The Hakawati Read Online Free

Jawad gestured toward his admirer.
    “By your leave, I would like to invite the boy into my tent,” Khayal said.
    “The boy is neither captured nor a slave,” Fatima said. “Since he has free will, you must convince him, charm him into your tent. We have seven nights before we reach my home city, Alexandria. You have seven nights to seduce him. You may begin tomorrow.”
    And Fatima looked up at the sky and its stars and thanked the moon for his help.
    And Fatima, Jawad, and Khayal led their numerous horses, camels, and mules into the night.
    “Ah, the smell of salt and sand,” Fatima told her companions. “There is no elixir on this blessed earth like it.”
    During the day’s march, our three travelers reached the blue-tongued shores of the Mediterranean. That night, they camped on the beach. Much to Khayal’s disappointment, Jawad unfurled his own tent after watering, feeding, and brushing the pack animals. After a dinner of bread, dried meat, and dates, Fatima poured herself a cup of wine. “Shall we begin?”
    “Begin?” Khayal wondered. “You mean my seduction? Am I supposed to perform publicly? I would prefer to talk to Jawad in private.” He bent his head. “I am, in large measure, a discreet man.” He lifted his head and looked at Jawad, sitting next to Fatima. “You would appreciate a discreet man, I am sure.”
    Jawad shrugged. Fatima said, “Discretion is boring.”
    “My lady,” Khayal said, “our agreement was that I seduce the boy in seven nights, not that I perform the seduction publicly. That would be unfairly humiliating.”
    “Love is unfairly humiliating.”
    Jawad nodded. “I do not know much of love, but I do know that it is humiliating.”
    “I must protest,” Khayal said. “The Prophet—may the blessing of God be upon him—said, ‘He who falls in love and conceals his passion is a worthy man.’ ”
    “Being a bore is in itself unappealing,” our heroine said. “Being a bore and a liar to boot makes a man rebarbative, as well as dishonored. Lying with the Prophet’s words? You might as well remove your headdress and shave your beard. The Prophet, peace be upon him, said, ‘He who falls in love, conceals his passion, and is chaste, dies a martyr.’ If you wish to become a martyr, that can be arranged easily, but it is already too late to conceal your passion.”
    “And chastity is not what he is after anyway,” Jawad added.
    “The desert nights are long and bare,” Fatima said. “Entertain us, or begone. If you desire to possess this boy, you must convince him.”
    “Convince me.”
    “Move him.”
    “Move me.”
    “Wait.” Khayal stood up. The light of the fire cast flickering shadows on his long white robe. He was a thick-shouldered man, with a hawkish beak and full, heavy eyebrows. “I will do what you ask if I have to, but allow me one final attempt at convincing you that discretion works best in matters of love. I can tell you the story of Bader, son of Fateh.”
    “I am not sure I am willing to be convinced. Are you, my dear Jawad?”
    “Well, I do like stories.”
    “There you go. The boy likes stories. Tell us the tale of this Bader.”
    Khayal said, “There was a Córdoban, from a great family, by the name of Bader ben Fateh. He was a man of faith, circumspect, a gracious host, well mannered, a beacon of good breeding. I was traveling in Játiva when I began to hear of his exploits. It seems he had lost all modesty by falling in love with a musician by the name of Moktadda. I knew this boy, and I can tell you he did not deserve Bader’s love; he did not deserve the love of one of Bader’s slaves. Bader spent a fortune on this honorless dullard, welcomed him into his house, and closed it to his other guests. He plied the peasant with the most expensive wines. Iheard that our man had removed his kaffiyeh, unwound his head-rope, showed his full face, rolled up his sleeves.
    “He cast off the leash of propriety. He fell prey to that ravenous