Read In Arabian Nights for Free Online Page A
Authors: Tahir Shah
had cajoled me into buying
them new brushes and toiled with a dedication that was rarely
present in their work. Rachana had gone out to meet a friend.
When she came back, the house smelled like a summer
meadow. She commented on the pleasing aroma and went
upstairs to change. There was a pause of thirty seconds and then
a loud piercing shriek. Hamza came scurrying down the
stairs with a honey-coated brush. Rachana was close on his
heels.
'What on earth is going on?' she demanded.
'It's for the jinns,' I said limply.
My wife glared at me.
'You had an exorcism, for God's sake! Harmless animals were
cut down in their prime, all in the name of the damn jinns. Don't
you remember – the house was rinsed in blood!'
'I'm just keeping everyone happy,' I said. 'Got to keep the
status quo.'
Rachana rolled her eyes.
'You believe in all this stuff, don't you?' she said.
'I try not to,' I replied. 'But it gets into your head.'
There may be no tourists in Casablanca, but the sieve had
worked its magic all the same. After much persuasion, and
having stressed again and again that I was in no need of impressing
anyone, I was given a sizeable discount for the car. The
salesman had gritted his teeth and said that no one in the Toyota
dealership's history had ever ordered the basic model before. It
was such a rare commodity that he had to order it specially from
Japan.
When the car eventually arrived, I returned to the dealership,
took the key from the salesman, and clambered aboard. The
Land Cruiser was shiny silver and seemed to run very well. I was
very pleased with it until I arrived at the shantytown.
The Korean Jeep had always offered a cloak of invisibility,
just as the butcher's car had done before it. But the sleek lines of
the gleaming new Land Cruiser stuck out terribly. As I
descended on to the track that leads down towards the Caliph's
House, I squirmed in the plastic-covered seat. A hundred eyes
were on me. I was deeply embarrassed at such an open display of
wealth.
When I pulled into the garage at home, the guardians lined
up and saluted. Then they thanked me.
'Why are you thanking me?' I asked angrily.
They seemed confused.
'For making us proud,' said Hamza.
In the days that followed I begged them not to wash the car,
as I wanted it to obtain the lived-in look that went with the
neighbourhood. But they refused. Each morning before I got up,
they cleaned every wheel-nut, polished every inch of bodywork,
until the vehicle gleamed like a Roman chariot. It was Rachana
who explained the guardians' obsession with the new car.
'It's raised their standing in society,' she said.
One morning I went into my library to find Ariane trying
desperately to get a book from a shelf that was beyond her reach.
She had placed a bucket on the floor and was using it as a step.
But instead of turning the bucket over, and standing on its end,
she had placed something across the mouth. It was a dull silver
colour, about an inch thick. It was my laptop. I rushed in,
scooped her up and reached for the book she was hoping to get.
'If you had turned the bucket over,' I said, 'you wouldn't have
needed to stand on my precious computer.'
'But, Baba, it felt very strong,' she said.
Ariane ran out into the garden with the book. I picked up my
laptop, my eyes widening at my little daughter's inexperience. As
I stood there, the laptop in my hands, I found myself remembering
something my father had once said. We were sitting on the
lawn, under the sprawling yew tree. I must have been eleven or
twelve. It was summer. We were in shirtsleeves. My father had
said that a man had come to see him that morning from a long
way away.
'Did he come from America, Baba?'
'No, further than that.'
'From Canada?'
'No, not from Canada. It doesn't really matter where he came
from, Tahir Jan. What matters is that he wanted me to help him,
but I couldn't.'
'Why not?'
'Because he wasn't ready.' My father lay back on the grass. 'In
some ways the West is
them new brushes and toiled with a dedication that was rarely
present in their work. Rachana had gone out to meet a friend.
When she came back, the house smelled like a summer
meadow. She commented on the pleasing aroma and went
upstairs to change. There was a pause of thirty seconds and then
a loud piercing shriek. Hamza came scurrying down the
stairs with a honey-coated brush. Rachana was close on his
heels.
'What on earth is going on?' she demanded.
'It's for the jinns,' I said limply.
My wife glared at me.
'You had an exorcism, for God's sake! Harmless animals were
cut down in their prime, all in the name of the damn jinns. Don't
you remember – the house was rinsed in blood!'
'I'm just keeping everyone happy,' I said. 'Got to keep the
status quo.'
Rachana rolled her eyes.
'You believe in all this stuff, don't you?' she said.
'I try not to,' I replied. 'But it gets into your head.'
There may be no tourists in Casablanca, but the sieve had
worked its magic all the same. After much persuasion, and
having stressed again and again that I was in no need of impressing
anyone, I was given a sizeable discount for the car. The
salesman had gritted his teeth and said that no one in the Toyota
dealership's history had ever ordered the basic model before. It
was such a rare commodity that he had to order it specially from
Japan.
When the car eventually arrived, I returned to the dealership,
took the key from the salesman, and clambered aboard. The
Land Cruiser was shiny silver and seemed to run very well. I was
very pleased with it until I arrived at the shantytown.
The Korean Jeep had always offered a cloak of invisibility,
just as the butcher's car had done before it. But the sleek lines of
the gleaming new Land Cruiser stuck out terribly. As I
descended on to the track that leads down towards the Caliph's
House, I squirmed in the plastic-covered seat. A hundred eyes
were on me. I was deeply embarrassed at such an open display of
wealth.
When I pulled into the garage at home, the guardians lined
up and saluted. Then they thanked me.
'Why are you thanking me?' I asked angrily.
They seemed confused.
'For making us proud,' said Hamza.
In the days that followed I begged them not to wash the car,
as I wanted it to obtain the lived-in look that went with the
neighbourhood. But they refused. Each morning before I got up,
they cleaned every wheel-nut, polished every inch of bodywork,
until the vehicle gleamed like a Roman chariot. It was Rachana
who explained the guardians' obsession with the new car.
'It's raised their standing in society,' she said.
One morning I went into my library to find Ariane trying
desperately to get a book from a shelf that was beyond her reach.
She had placed a bucket on the floor and was using it as a step.
But instead of turning the bucket over, and standing on its end,
she had placed something across the mouth. It was a dull silver
colour, about an inch thick. It was my laptop. I rushed in,
scooped her up and reached for the book she was hoping to get.
'If you had turned the bucket over,' I said, 'you wouldn't have
needed to stand on my precious computer.'
'But, Baba, it felt very strong,' she said.
Ariane ran out into the garden with the book. I picked up my
laptop, my eyes widening at my little daughter's inexperience. As
I stood there, the laptop in my hands, I found myself remembering
something my father had once said. We were sitting on the
lawn, under the sprawling yew tree. I must have been eleven or
twelve. It was summer. We were in shirtsleeves. My father had
said that a man had come to see him that morning from a long
way away.
'Did he come from America, Baba?'
'No, further than that.'
'From Canada?'
'No, not from Canada. It doesn't really matter where he came
from, Tahir Jan. What matters is that he wanted me to help him,
but I couldn't.'
'Why not?'
'Because he wasn't ready.' My father lay back on the grass. 'In
some ways the West is