Arabian Nights' Entertainment Revisited

Ali Baba has joined his fortunes with the remaining thieves. He told me in the market place last week, 'My friend, I've suffered enough poverty, I'll make some rich man feel the sting.' I could see his eyes wandering greedily over the market wares. A green dhow sail rose over the crest of of the surf waves. 'It's Sindbad's ship! ' The cry echoed along the wharf into Basra's residential area. A crowd arose and people jostled for the front row. A solemn Sindbad disembarked. He looked older than I remembered. 'My friends, there was no business, no profit, no rocs, no crashing waves, no villains, no heroes.' He kept walking slowly away, his face now wrapped in a dirty yellow. I alone saw his eyes: his once flashing, fierce eyes were dead. But the people gathered at the harbor refused to believe their eyes. 'His adventures this time have worn him out. He needs to rest and recover. Then he will regale us with stories and treasures. Oh, the wondrous adventures he has had! Oh, the wonders he will share with us stay-at-homes.' I alone realized the truth: No book of stories would record the Eighth Voyage of Sindbad. It is a closed book. The Visier spent a fortune of his Prince's wealth to buy a talking parrot from Indian merchants. The bird was very tame and even seemed to bow before the Prince. He cocked his blue-green head to one side and began to warble, then cackle, then made rumbling sounds in his throat. And suddenly he began reciting the verse of Abu Nuwas in perfect meter, with pitch-perfect intonation. 'Oh, my word! Oh, my word! ' the Prince repeated in helpless wonder. The visier smiled in triumph... Three weeks later, thirty court poets, all dismissed, some after decades to the Prince, huddled together in a hovel near the harbor. 'Oh, my words. Oh, my words, ' they whispered. It was almost a chant addressed to the clouded heavens above them. The Prince of Baghdad employed me as a go-between when he courted the beauteous Fatima, daughter of the Prince of Nasra. 'You, mangy cur, do not offend my beloved with your scrawny voice. Bow your filthy head and hand her my love poem. Then leave her blessed presence and report to me.' Ah, it was plain to see how much they loved each other, with a love noble and true... But the families could not agree on arrangements, the dowry, property issues, etc. I continued my humble role as go-between, until that Golden Day when they were married in a ceremony glittering with gold and gemstones. That was in high summer. In late autumn, an angry Prince led his caravan of horsemen and camel herders, carrying chests of gold and gemstones, back to Baghdad. 'He divorced me, the mangy cur, ' I over heard the Princess yell at her father. Her eyes were fierce with venom, her hands twisted a precious Chinese scarf. Her father nodded ruefully and embraced his unloved daughter. I was dismissed. On my lonely journey back to Basra, I stopped in a small oasis famous for its musical fountains. I settled myself against against a soft flowering tree, and lulled by the softly bubbling fountains fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, it was twilight, already the full spread its lovely over us. US! Yes, across from me sat a giant genie, with his huge arms placidly folded over his chest. 'You've witnessed wicked things, you've had much bad luck, you mangy cur.' And he laughed in a roaring voice. I shuddered in fear. 'I've had my eye in you... You are a good man, Omar. You deserve a better fortune. I will grant you three wishes.'