knew, and the great treasury was filled to the roof, or so it was said, with golden dinars. It was a four-square building of heavy stone, with lesser squares superimposed one above the other after the fashion of pyramids. On each level was a parapet, and upon each side of every parapet as well as on the ground below there walked two guards, each first away from the centre of their side to the end and then back, meeting at the centre to reverse and return. And on each side and on each level were two other guards. No two of these, of any level or side, were permitted to arrive at the centre or the ends of their parapet at the same time, as those of the parapets above or below, lest any portion of the treasury be left unguarded. There was but one entrance, which was upon the ground and facing the market. And through this no one save the caliph or the caliph’s treasurer or his delegated aides might enter. The guards ascended and descended via a guarded stair. “Anna, O friends,” pleaded Gazzar once more, “for now comes the wonder of the robbing of the great treasury—the wit and subtlety of Abou—and craft and yet confusion of the treasurer and the Caliph—anna!—A few miserable anna!”

“Jackal!” shouted Azad Bakht, getting up. “Thou robbest worse than any robber! Hast thou a treasury of thine own that thou hopest to fill?”

“Give him no more anna,” called Feruz stoutly. “There is not an anna’s worth in all his maunderings.”

“Be not unkind, O friends,” pleaded Gazzar soothingly. “As thou seest, I have but twenty annas—not the price of a meal, let alone of a bed. But ten—but—five—and I proceed.”

“Come, then, here they are,” cried Al Hadjaz, casting down four; and Zad-el-Din and Haifa and Chudi each likewise added one, and Gazzar swiftly gathered them up and continued:

“Yussuf, who had long contemplated this wondrous storehouse, had also long racked his wits as to how it might be entered and a portion of the gold taken. Also he had counseled with many of his pupils, but in vain. No one had solved the riddle for him. Yet one day as he and Abou passed the treasury on their way to the mosque for the look of honor, Yussuf said to Abou: ‘Bethink thee, my son; here is a marvelous building, carefully constructed and guarded. How wouldst thou come to the store of gold within?’ Abou, whose thoughts were not upon the building but upon Yanee, betrayed no look of surprise at the request, so accustomed was he to having difficult and fearsome matters put before him, but gazed upon it so calmly that Yussuf exclaimed: ‘How now? Hast thou a plan?’ ‘Never have I given it a thought, O Yussuf,’ replied Abou; ‘but if it is thy wish, let us go and look more closely.’

“Accordingly, through the crowds of merchants and strangers and donkeys and the veiled daughters of the harem and the idlers generally, they approached and surveyed it. At once Abou observed the movement of the guards, saw that as the guards of one tier were walking away from each other those of the tiers above or below were walking toward each other. And although the one entrance to the treasury was well guarded still there was a vulnerable spot, which was the crowning cupola, also four-square and flat, where none walked or looked. ‘It is difficult,’ he said after a time, ‘but it can be done. Let me think.’

“Accordingly, after due meditation and without consulting Yussuf, he disguised himself as a dispenser of fodder for camels, secured a rope of silk, four bags and an iron hook. Returning to his home he caused the hook to be covered with soft cloth so that its fall would make no sound, then fastened it to one end of the silken cord and said to Yussuf: ‘Come now and let us try this.’ Yussuf, curious as to what Abou could mean, went with him and together they tried their weight upon it to see if it would hold. Then Abou, learning by observation the hour at night wherein the guards were changed, and choosing a night without moon or stars, disguised himself and Yussuf as watchmen of the city and went to the treasury. Though it was as well guarded as ever they stationed themselves in an alley nearby. And Abou, seeing a muleteer approaching and wishing to test his disguise, ordered him away and he went. Then Abou, watching the guards who were upon the ground meet and turn, and seeing those upon the first tier still in the distance but pacing toward the centre, gave a word to Yussuf and they ran forward, threw the hook over the rim of the first tier and then drew themselves up quickly, hanging there above the lower guards until those of the first tier met and turned. Then they climbed over the wall and repeated this trick upon the guards of the second tier, the third and fourth, until at last they were upon the roof of the cupola where they lay flat. Then Abou, who was prepared, unscrewed one of the plates of the dome, hooked the cord over the side and whispered: ‘Now, master, which?’ Yussuf, ever cautious in his life, replied: ‘Go thou and report.’