Princess of Dhagabad, The (39 page)

“This is a sad story indeed, prince,” the
princess says thoughtfully, trying to feel more compassion toward
Prince Amir’s great-grandsire. “But I fail to see the djinn’s
fault. He was just following his orders. As for the weakness of
heart—natural in an elderly man—”

“Your judgment is clouded by the unnatural
affection for an unworthy slave, princess!” Angry, the prince rises
from the bench and starts pacing back and forth. “As for the djinn
that belonged to my noble ancestor, were he even half as wise as
you claim a djinn should be, he should have known what a man in his
declining years is capable of and what goes beyond his
strength!”

“And what happened to the djinn after the
death of your great-grandsire?”

“His son, my grandsire, personally sealed the
bottle with a holy seal and threw it into the ocean so that the
foul monster would never again bother mortals with his evil
deeds!”

The princess winces at her utter failure to
reach understanding. If, after all they talked about, after all he
knows about her, Prince Amir still finds it possible to call the
djinns foul monsters, they can never come to an agreement! Feeling
anger rise in her, the princess allows herself another bit of
sarcasm:

“Could that be the very same djinn the
fearless Almansor found in this book here?”

The prince stops his pacing and looks at the
princess with cool dignity.

“I am sorry, princess, that you can mock the
sacred story this way. This book contains ancient wisdom that I am
sure you will someday understand.”

The princess suddenly feels ashamed of
herself. After all, he has just told her a sad story about his
family, and she never showed any compassion, if only out of
politeness. She feels the need to smooth down their argument, to
salve the stings and forgive their misunderstandings.

“Forgive me, prince,” she says with genuine
regret. “I never wanted to mock anything. I am really sorry about
your noble ancestor.”

She looks up at him and to her amazement sees
again an expression of patronizing confidence on his face. She
feels another rush of anger, and finishes her sentence with
unnecessary sharpness: “But I still think that the role of the
djinn in his death is somewhat exaggerated.”

“Let’s leave it be, princess.” The prince
waves the conversation aside with his usual winning smile. “I hope
that you will gradually get rid of your prejudice, and then you
will undoubtedly understand how right I am.”

The princess feels strangely awkward. Was she
really less than fair in her quick-tempered judgment? Really, a
wise and all-powerful djinn could not possibly be ignorant about
the limited abilities of an old man. Maybe Prince Amir’s ancestor
was so cruel to his djinn that the djinn did not care about his
master’s well-being and in the swift flight never bothered to
account for his master’s old age? Alas, this mystery is hidden in
the depths of the ocean for ages to come. The princess’s heart
sinks at the thought of the terrible destiny of all-powerful
slaves, whose wickedness she simply can’t accept. At the same time,
she feels unexpected compassion for Prince Amir, who seems to be so
sure of knowing right from wrong, and who tries so hard to win the
trust of his bride, patiently tolerating her willfulness. But can
she possibly put up with the role of obedient wife when so many
things with which she is being forced to agree are so obviously
absurd, like the story of the fearless Almansor?

Someone calls out to her in a dark
passage.

“Is that you, princess?”

“Who is it?” the princess asks, slowing her
angry stride and straining her eyes to see the figure that
approaches her in the darkness.

“It is I, Selim, the captain of the
guard.”

“Hello, Selim.” She stops and relaxes a bit.
She remembers Hasan’s stories about playing chess with Selim while
gossiping about the inhabitants of the palace, and a smile lights
her face, dissolving her anger at prince Amir.

“Have you seen Hasan, princess?” Selim asks
anxiously, his mustache standing on end with excitement.

“No, I haven’t.”
Why would he be looking
for Hasan in this dark passage?
“Is anything the matter?” she
asks.

“Well, princess…” Selim falters. “We made a
bet.”

“A bet?”

“We were playing chess this morning and I,
well, I said something about our guards being the best in the
world, and Hasan started to laugh at me and, well, we made this
bet.”

“What bet, Selim?” the princess asks
impatiently, feeling irritated again.
I don’t have all day to
stand in this dark passage and talk to the captain of the guard. I
am not as good-natured as Hasan!

“Hasan said that he can enter the palace
without any magic and go as far as your quarters, and none of my
guards will catch him. By gods, this is really too much, even for
Hasan!”

“I can tell you one thing, Selim.” The
princess smiles, starting to walk away. “If Hasan says he can enter
the palace without being caught, he can.”

“We’ll see about that, princess!” Selim
hurries past her, disappearing around a bend in the corridor.

One of the doors in the passage leads into
the library. This refuge fits her mood perfectly. Here she can stay
in quietude by herself, without the constant noisy fussing of her
nannies. Here she can choose any book or any scroll she wants and
read it until dark, curled in a cozy armchair.

She barely has time to close the heavy door
behind her when the brass knob turns again and somebody slips
inside the library after her.

“Hasan!” the princess exclaims softly.

Winking, Hasan puts a finger against his lips
and presses his back flat against the wall beside the door. They
can hear voices and the tramping of feet coming down the
passage.

“I think he went over there!”

“Are you sure it was Hasan?”

“Who else would sneak along the dark passage
in broad daylight?”

“Look, the library door is slightly open! He
must be in there!”

“Get back!” Selim yells from behind. “I just
saw the princess herself walk into the library. Don’t disturb her
highness reading, you idiots.”

“Yes, captain, sir!”

“Let’s go to the stairs. He must be here
somewhere!”

Holding still, the princess and Hasan listen
as the voices and footsteps fade into the distance.

“We made a bet,” Hasan explains.

“I know—Selim told me.” The princess
smiles.

After the strain of the past few days she
feels surprisingly easy and peaceful. Suddenly she realizes that
standing beside her now is the only true friend she has ever had, a
friend to whom she can talk about anything and who understands her
probably better than she understands herself. All her anger at
Prince Amir, all frustration with their fruitless argument, all the
noisy feasts and strange guests bearing presentiments of a new life
that scares her—all seem unreal next to Hasan, so familiar and
comfortable, so close to her that she feels his light breath on her
cheek and enjoys his usual, barely perceptible, juniper scent.

The princess feels a strange inner freedom.
She shakes off the bonds of etiquette, duty and habit…that which
she does not dare to dream of now seems real and close…the most
natural thing in the world. She gently touches Hasan’s face with
her fingertips. She runs her hand down his face, his muscular neck,
feeling for the first time the smoothness of his skin that burns
her fingers with pulsing energy emanating from him and flowing
through her slender fingers into her veins. She trembles, giving in
to a feeling she has never let loose before. She draws him closer,
running her hands through his thick, unruly hair, pulling him
toward her, clinging to him with every part of her shivering body.
She lets out a slight gasp as she feels his hands, sure and strong,
move up her back, catch her in their grasp, and hold her in an
embrace that captures every part of her being in an infinitely
sweet bond.

She feels his lips touch her hair, her brow,
her eyelids, with a mixture of passion and tenderness, as if
holding back, afraid to hurt her with the strength of his desire.
In turn, she is kissing everything she can reach, his
sweet-smelling skin, his neck, his chin—until their lips finally
meet and become one.

After what seems like an eternity—an eternity
in a single moment of overwhelming passion that she never wants to
end—she feels him gently release his grasp to the point that she,
filled to the brim with blissful weakness, draws away from him just
enough to look into his eyes.

He is looking at her with tenderness and
passion, such passion that her heart almost stops with excitement.
And yet there is sadness beneath his passion, eternal sadness that
she, in this moment of happiness, cannot understand.

“Hasan,” she whispers, unable to hold back
her overflowing wild hope. “Hasan, I wish for you to become a
prince.”

She is ready to close her eyes so that she
can open them again to see Hasan in the place of Prince Amir—a
splendid suitor, a noble prince. She is so close to him now that
she can feel with her whole being his desire for her wish to come
true—his wild desire, no less than hers. But his eyes answer her
before words, as hope falls down like a stone and she tries in
desperation to prolong, however little, this moment of enchantment,
this beautiful moment that will never come again.

“Alas, princess.” Hasan draws away from her.
He lowers his head, having no strength to meet her desperate eyes.
“At your will I can do anything. I am all-powerful. But that which
I wish for most in the world, I cannot do even for you, because,
alas, it goes beyond by power. I cannot become a man. I have to
forever remain a djinn and a slave.”

As these cruel words sink slowly into her
mind, losing the strength to resist a new overflow of weakness and
ecstasy, she drops into his arms, clinging to him as if he was the
only hope in this world. United in this embrace, they stand
together in the dimness of the giant library—infinitely close,
infinitely far—the princess and the djinn, the mistress and the
slave. For this one time they give in to their desires, as they bid
farewell to dreams that will never come true.

Chapter 24. The Seven Steps

The night surrounds you. You are walking in
the desert to a temple that you can never find in the dark. You
don’t really need to find it because you know: there is nothing for
you in this temple. For the first time in your life you have to
make your own choice. For the first time you have to question a
decision that has been made for you. Sandy dunes roll and flare,
pouring their countless grains on the scales of a balance. You have
to walk the path chosen for you because you have already gone too
far to turn back.

Poor is a traveler who walks most of his
chosen way, then suddenly decides to turn off to explore some other
unknown path. Such a traveler soon becomes a wanderer without a
home or kin, dragging his miserable life at the mercy of people’s
kindness. And, to leave the comparisons alone, this desert isn’t a
dream anymore, is it?

You realize completely what is happening. On
one side of the scale lies a respectable normal way. You were born
a princess, a sultan’s daughter, a rare beauty; you were brought up
in decency, and your duty to your parents and your people lies in a
proper marriage to a noble prince, a future monarch able to protect
his subjects from misfortune. You were born to accept your lot, and
your wishes have nothing to do with it. By the way, you were never
against such a fate. What could be better than a decent marriage
approved by your parents and blessed with children born to carry on
in the same way?

What do you put on the other side of the
balance? Summits and abysses, rising and falling, a chance to share
your destiny with your loved one; but what would this destiny be?
The burden of absolute knowledge, rebirth as a djinn, endless
torture in a desert you know nothing about, serving Caliph Agabei
or another unknown master—a chance to be slaves together at best?
And, at worst, losing him forever to an unexpected turn of events
or by the will of your cruel master? Alas, the answer seems obvious
once you take everything into consideration. If you get married, if
you walk the path chosen for you, if you do your duty, you will at
least keep whatever you have now. After all, a little lie is a
small price to pay for not having to make a terrible choice. Hasan
will remain your friend—your own personal djinn. True, you may see
him less, but the alternative is intolerable. You cannot rush after
Shogat and Agabei; you cannot accept the offer you have so proudly
rejected before. You cannot, however much you may want it. You
cannot regret what you did, either. There, in the glass desert, you
made the right choice and Hasan approved of it. As for the madness
that possessed the two of you in the library,
that
was never
meant to be. Forget your childish fantasies, as Prince Amir
properly says, and look reality in the face.