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“Nor is this more wonderful than the tale of the fisherman.” The king asked her, “And what is the tale of the fisherman?” She said, “It has reached me, O fortunate king, that there was once a fisherman, advanced in years, who had a wife and three children and lived in poverty. It was his custom to cast his net no more than four times each day. One day, at noon, he went down to the seashore, set down his basket, and cast his net. He waited until it had settled in the water, then gathered its cords and found it heavy. He pulled but could not raise it, so he carried the end of the rope ashore, drove in a stake, and tied it fast. Then he stripped and dived into the water around the net, struggling with it until at last he brought it ashore. Delighted, he put on his clothes and went over to the net, only to find a dead donkey in it. At the sight he grieved and said, ‘There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty.’ Then he said, ‘What a strange livelihood this is!’ and recited:

‘O you who plunge through midnight’s gloom and peril, spare yourself your toil: livelihood does not come through striving.’ When the fisherman saw the dead donkey, he freed it from the net and wrung the mesh dry. Then he spread it out, waded into the sea, and said, ‘In the name of God.’ He cast it into the water and waited until it had settled, then pulled. This time it was heavier and more firmly caught than before. Thinking it full of fish, he tied the rope, stripped, and dived. He struggled until he freed the net and dragged it ashore, only to find a great earthenware jar filled with sand and mud. At this he lamented and recited the poet’s words:

‘O bitter torment of the times, desist! If you will not desist, at least show restraint. Neither fortune brings me bounty, nor the skill of my own hands. I went out seeking my livelihood and found my livelihood had died. How many a fool stands in the limelight, while a learned man remains obscure!’ Then he threw away the jar, wrung out his net, and cleaned it. Asking God’s forgiveness, he returned to the sea a third time and cast the net. He waited until it settled, then drew it in and found nothing but potsherds and bottles. He recited the poet’s words:

‘Livelihood is beyond your binding or unbinding; neither pen nor written line will bring it to you.’ Then he raised his head to heaven and said, ‘O God, You know that I cast my net no more than four times, and already I have cast it three.’ He invoked God’s name and threw the net into the sea. When it had settled, he pulled, but could not draw it up: it had caught on the bottom. ‘There is no power and no strength save in God,’ he said. He stripped and dived, working at the net until he brought it ashore. Opening it, he found a brass vessel, full and closed at the mouth with a lead stopper bearing the impression of the seal of our lord Solomon. The fisherman rejoiced at the sight and said, ‘I shall sell this in the coppersmiths’ market. It is worth ten gold dinars.’ He shook it and found it heavy. ‘I must open it,’ he said, ‘and see what is inside. I shall keep that in my saddlebag, then sell the vessel in the coppersmiths’ market.’ He took out a knife and worked at the lead until he pried it from the vessel. Setting the stopper on the ground, he shook the vessel to pour out its contents. Nothing fell from it, but smoke issued forth, rising to the vault of heaven and spreading over the face of the earth. He was utterly astonished. When all the smoke had emerged, it gathered together, shuddered, and became an ifrit whose head was in the clouds and whose feet were in the dust. His head was like a dome, his hands like pitchforks, his legs like masts, his mouth like a cavern, his teeth like stones, his nostrils like a ewer, and his eyes like two lamps. He was wild-haired and dust-covered. At the sight of this ifrit the fisherman’s limbs trembled, his teeth chattered, his mouth went dry, and he could no longer see which way to turn. When the ifrit saw him, he said, ‘There is no god but God; Solomon is the prophet of God.’ Then he cried, ‘O prophet of God, do not kill me! Never again will I oppose your word or disobey your command.’ The fisherman said, ‘You rebel spirit, do you speak of Solomon, the prophet of God? Solomon has been dead these eighteen hundred years, and we are living at the end of time. What is your story? What happened to you, and how did you come to be inside this vessel?’

“When the rebel spirit heard the fisherman’s words, he said, ‘There is no god but God! Rejoice, fisherman!’ ‘What good news have you for me?’ asked the fisherman. ‘That this very hour I shall kill you with the most dreadful of deaths!’ The fisherman said, ‘For such good tidings, O lord of ifrits, you deserve to have your shame laid bare, you accursed wretch! Why should you kill me? What have I done to deserve death, when I have freed you from the vessel, rescued you from the depths of the sea, and brought you ashore?’ The ifrit said, ‘Choose what death you wish to die and how you wish to be killed.’ ‘What crime have I committed,’ asked the fisherman, ‘that this should be my reward from you?’ ‘Hear my story, fisherman,’ said the ifrit. ‘Speak, and make it brief,’ replied the fisherman, ‘for my soul has sunk to my feet.’

“He said, ‘Know that I am one of the rebellious jinn. I and Sakhr the jinni defied Solomon son of David, so he sent his vizier Asaf ibn Barkhiya to fetch me. He brought me against my will and dragged me, humbled and unwilling, before Solomon. When Solomon saw me, he sought God’s protection against me and offered me the faith and submission to his authority. I refused. He called for this vessel and imprisoned me inside it, sealed me in with lead, and stamped it with the Greatest Name. Then he ordered the jinn to carry me away and cast me into the midst of the sea. I remained there a hundred years, saying in my heart, “Whoever releases me, I shall make him rich forever.” But a hundred years passed and no one released me. Another hundred began, and I said, “Whoever releases me, I shall open the treasures of the earth to him.” Still no one released me. Four hundred more years passed, and I said, “Whoever releases me, I shall grant him three wishes.” But no one released me. Then I grew furiously angry and said to myself, “Whoever releases me from this time onward, I shall kill him, allowing him to choose the manner of his death.” Now you have released me, and I have given you your choice of death.’

“When the fisherman heard the ifrit’s words, he said, ‘How strange are the ways of God! Could I not have come to free you until these very days?’ Then he said to the ifrit, ‘Spare my life, and God will spare yours. Do not destroy me, lest God set someone over you who will destroy you.’ The rebel spirit replied, ‘Kill you I must. Choose the death you wish to die.’ When the fisherman knew that he meant it, he pleaded with him again. ‘Pardon me in return for setting you free.’ The ifrit said, ‘It is precisely because you set me free that I shall kill you.’ The fisherman answered, ‘O chief of ifrits, must I do you a kindness only for you to repay me with evil? Yet the saying speaks truly:

‘We did them good; they paid us with its opposite. Such, by my life, is the conduct of the wicked. Whoever bestows kindness on those unworthy of it will be repaid like the man who sheltered Umm Amir.’ When the ifrit heard his words, he said, ‘Abandon hope. You must die.’ The fisherman thought, ‘He is a jinni and I am a man, but God has given me a sound mind. I shall devise his destruction with my wit and cunning, just as he plots with his malice and deceit.’ Then he said to the ifrit, ‘Are you resolved to kill me?’ ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Then by the Greatest Name engraved upon Solomon’s seal, I ask you to answer one question truthfully.’ ‘I will,’ said the ifrit. At the mention of the Greatest Name he shuddered and shook, then said, ‘Ask, and be brief.’ The fisherman said, ‘How could you have been inside this vessel? It would not hold even your hand or your foot, so how could it hold all of you?’ The ifrit asked, ‘Do you not believe that I was inside it?’ ‘Never shall I believe it,’ said the fisherman, ‘until I see you inside it with my own eyes.’” But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the fourth night

She said, “It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when the fisherman said to the ifrit, ‘Never shall I believe you until I see you inside the vessel with my own eyes,’ the ifrit shook himself and became smoke, rising into the air. Then the smoke gathered and entered the vessel little by little, until it was all inside. At once the fisherman snatched up the stamped lead stopper, sealed the mouth of the vessel, and called to the ifrit, ‘Choose what death you wish to die! I shall throw you into this sea and build myself a house here. Everyone who comes here I shall forbid to fish, telling him, “There is an ifrit here who shows anyone who brings him up the different kinds of death and lets him choose among them.”’ When the ifrit heard the fisherman’s words, he tried to escape but could not. He found himself imprisoned, saw the impression of Solomon’s seal upon him, and knew that the fisherman had confined him in a prison fit for the meanest, foulest, and smallest of ifrits. Then the fisherman carried the vessel toward the sea. ‘No, no!’ cried the ifrit. ‘Yes indeed, yes indeed!’ answered the fisherman. The rebel spirit softened his speech and humbled himself, saying, ‘What do you mean to do with me, fisherman?’ ‘Throw you into the sea,’ he replied. ‘If you have spent eighteen hundred years there, I shall make you stay until the Day of Judgment. Did I not say to you, “Spare me, and God will spare you; do not kill me, lest God kill you”? But you would not listen and intended only treachery. So God has delivered you into my hands, and I have tricked you in turn.’ The ifrit said, ‘Open the vessel, and I will reward you.’ ‘You lie, accursed one!’ replied the fisherman. ‘My case with you is like that of King Yunan’s vizier and the sage Ruyan.’ The ifrit asked, ‘What happened to King Yunan’s vizier and the sage Ruyan? What is their story?’

“The fisherman said, ‘Know, O ifrit, that in ancient days and ages long past, in a city of the Persians in the land of Ruman, there was a king called King Yunan. He possessed wealth, armies, strength, and followers of every race. But his body was afflicted with leprosy, which physicians and sages were powerless to cure. Neither medicines to drink, nor powders, nor ointments did him any good, and no physician could heal him. Now there came to King Yunan’s city a great sage, advanced in years, called the sage Ruyan. He was versed in Greek, Persian, Roman, Arabic, and Syriac books, in medicine and astronomy, and understood their principles and their workings, both beneficial and harmful. He knew the properties of plants and grasses, of harmful and healing herbs. He had mastered the learning of the philosophers and encompassed all the sciences, medical and otherwise. After entering the city and remaining there a few days, he heard about the king and the leprosy with which God had afflicted his body, and how physicians and men of learning had failed to cure him. The news occupied the sage’s thoughts throughout the night. When morning came, its light shone forth, and the sun greeted the fairest of faces, he dressed in his finest clothes and went before King Yunan. He kissed the ground, prayed that the king’s glory and blessings might endure, addressed him in the most graceful words, and introduced himself. Then he said, “O king, I have heard of the affliction that has seized your body, and that many physicians have been unable to discover how to remove it. I shall cure you, O king, without giving you any medicine to drink or anointing you with any ointment.”

“‘When King Yunan heard this, he was astonished and asked, “How will you do it? By God, if you cure me, I shall enrich you and your children’s children. I shall shower you with favors and grant you all you wish, and you shall be my companion and dear friend.” He bestowed a robe of honor upon him and treated him generously, then asked, “Will you truly cure me of this disease without medicine or ointment?” “Yes,” replied the sage, “and without causing your body any distress.” The king was utterly amazed. “O sage,” he said, “when will you do what you have promised? On what day? Make haste, my son!” “I hear and obey,” replied the sage. He left the king, rented a house, and set his books, medicines, and herbs inside. Then he selected his drugs and herbs and made a hollow polo mallet, fitting it with a handle. He also fashioned a ball according to his knowledge. When he had completed all this, he went up to the king the following day, entered his presence, kissed the ground before him, and bade him ride out to the playing field and play with ball and mallet.

“‘The emirs, chamberlains, viziers, and officers of state accompanied the king. Scarcely had he taken his place on the field when the sage Ruyan approached, handed him the mallet, and said, “Take this mallet and grasp it like this. Ride about the field and strike the ball with all your strength until your palm and body sweat. Then the medicine will penetrate through your palm and spread throughout your body. Once you have sweated and the medicine has taken effect, return to your palace, go into the bath, wash, and sleep. You will be cured, and peace be with you.” King Yunan took the mallet from the sage, grasped it in his hand, and mounted his horse. The ball was thrown before him, and he spurred after it until he caught up with it and struck it hard, his hand firmly clasping the mallet’s handle. He continued striking the ball until his palm and his whole body sweated, and the medicine passed into him through the handle. The sage Ruyan knew that the medicine had spread through his body and told him to return to his palace and enter the bath at once. King Yunan returned immediately and ordered the bath cleared for him. His command was obeyed; servants hurried and mamluks raced to prepare his garments. He entered the bath, washed himself thoroughly, and dressed inside it. Then he came out, rode to his palace, and slept.

“‘Such was the case of King Yunan. As for the sage Ruyan, he returned to his house and spent the night there. When morning came, he went up to the king and asked permission to enter. This was granted, and he went in, kissed the ground before him, and addressed these verses to him:

“‘“Eloquence blossomed in pride when you were named its father; should it ever call another father, it would refuse him. O you whose radiant face dispels the darkness of dreadful calamity, may your face remain bright and smiling, so we need never see the face of time frown. You have bestowed upon me favors that have done for us what rain clouds do for the hills. You have spent your greatest wealth in pursuit of glory, until you have won from time all your desires.” When he finished his poem, the king rose to his feet, embraced him, seated him at his side, and bestowed splendid robes of honor upon him. Now, when the king had come out of the bath, he had examined his body and found no trace of leprosy. His flesh had become as pure as white silver. He was overjoyed, and his heart expanded with delight. In the morning he entered the court and seated himself upon his royal throne. The chamberlains and great officers of state came before him, and the sage Ruyan entered as well. At the sight of him the king hastened to rise and seated him beside him. Tables were spread, and the king ate with him, keeping him at his side in pleasant conversation all day. When night came, he gave the sage two thousand dinars, besides robes of honor and gifts, and had him mount his own horse to return home. King Yunan marveled at his skill and said, “He cured me through the surface of my body, without even anointing me! By God, this is profound wisdom indeed. I must reward and honor this man and make him my companion and intimate for all time.”

“‘King Yunan passed the night happy and delighted at his restored health and deliverance from disease. In the morning he came out and sat upon his throne. His officers of state stood before him, and the emirs and viziers sat to his right and left. He sent for the sage Ruyan, who entered and kissed the ground before him. The king rose to greet him, seated him beside him, ate with him, welcomed him warmly, and bestowed robes and gifts upon him. He continued talking with him until nightfall, then ordered that he receive five robes of honor and a thousand dinars. The sage returned home grateful to the king. The next morning the king went out to the court, surrounded by emirs, viziers, and chamberlains. Among his viziers was one who was ugly in appearance, ill-starred, mean, miserly, and envious, with envy and hatred woven into his nature. When this vizier saw that the king had drawn the sage Ruyan close and showered him with such favors, he envied him and secretly wished him harm. As the saying goes, “No body is free of envy.” And it is also said, “Injustice lies hidden in the soul: power reveals it, and weakness conceals it.”

“‘The vizier approached King Yunan, kissed the ground before him, and said, “O king of this age and time, whose generosity embraces all people, I have weighty counsel to offer you. Were I to conceal it, I should be a bastard. If you command me to disclose it, I shall do so.” Disturbed by the vizier’s words, the king asked, “What is your counsel?” He replied, “O glorious king, the ancients have said, ‘He who does not consider the consequences will find no friend in time.’ I see that the king has acted unwisely in bestowing favors on his enemy, on one who seeks the downfall of his kingdom. You have treated him generously, honored him beyond measure, and drawn him closer than anyone. I fear for the king because of this.” The king was alarmed and his color changed. “Who is this man,” he asked, “whom you claim to be my enemy, yet whom I treat with kindness?” The vizier replied, “O king, if you are asleep, awaken! I mean the sage Ruyan.” The king said, “This man is my friend and dearer to me than anyone, for he cured me with something I held in my hand. He healed the illness before which the physicians were powerless. There is no one like him in the world today, from east to west. How can you say such things about him? From this day forth I shall assign him salaries and allowances and give him a thousand dinars every month. Even if I shared my kingdom with him, it would be too little. I can only think you say this out of envy, as in the story I have heard of King Sindbad.” Then King Yunan said, “It is related—and God knows best…”’”

But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold. Her sister said to her, “Sister, how lovely, how delightful, how delicious and sweet your story is!” She replied, “What is this compared with what I shall tell you tomorrow night, if I live and the king spares me?” The king said to himself, “By God, I shall not kill her until I have heard the rest of her story, for it is marvelous.” They passed the rest of that night in one another’s arms until morning. Then the king went out to his seat of judgment, and the court assembled. He judged, appointed and dismissed, commanded and forbade until the end of the day. When the court dispersed, he entered his palace. Night fell, and he took his pleasure with the vizier’s daughter Shahrazad.

When it was the fifth night

She said, “It has reached me, O fortunate king, that King Yunan said to his vizier, ‘O vizier, envy of this sage has entered your heart, and you wish me to kill him, only to regret it afterward as King Sindbad regretted killing his falcon.’ The vizier asked, ‘How was that?’ The king replied, ‘It is related that there was a king of the kings of Persia who loved diversions and excursions, hunting and the chase. He had a falcon he had reared, which never left him by night or day. All night he kept it perched upon his hand, and whenever he went hunting he took it with him. He had made it a little golden bowl, hung about its neck, from which he gave it water. One day, while the king was seated, the keeper of the hunting birds came to him and said, “O king of the age, it is time to go hunting.” The king made ready, took the falcon on his wrist, and set out with his company until they reached a valley. They spread their hunting nets, and a gazelle was caught in them. The king said, “Whoever lets the gazelle escape on his side, I shall kill him.” They closed the hunting circle about it. Then the gazelle came toward the king, reared on its hind legs, and folded its forelegs against its breast as though bowing to the ground before him. The king bent down toward it, whereupon it leaped over his head and fled into the open country. He turned to the soldiers and saw them exchanging winks. “Vizier,” he asked, “what are the soldiers saying?” “They are saying,” replied the vizier, “that you declared that whoever let the gazelle escape on his side would be killed.” The king said, “By my own life, I shall pursue it until I bring it back!” He rode after the gazelle and kept up the pursuit, while the falcon struck at its eyes until it blinded and bewildered it. Then the king drew a mace, struck it down, dismounted, slaughtered it, and skinned it. He hung it from the pommel of his saddle. It was a hot hour, and the place was a wilderness with no water to be found. Both the king and his horse were thirsty. Looking about him, the king saw a tree from which a liquid like clarified butter was dripping. He wore a leather glove on his hand. He took the bowl from the falcon’s neck, filled it with the liquid, and set it before him, but the falcon struck the bowl and overturned it. The king took the bowl again and filled it. Thinking the falcon thirsty, he set it before the bird, but again it struck the bowl and spilled it. Angry now, the king filled the bowl a third time and offered it to his horse, but the falcon overturned it with its wing. “May God confound you, most ill-omened of birds!” cried the king. “You have denied me a drink, denied yourself, and denied my horse!” Then he struck the falcon with his sword and severed its wings. The falcon kept lifting its head and signaling, “Look at what is above the tree.” The king raised his eyes and saw a serpent overhead: what was dripping down was its venom. He regretted cutting off the falcon’s wings. Then he mounted his horse and rode back with the gazelle to the place from which he had set out. He threw the gazelle to the cook and said, “Take it and cook it.” The king sat upon his chair with the falcon on his wrist. The bird gave a gasp and died, and the king cried out in grief, “Alas that I killed the falcon!” For it had saved him from destruction. Such is the story of King Sindbad.’

“When the vizier heard King Yunan’s words, he said, ‘O king of mighty rank, what harm have I ever done you, or what evil have you seen from me? I do this only out of concern for you, and you will come to know the truth of it. If you accept my advice, you will be saved; otherwise you will perish, as did a vizier who played a trick on a king’s son. That king had a son passionately fond of hunting and the chase, and he ordered his vizier to accompany the prince wherever he went. One day the prince went out hunting, and his father’s vizier went with him. As they rode together, they saw a great wild beast. The vizier said to the prince, “There is your quarry! Pursue it.” The prince rode after it until he disappeared from sight. Then the beast vanished into the wilderness, and the prince was bewildered, not knowing which way to go. Suddenly he saw a maiden beside the road, weeping. “Who are you?” he asked. She replied, “The daughter of a king of India. I was traveling through the wilderness when sleep overcame me and I fell from my mount without knowing it. Now I am stranded and lost.”

“‘When the prince heard her words, he took pity on her, lifted her onto his horse, and seated her behind him. They rode on until they passed an island, where the maiden said, “My lord, I must relieve myself.” He set her down on the island. She was delayed, and when he thought her too long he followed her without her knowing it. He found that she was a ghoul and heard her saying to her children, “My children, today I have brought you a plump young fellow.” “Bring him to us, Mother,” they said, “so that we may fill our bellies with him.” When the prince heard this, he knew that he was doomed. His limbs trembled, and, fearing for his life, he withdrew. The ghoul came out and found him looking terrified and shaking. “Why are you afraid?” she asked. “I have an enemy,” he replied, “and I fear him.” The ghoul said, “You say you are a king’s son?” “Yes,” he answered. “Then why do you not give your enemy some money and satisfy him?” He said, “He will not be satisfied with money. Nothing will satisfy him but my life. I fear him, for I am a man wronged.” She replied, “If you are wronged, as you claim, seek God’s help against him. He will protect you from his evil and from the evil of all you fear.” The prince raised his head to heaven and said, “O You who answer the distressed when they call upon You and lift away affliction, help me against my enemy and turn him away from me. You have power over all You will.”

“‘When the ghoul heard his prayer, she left him, and the prince returned to his father and told him what the vizier had done. And you, O king, if you trust this sage, he will kill you with the most dreadful of deaths. Though you have treated him generously and brought him close to you, he is plotting your destruction. Do you not see that he cured your disease through the surface of your body, with something you held in your hand? You cannot be sure he will not destroy you with something else you hold.’ King Yunan said, ‘You speak truly. It may be as you say, O faithful vizier. Perhaps this sage has come as a spy to seek my destruction. If he cured me with something I held in my hand, he could kill me with something I smell.’ Then King Yunan asked his vizier, ‘What shall we do with him?’ The vizier replied, ‘Send for him this very moment. When he appears, strike off his head, and you will be safe from his evil and rid of him. Betray him before he betrays you.’ ‘You are right, vizier,’ said King Yunan. He sent for the sage, who came joyfully, unaware of what the Merciful had decreed, as one poet has said:

“‘“O you who fear the times, be at peace, and entrust your affairs to Him who spread the earth. What is decreed must come and cannot be erased; from what He has not decreed, you are safe.” The sage addressed the king with these verses:

“‘“If ever I fail to give you the thanks that are your due, ask me for whom I have prepared my verse and prose. Before I asked, you lavished favors upon me, without delay or excuse. Why, then, should I not give your praise its due, and celebrate your greatness in secret and aloud? I shall give thanks for all the kindness you have shown: though it weighs upon my back, it flows lightly from my lips.” And on the same theme:

“‘“Turn away from your cares and leave your affairs to fate. Rejoice in the good that will soon come, making you forget what has passed. Many a thing that angers you will bring contentment in the end. God does what He wills: do not dispute His will.” And again:

“‘“Entrust your affairs to the Wise, the All-Knowing, and give your heart rest from all the world. Know that things do not happen as you wish, but as God wills, the wisest of judges.” And again:

“‘“Do not grieve; forget your every care, for cares rob even the prudent of their wits. Planning cannot help a helpless servant: leave it aside and live in lasting peace.” When the sage Ruyan appeared, the king asked him, “Do you know why I have summoned you?” The sage replied, “None knows the unseen but God Most High.” The king said, “I have summoned you to kill you and take your life.” The sage Ruyan was utterly astonished by these words. “O king,” he asked, “why would you kill me? What offense have I committed?” The king replied, “I have been told that you are a spy and have come to kill me. I shall kill you before you kill me.” Then he shouted to the executioner, “Strike off this traitor’s head and rid us of his evil!” The sage said, “Spare me, and God will spare you. Do not kill me, lest God kill you.” He repeated his plea, just as I pleaded with you, O ifrit, yet you would not release me and insisted upon killing me. King Yunan said to the sage Ruyan, “I shall not be safe unless I kill you. You cured me with something I held in my hand, and I cannot be sure you will not kill me with something I smell, or by some other means.” The sage said, “O king, is this my reward from you? Do you repay kindness with evil?” The king answered, “You must be killed without delay.” When the sage knew that the king would certainly kill him, he wept and regretted having shown kindness to one unworthy of it, as has been said:

“‘“Maymuna is devoid of every sign of reason, but her father was fashioned of understanding. Never did he walk on dry ground or in mud without a guiding light by which he avoided slipping.” Then the executioner came forward, blindfolded the sage, drew his sword, and said, “Give the order.” The sage wept and said to the king, “Spare me, and God will spare you. Do not kill me, lest God kill you.” Then he recited the poet’s words:

“‘“I counseled honestly and failed; they dealt falsely and prospered. My honest counsel brought me to a house of shame. If I live, never again shall I offer counsel; if I die, proclaim in every tongue the death of honest counselors after me.” Then the sage said to the king, “Is this to be my reward? Will you repay me as the crocodile repaid?” “What is the story of the crocodile?” asked the king. The sage answered, “I cannot tell it in this condition. By God, spare me, and God will spare you.” Then he wept bitterly. One of the king’s favorites rose and said, “O king, grant me this sage’s life. We have never seen him commit any offense against you. We have seen only that he cured the illness which defeated physicians and sages alike.” The king replied, “You do not know why I am killing this sage. If I let him live, I shall certainly perish. A man who cured my illness with something I held in my hand can kill me with something I smell. I fear he will kill me and collect a reward for it, for he may be a spy who has come for no purpose but to kill me. He must die; only then shall I be safe.” The sage said, “Spare me, and God will spare you. Do not kill me, lest God kill you.” When the sage knew, O ifrit, that the king would certainly kill him, he said, “O king, if I must be killed, grant me time to go down to my house, settle my affairs, instruct my family and neighbors to bury me, and give away my medical books. I also possess a book of the rarest kind, which I shall give you as a gift to keep in your treasury.” The king asked the sage, “What is this book?” He replied, “It contains wonders beyond counting. Among the least of its secrets is this: when you have cut off my head, open the book, count three leaves, and read three lines from the page on your left. Then my head will speak to you and answer whatever you ask it.” The king was utterly amazed and trembled with delight. “O sage,” he asked, “will you truly speak after I have cut off your head?” “Yes, O king,” he replied. “It is a marvelous thing.” The king sent him home under guard. The sage went down to his house and attended to his affairs that day. On the following day he came up to the court, where the emirs, viziers, chamberlains, deputies, and officers of state had all assembled, making the court resemble a garden in bloom. The sage entered and stood before the king, carrying an old book and a kohl case containing a powder. He sat down and said, “Bring me a dish.” They brought him one, and he poured the powder into it and spread it out. Then he said, “O king, take this book, but do nothing with it until you have cut off my head. When you have done so, place the head in this dish and order it pressed down upon the powder. That will stop the bleeding. Then open the book.” The king opened it and found the pages stuck together. He put his finger in his mouth, moistened it with saliva, and opened the first leaf, then the second and third, for the pages would part only with difficulty. He opened six leaves and examined them but found no writing. “O sage,” said the king, “there is nothing written here.” “Turn a few more leaves,” replied the sage. The king turned more, and in a very short time the poison spread through him, for the book was poisoned. He began to sway and cried out, “The poison has spread through me!” Then the sage Ruyan recited:

“‘“They ruled and grew arrogant in their rule; soon it was as though their reign had never been. Had they dealt justly, justice would have met them; but they oppressed, and time oppressed them with disasters and trials. Now their condition cries aloud to them: ‘This is for that—lay no blame upon time.’” When the sage Ruyan finished speaking, the king fell dead that very instant. Know, then, O ifrit, that had King Yunan spared the sage Ruyan, God would have spared him. But he refused and sought his death, so God killed him. And you, O ifrit, had you spared me, God would have spared you.’”

But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold. Her sister Dunyazad said to her, “How lovely your story is!” She replied, “What is this compared with what I shall tell you tomorrow night, if I live and the king spares me?” They passed that night in pleasure and delight until morning. Then the king went up to the court, and when it dispersed he returned to his palace and joined his household.

When it was the sixth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when the fisherman said to the ifrit, “Had you spared me, I would have spared you. But you wanted only to kill me, so I shall kill you by keeping you imprisoned in this flask and casting you into the sea,” the marid cried out, “By God, fisherman, do not do it! Be generous and spare me, and do not punish me for what I have done. If I have done evil, do you do good. As the familiar proverb says: ‘O you who do good to those who wrong you, the wrongdoer’s own deeds are punishment enough.’ Do not act as Umamah acted with Atikah.”

“And what happened between them?” asked the fisherman. The ifrit replied, “This is no time for storytelling while I am in prison. Let me out, and I will tell you their story.” But the fisherman said, “I must cast you into the sea, and there is no hope of your release. I tried to soften your heart and begged you for mercy, yet you wanted only to kill me, though I had committed no offense against you and had never done you any harm. I had done you nothing but good by freeing you from prison. When you treated me so, I knew you were base by nature. Know that I shall cast you into this sea for this very reason: whenever anyone draws you out, I shall tell him your story and warn him against you, so that he throws you back again. Thus you shall remain in this sea until the end of time and suffer every kind of torment.” The ifrit said, “Release me, for this is the moment for magnanimity. I pledge that I shall never harm you, but shall do you a service that will benefit you forever.” The fisherman made him promise that, if released, he would never hurt him but would treat him kindly. When he had bound him firmly by oaths and pledges, and made him swear by the Most Great Name of God, the fisherman opened the flask. The smoke rose until it had all emerged and gathered together, becoming an ifrit of hideous form. He kicked the flask into the sea. Seeing him throw it away, the fisherman felt certain that he was doomed, and wet his clothes with fear. “This is no good sign,” he said. Then, taking courage, he said, “O ifrit, God Most High has said: ‘Fulfill the covenant, for the covenant shall be called to account.’ You have pledged yourself to me and sworn not to betray me. If you do, God will requite you, for He is jealous of His honor: He grants respite, but does not neglect. I say to you what the sage Ruyan said to King Yunan: ‘Spare me, and God will spare you.’” The ifrit laughed and walked ahead of him, saying, “Fisherman, follow me.” The fisherman followed, scarcely believing he was safe. They went beyond the outskirts of the city, climbed a mountain, and descended into a broad wilderness, in the middle of which lay a pool. The ifrit stopped beside it and told the fisherman to cast his net and fish. The fisherman looked into the pool and saw fish of different colors: white, red, blue, and yellow. Marveling at this, he cast his net and drew it in, finding four fish, each of a different color. He rejoiced at the sight, and the ifrit said to him, “Take them to the sultan and present them to him. He will give you enough to make you wealthy. And, by God, accept my apology: I know little of the ways of the world just now, for I have spent eighteen hundred years in this sea and have not seen the world outside until this hour. Fish here only once each day. I leave you in God’s keeping.”

Then he stamped his feet upon the earth, which split open and swallowed him. The fisherman went back to the city, marveling at all that had happened to him with the ifrit. He took the fish home, fetched an earthenware basin, filled it with water, and put the fish into it. They thrashed about in the water, and he lifted the basin onto his head and set off for the king’s palace, as the ifrit had instructed him. When the fisherman came before the king and presented the fish, the king was utterly astonished, for never in his life had he seen any of such appearance or form. “Give these fish to the cook-maid,” he said. This maid had been sent to him as a gift by the king of Rum three days before, and he had not yet tried her cooking. The vizier ordered her to fry the fish and said, “Girl, the king says to you: ‘I have saved my tears for my hour of trouble.’ Show us today your skill and the excellence of your cooking, for someone has brought the sultan a gift.” Having given her these instructions, the vizier returned, and the king ordered him to give the fisherman four hundred dinars. The vizier handed them over, and the fisherman gathered them into the fold of his robe and went home to his wife, delighted and happy. Then he bought everything his family needed.

Such was the fisherman’s story. As for the maid, she took the fish, cleaned them, and arranged them in the frying pan. She left them until one side was cooked, then turned them over. Suddenly the kitchen wall split open, and out stepped a maiden, slender of waist and smooth of cheek, perfect in beauty, with kohl-darkened eyes, a lovely face, and a graceful figure. She wore a headcloth of blue silk; earrings hung from her ears, bracelets encircled her wrists, and rings set with precious stones adorned her fingers. In her hand she held a bamboo wand. She thrust the wand into the pan and said, “O fish, do you remain true to the ancient covenant?” At the sight, the cook-maid fainted. The maiden repeated her words a second and a third time, whereupon the fish lifted their heads from the pan and said, “Yes, yes.” Then all together they recited this verse:

“If you return, we return; if you keep faith, we keep faith; and if you forsake us, then we are quits.” At this the maiden overturned the pan and went out through the opening by which she had entered, and the kitchen wall closed behind her. When the cook-maid came to her senses, she saw the four fish burned as black as charcoal. “On his very first campaign, his staff is broken!” she said. While she was reproaching herself, the vizier appeared beside her and said, “Bring the fish for the sultan.” The maid burst into tears and told him what had happened. The vizier marveled and said, “This is indeed a strange affair.” He sent for the fisherman, and when they brought him, he said, “Fisherman, you must bring us four fish like those you brought before.” The fisherman went to the pool, cast his net, and drew it in to find four fish. He took them to the vizier, who carried them to the maid and said, “Come, fry them before me, so that I may see this affair for myself.” The maid prepared the fish and put them in the pan over the fire. They had scarcely been there a little while when the wall split open and the maiden appeared, wearing the same clothes and holding the wand. She thrust it into the pan and said, “O fish, O fish, do you remain true to the ancient covenant?” The fish lifted their heads and recited this verse:

“If you return, we return; if you keep faith, we keep faith; and if you forsake us, then we are quits.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seventh night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when the fish had spoken, the maiden overturned the pan with her wand and left by the way she had come, and the wall closed behind her. The vizier rose and said, “This is something that cannot be concealed from the king.” He went before the king and told him what had happened in his presence. “I must see it with my own eyes,” said the king. He sent for the fisherman and ordered him to bring four more fish like the first, allowing him three days. The fisherman went to the pool and brought back the fish at once. The king ordered that he be given four hundred dinars, then turned to the vizier and said, “Cook the fish yourself, here before me.” “I hear and obey,” replied the vizier. He brought the pan, cleaned the fish, put them into it, and turned them over. Suddenly the wall split open, and out came a black slave, huge as a bull or a man of the ancient people of Ad. He held a green branch in his hand, and in a clear, fearsome voice he said, “O fish, O fish, do you remain true to the ancient covenant?” The fish lifted their heads from the pan and said, “Yes, yes,” then recited this verse:

“If you return, we return; if you keep faith, we keep faith; and if you forsake us, then we are quits.” The slave went up to the pan and overturned it with the branch, leaving the fish as black as charcoal. Then he went back by the way he had come. When he had vanished from their sight, the king said, “This is a matter that cannot be passed over in silence. These fish must have some strange story.” He ordered the fisherman to be brought before him and asked, “Where do these fish come from?” “From a pool among four mountains, beyond the mountain outside your city,” he replied. The king turned to him and asked, “How many days’ journey is it?” “My lord sultan, it is half an hour’s journey,” he said. The sultan was astonished and ordered the army to set out at once with the fisherman. The fisherman began cursing the ifrit. They traveled until they had climbed the mountain and descended into a broad wilderness they had never seen in all their lives. The sultan and his entire army marveled at this wilderness among four mountains and at the fish of four colors in its pool: red, white, yellow, and blue. The king stood in wonder and asked the army and all those present, “Has any of you ever seen this pool in this place?” They all answered, “No.” “By God,” said the king, “I shall not enter my city or sit upon my royal throne until I discover the truth about this pool and its fish.” He ordered his men to encamp around the mountains, and they did so. Then he summoned the vizier, who was experienced, wise, discerning, and well versed in affairs. When he stood before him, the king said, “I intend to do something, and I shall tell you what it is. It has occurred to me to go out alone tonight and investigate this pool and its fish. Sit at the entrance of my tent and tell the emirs, viziers, and chamberlains that the sultan is indisposed and has ordered you to admit no one. Tell no one of my purpose.” The vizier could not disobey him. The king disguised himself, girded on his sword, slipped away from his men, and walked through the rest of the night until morning. He continued until the heat grew fierce, then rested. Afterward he walked for the remainder of the day and through a second night until morning, when he glimpsed a dark shape in the distance. He rejoiced and said, “Perhaps I shall find someone who can tell me about the pool and its fish.” As he drew nearer, he saw that it was a palace built of black stone and plated with iron, with one leaf of its gate open and the other shut. Delighted, the king stood at the gate and knocked gently, but heard no answer. He knocked a second and a third time, but still heard nothing. A fourth time he knocked loudly, yet no one answered. “It must be empty,” he said. Taking courage, he passed through the palace gate into the vestibule and called out, “People of the palace, I am a stranger and a traveler. Have you any food?” He repeated this a second and a third time but heard no reply. Steeling his heart and gathering his resolve, he went from the vestibule into the heart of the palace. He found no one there, though it was furnished. In its midst stood a fountain adorned with four lions of red gold, pouring water from their mouths like pearls and jewels. Birds fluttered all around, and a net stretched over the palace kept them from flying away. He marveled at all this, but regretted finding no one whom he could ask about the pool, the fish, the mountains, and the palace. He sat down among the doorways to ponder, and suddenly heard a moan from a grieving heart, followed by a voice chanting these verses:

“When wasting grief had all but made me vanish, yet my longing stood revealed, and sleep had left my eyes to wakefulness, I cried to sorrow, swollen by my thoughts: ‘O sorrow, spare me nothing; leave me nothing!’” When the sultan heard that lament, he rose and went toward it. He found a curtain hanging across the doorway of a chamber and lifted it. Behind it sat a young man upon a couch a cubit above the ground. He was handsome and graceful, eloquent of tongue, with a radiant brow, rosy cheeks, and a mole upon his cheek like a little shield of ambergris. As the poet said:

“A slender youth, whose hair and brow send men through darkness and through light. Of all the sights your eyes may see, no lovelier thing can meet their gaze than that dark mole upon his rosy cheek, beneath his black and lustrous eye.” The king was delighted to see him and greeted him. The youth remained seated, wearing a silk robe embroidered with gold, but sorrow was written upon him. He returned the king’s greeting and said, “My lord, forgive me for not rising.” The king said, “Young man, tell me about this pool and its colored fish, about this palace and why you are alone in it. And why do you weep?” At these words, tears streamed down the youth’s cheeks and he wept bitterly. The king was astonished and asked, “What makes you weep, young man?” “How should I not weep,” he replied, “when this is my condition?” He reached down and lifted the skirts of his robe. The lower half of his body, down to his feet, was stone, while from his navel to the hair of his head he was human. Then the youth said, “Know, O king, that these fish have a wondrous story. Were it written with needles upon the corners of the eyes, it would be a lesson to all who took heed. My lord, my father was king of this city. His name was Mahmud, lord of the Black Islands and of these four mountains. He reigned for seventy years, then died, and I became king after him. I married my cousin, my father’s brother’s daughter, and she loved me so dearly that whenever I was away she would neither eat nor drink until she saw me again. We had been married for five years when one day I went to the bath and ordered the cook to prepare our supper. Then I returned to this palace and lay down in my usual sleeping place, telling two slave-girls to fan my face. One sat at my head and the other at my feet. I was restless at my wife’s absence and could not sleep; my eyes were shut, but my mind was awake. I heard the girl at my head say to the one at my feet, ‘Masudah, what a pity for our master’s youth! What a waste, with that wicked, sinful mistress of ours!’ The other said, ‘May God curse adulterous women! A man like our master, with his fine character, is ill matched with this adulteress, who spends every night in a bed other than his.’ The girl at my head said, ‘Our master is a fool not to inquire after her.’ The other replied, ‘What are you saying? Does our master know anything of her ways? Does she leave him any choice? She works upon him through the cup he drinks every night before bed, putting henbane into it so that he falls asleep, unaware of what goes on, where she goes, or what she does. Once she has given him the drink, she dresses and leaves him, staying away until dawn. Then she returns and burns something beneath his nose, and he wakes from sleep.’

“When I heard the slave-girls’ words, the light turned to darkness before my eyes. I could scarcely wait for night to fall. My cousin returned from the bath, and we spread the supper cloth and ate. We sat talking pleasantly for an hour, as was our custom, and then I called for my bedtime drink. She handed me the cup, but I contrived to avoid drinking it. Pretending to drink as usual, I poured it into the breast of my robe and lay down at once. Then she said, ‘Sleep, and may you never rise again! By God, I hate you and the sight of you, and my soul is sick of your company.’ She rose, put on her finest clothes, perfumed herself with incense, girded on a sword, opened the palace gate, and went out. I rose and followed her out of the palace and through the city’s markets until she reached the city gates. There she spoke words I did not understand, and the locks fell away and the gates opened. She went out, with me following unseen, until she reached the rubbish mounds. She came to an enclosure containing a domed hut built of mud, with a door. She entered, while I climbed onto the roof of the dome and looked down at her. She had gone in to a black slave whose one lip was like a coverlet and the other like a mattress, his lips sweeping sand from among the pebbles. He lay, damp-bodied, upon a little reed straw. She kissed the ground before him, and he lifted his head and said, ‘Damn you! Why have you stayed away until this hour? The other black men were here drinking, and each has gone off with his lover, while I refused to drink because I was waiting for you.’ She said, ‘My master and beloved of my heart, do you not know that I am married to my cousin? Of all creatures, his is the face I hate most, and I loathe my own soul in his company. Were I not afraid of displeasing you, I would turn the city into a ruin where owls and ravens cry, and carry its stones beyond Mount Qaf.’ The slave said, ‘You lie, whore! I swear by the manly honor of black men—lest our honor be no better than that of white men—that if from this day on you stay away until this hour again, I shall have nothing to do with you or lay my body against yours, you faithless woman! Would you turn against me to satisfy your lust, you foul creature, you lowest of white women?’” The young king continued: “When I heard her words and saw with my own eyes what passed between them, the world grew dark before me, and I no longer knew where I was. My cousin stood weeping before him, humbling herself and saying, ‘My beloved, fruit of my heart, I have no one left but you. If you drive me away, alas for me, my beloved, light of my eyes!’ She went on weeping and pleading until he relented. Then she rejoiced, rose, took off her clothes, and said, ‘My master, have you anything for your slave-girl to eat?’ ‘Lift that basin,’ he said. ‘Under it are cooked rat bones. Eat them and gnaw them, then go to that earthen pot: you will find beer in it, so drink.’ She rose, ate and drank, washed her hands, and came to the slave upon the reed straw. She stripped herself and slipped under the rags and tatters beside him. When I saw what my cousin had done, I lost all sense of myself. I climbed down from the roof of the dome, entered, and took her sword, intending to kill them both. First I struck the slave across the neck, and thought I had finished him.”

And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold. When morning came, the king went into the hall of judgment, and the court remained in session until the end of the day. Then the king returned to his palace, and her sister Dunyazad said to her, “Finish your story for us.” “With love and pleasure,” she replied.

When it was the eighth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that the enchanted youth said to the king: “When I struck the slave to cut off his head, I severed his windpipe, skin, and flesh, and thought I had killed him. He gave a loud, rattling snore, and my cousin stirred. After I had gone, she rose, took the sword, returned it to its place, went back to the city, entered the palace, and lay in my bed until morning. That day I saw that she had cut off her hair and put on mourning clothes. She said, ‘Cousin, do not blame me for what I do. News has reached me that my mother is dead, my father has been killed in holy war, and of my two brothers, one has died of a venomous sting and the other beneath a falling building. I have every right to weep and mourn.’ Hearing this, I held my peace and said, ‘Do as you please. I shall not oppose you.’ For a whole year, from one year’s end to the next, she continued in grief, tears, and lamentation. At the end of the year she said, ‘I wish to build myself a tomb in your palace, like a domed mausoleum, where I may grieve alone. I shall call it the House of Sorrows.’ ‘Do as you please,’ I told her. So she built herself a house of mourning, with a dome in its midst and a tomb like a shrine. She moved the slave there and laid him inside. He was so weak that he could do her no service, though he could drink. From the day I wounded him he had not spoken, yet he remained alive, for his appointed hour had not come. Every day, morning and evening, she went into the domed chamber to weep and lament beside him and give him drink and broth. She continued thus, morning and evening, into the second year, while I bore with her patiently. Then one day I entered unannounced and found her weeping, beating her face, and reciting these verses:

“May I cease to live among mankind now you are far away, for my heart loves none but you. In kindness, take my body wherever you may go, and wherever you settle, bury me beside you. If you speak my name beside my grave, my bones will answer your call with a moan.” When she had finished her verses, I said, with my drawn sword in my hand, ‘These are the words of faithless women who deny the life they have shared and hold companionship in no honor.’ I meant to strike her and raised my hand into the air. She rose, knowing now that it was I who had wounded the slave. Standing upright, she spoke words I did not understand, then said, ‘By my magic, may God make half of you stone and the other half human!’ And I became as you see me, unable to rise or sit, neither dead nor alive. When she had made me thus, she enchanted the city with all its markets and fields. The people of our city belonged to four communities: Muslims, Christians, Jews, and Magians. She turned them into fish: the white are Muslims, the red Magians, the blue Christians, and the yellow Jews. She turned the four islands into four mountains and set them around the pool. Every day she torments me, giving me a hundred lashes with a leather whip until my blood flows. Then she dresses the upper half of my body in a hair shirt beneath these clothes.” The youth wept and recited these verses:

“Patience with Your decree, my God, and with my fate! I shall be patient, if therein lies Your pleasure. The affliction that has fallen on me hems me in; my intercessors are the family of the chosen Prophet.” Then the king turned to the youth and said, “Young man, you have added sorrow to my sorrow.” He asked, “Where is that woman?” “In the tomb,” he replied, “where the slave lies beneath the dome. She visits him once every day. When she comes, she first comes to me, strips off my clothes, and gives me a hundred lashes. I weep and cry out, but cannot move to defend myself. After punishing me, she goes to the slave with drink and broth in the early morning.” The king said, “By God, young man, I shall do you a kindness for which I shall be remembered, a noble deed that men will record in the histories after me.” The king sat talking with him until nightfall. Then he rose and waited until the hour before dawn, took off his clothes, girded on his sword, and went to the place where the slave lay. He saw candles and lamps, incense and scented oils. Going up to the slave, he struck and killed him, then carried him on his back and threw him into a well in the palace. He returned to the domed chamber, put on the slave’s clothes, and lay down with his drawn sword beside him. An hour later the adulterous sorceress arrived. As soon as she entered, she stripped her cousin, took a whip, and beat him. ‘Ah!’ he cried. ‘What I suffer is enough! Have mercy on me!’ ‘Did you have mercy on me,’ she said, ‘and spare my lover?’ Then she dressed him in the hair shirt and put his clothes over it. She went down to the slave, carrying a cup of drink and a bowl of broth, entered the domed chamber, and wept and wailed, saying, ‘My master, speak to me! My master, say something to me!’ Then she recited:

“How long will this estrangement and this coldness last? The pain that love has wrought is surely enough. How long will you prolong our separation by design? If your aim is to please my envier, he has had his fill.” Then she wept and said, “My master, speak to me, say something to me.” The king lowered his voice, altered his tongue, and spoke in the manner of the black men, saying, “Ah, ah! There is no power and no strength save in God.” When she heard him speak, she cried out for joy and fainted. Then she recovered and said, “Can it be that my master is well again?” The king made his voice low and feeble and said, “You whore, you do not deserve that I should speak to you.” “Why is that?” she asked. “Because all day long you torment your husband, and he cries and calls for help until you deprive me of sleep from nightfall to morning. He keeps pleading and praying against you until his voice disturbs me. Were it not for that, I would have recovered. That is what has prevented me from answering you.”

She said, “With your permission, I shall free him from his condition.” “Free him,” said the king, “and give us some peace.” “I hear and obey,” she replied. She rose and left the domed chamber for the palace, took a bowl, and filled it with water. She spoke over it, and the water began to boil as though it were in a pot over the fire. Then she sprinkled some upon him and said, “By the power of what I have recited, leave this form and return to your former shape.” The youth shook himself and stood upon his feet, rejoicing at his deliverance. “I bear witness that there is no god but God,” he said, “and that Muhammad is the Messenger of God, may God bless him and grant him peace.” Then she said, “Go, and never return here, or I shall kill you.” She shouted in his face, and he left her presence. She returned to the domed chamber, went down, and said, “My master, come out to me, so that I may look upon you.” In a feeble voice he replied, “What have you done? You have relieved me of the branch, but not of the root.” “My beloved, what is the root?” she asked. “The people of this city and the four islands,” he said. “Every night at midnight the fish raise their heads and invoke curses upon you and me. That is what keeps health from returning to my body. Free them, then come and take my hand and help me rise, for strength is beginning to return to me.” Hearing the king’s words and believing him to be the slave, she joyfully replied, “My master, upon my head and my eyes! In the name of God!” She sprang up and hurried away in delight, went out to the pool, and took a little of its water … And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the ninth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when the young sorceress had taken some water from the pool and spoken over it in words that could not be understood, the fish stirred, lifted their heads, and at once became human. The spell was lifted from the people of the city. The city was populous once more, the markets stood open, and everyone returned to his trade. The mountains became islands again, as they had been before. The sorceress immediately returned to the king, still believing him to be the slave, and said, “My beloved, give me your noble hand to kiss.” “Come closer,” said the king in a low voice. She approached, and he took his sword and drove it into her breast until it came out through her back. Then he struck her and split her in two. He went out and found the enchanted youth standing there awaiting him, and congratulated him on his deliverance. The youth kissed his hand and thanked him. The king asked, “Will you remain in your city, or come with me to mine?” The youth said, “King of the age, do you know how far you are from your city?” “Two and a half days,” replied the king. Then the youth said, “O king, if you are asleep, awake! Your city is a year’s hard journey from here. You came in two and a half days only because this city was enchanted. As for me, O king, I shall not leave you for the blink of an eye.” The king rejoiced at his words and said, “Praise be to God, who has blessed me with you! You shall be my son, for in all my life I have never been granted a child.” They embraced in great happiness and walked together until they reached the palace. The king who had been enchanted informed the officers of his state that he was setting out on the holy pilgrimage, and they prepared everything he would need. Then he departed with the sultan, whose heart burned with longing for his city now that he was a year’s journey away. They set out with fifty mamluks and gifts.

They traveled night and day for a full year until they approached the sultan’s city. The vizier and the army came out to meet him, having given up all hope of his return. The soldiers advanced, kissed the ground before him, and congratulated him on his safe arrival. He entered the city and sat upon his throne, then turned to the vizier and told him all that had befallen the youth. When the vizier heard the youth’s story, he congratulated him on his deliverance. Once affairs had settled, the sultan bestowed favors upon many people. Then he said to the vizier, “Bring me the fisherman who brought the fish.” He sent for that fisherman, who had been the means of delivering the people of the city, and when he came, the sultan bestowed a robe of honor upon him and asked about his circumstances and whether he had children. The fisherman told him that he had a son and two daughters. The king married one daughter, and the youth married the other. The king took the son into his service and appointed him treasurer. Then he sent the vizier to the youth’s city, the Black Islands, and invested him with its sovereignty. With him he sent the fifty mamluks who had accompanied them, along with many robes of honor for all the emirs. The vizier kissed his hands and set out upon his journey. The sultan and the youth remained together; as for the fisherman, he became the richest man of his time, and his daughters were the wives of kings. Thus they lived until death came to them.