Ramadan

The caliph clapped his hands and commanded that Arram be treated as an honored guest, and now women with henna-dyed hands and captivating smiles sat him next to the caliph and stroked his thighs and bare arms, remarking what a handsome young man their master's guest was. The caliph called for entertainment, and a eunuch with a harp arrived and sang songs so beautiful they brought tears to Arram's eyes even while he dallied with the harem women.

The caliph singled out three women. "Zoreh, Lien, Chione, this is Arram. Tonight I want you to tend to his every need and desire. I trust you understand me?"

The concubines giggled and led Arram to a small chamber almost completely filled by a great feather bed with soft sheets. They traced their lacquered nails over his arms and pulled at his shirt. Lien ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, while Zoreh and Chione dappled kisses on his bare chest.

"The caliph says you're a hero," said Zoreh, who was a Persian girl with large, dark eyes.

"Well, it was nothing really," said Arram.

"It can't be nothing, because no one is ever admitted to the harem for nothing," said Lien, a girl from the Far East with supple fingers.

"In fact, no one but the caliph has ever been admitted to the harem at all," said Chione, who was of the people of the Nile. "I think it may even be a sin."

"The caliph is the Defender of the Faithful," said Zoreh, laying on Arram's chest and kissing him with honeyed lips. "We'll let him worry about what is a sin and what isn't." She batted her dark eyes at him.

Zoreh kissed his lips, and Chione ran her hands up his thighs, and Lien kissed his earlobes and murmured things in her own language, which he did not understand but still seemed very sweet. Zoreh's lips and tongue danced over his bare chest. Chione untied his pants and tossed them aside, and Lien kissed him on the mouth, her tongue darting against his.

All three women removed their veils and undid their robes, and one at a time they presented their full, sweet breasts to Arram, who kissed them tentatively at first but, at their encouragement, soon with greater enthusiasm. Chione moaned when his teeth nipped the hot, soft flesh of her bare breast.

"I wonder what new pleasures we can show this brave young man?" Zoreh's fingertips traced a line on his chest.

"He's so young, I'm sure they're all new pleasures to him," said Chione, kissing his fingertip and licking it with the tip of her tongue. Arram sat up a little.

"I may be young," he said, "but this certainly isn't the first time I've been with a woman." Which was true. He'd been with Dalila a few hours ago. That counted for something, right?

"Well then, what can we do to please and delight you?" said Zoreh.

Arram swallowed. "Um," he said, "there is of course the one particular delight, known only to women of this city, among them the caliph's third wife and fourth favorite concubine..."

Zoreh's eyebrows arched. "I think I may know the one you're talking about." And then she trailed kisses down his body until she was between his thighs. To his amazement, she took his throbbing organ into her mouth, sliding it past her soft lips and wrapping her tongue around the shaft of it.

His eyes went wide and his whole body tensed up. The other women laughed. Chione and Lien lay on either side of him, cradling their naked figures against his and kissing his ears and neck while all three of them watched Zoreh.

She slid up and down him, her mouth sucking tight, tongue lolling. Her eyes were closed and her brow was knit in concentration. He felt himself swell more, and she raised up a little to still contain him between her lips, drawing him in and out. She made a little moan and the hum vibrated up and through him.

Chione leaned over and kissed Lien once, on the lips, then turned her attentions to Arram. She straddled him, removing the last of her garments and revealing the softly folded flesh of her sex. She offered this to him, and, trembling a little, he leaned forward, putting his lips to those and kissing them. He wondered if this was a common practice among Nile people or just something the harem girls enjoyed. He darted his tongue out, licking her once, finding her hot and wet.

Zoreh increased her pace and, encouraged, Arram did the same, licking inside of Chione's sex while she moaned and massaged her own breasts, bouncing herself up and down on her heels while crouched over him. Lien, meanwhile, lay at his side, running her fingers up the muscles of his arm, then guiding his hand to her breasts, which he found petite but firm, with sensitive dark nipples that made her cry out when pinched.

Zoreh now had him all the way at the back of her throat, and the muscles there rippled and massaged him when she swallowed. Arram was buffeted by sensations as soft silk and softer flesh surrounded him and a sea of lithe, caressing limbs pulled him in every direction. Just as Arram thought he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer, Lien stood and playfully pushed Zoreh aside. There was a small popping noise as she pulled him out of her mouth.

"Now don't go taking it all for yourself," said Lien, swinging her legs over Arram's body and settling herself down on top. Zoreh gave her a playful push back, and then one to Chione.

"Well, if I have to move, so does she."

Chione's only response was to moan, roll her eyes, and push herself harder against Arram's lips, where his tongue continued to lap at her sex. They disputed amongst each other for a minute and finally it ended up that Zoreh opened her thighs to Arram's mouth while Lien prepared to mount him and Chione, pouting a little, lay on the sidelines, watching them and absently stroking Arram's body, which was now sweat-covered and panting like a winded horse.

"Poor thing," she said, "I hope this isn't more than he can handle."

"He's young and virile," said Zoreh, grabbing two handfuls of his hair and pushing his head down against her. "He'll recuperate."

"Besides," said Lien, "there's our needs to think about too. It's been so long since anyone visited us, I thought I would die of loneliness."

As she spoke she sat down, and Arram slid inside the tight confines of her body. His moan was smothered by Zoreh. Lien rocked up and down on him and his organ surged inside of her as hers clutched tight. He felt wetness dribble down him, and Zoreh's fingers massaged his scalp as his tongue flicked up to her hot, tender nub.

His hips bucked against Lien's insistent riding, and Chione pulled a handful of his hair hard enough to jerk his head back, then kissed him and, when Zoreh objected, kissed her wet sex too. Arram seized the opportunity to take a breath. Lien was riding with such enthusiasm that she fell forward, propping herself up against Zoreh's back. Her petite hands slipped around the other woman's body, cupping her breasts. Zoreh turned back to kiss her, and all the while Lien's pale white thighs were working up and down, up and down.

Chione cradled his head, whispering to him, occasionally kissing his mouth. "Do you feel yourself about to burst?" she said.

"Yes!" said Arram.

"Ooh," said Zoreh.

Lien only moaned.

"No fair keeping it all for yourself," said Chione.

"He's young," said Zoreh, "he'll have enough for everyone."

Arram was less sure, as he already felt that his body might break in half under the strain they were putting on him, but it was too late to do anything about it now, as he was already swelling and spurting inside of Lien. The concubine was wracked by convulsions and Zoreh moved out of the way, allowing her to fall across Arram, clawing his bare chest. His mouth was open but no sound would come out, and he was momentarily breathless.

They afforded him a few minutes to recuperate. Chione straddled him, insisting she was next. Zoreh stroked his hair, and Lien half-dozed beside them. Arram counted the tiles of the ceiling and waited for his head to stop throbbing.

"Zoreh?" he said.

"Hm?"

"What did Lien mean when she said it had been a long time since anyone visited you? Does the caliph not come to the harem often?"

"We are not his only harem," said Zoreh. " Indeed, this is the furthest wing, and His Worship rarely comes here. This is only the second time I have ever seen him with my own eyes."

"And my first," said Chione.

Arram sat up a little. "Do you mean to say that the caliph has servants who have never seen him?"

"Oh yes," said Zoreh.

Arram remembered the guards at the gate. "But then how do you know—"

There was a great commotion outside, with shouting and crashing and women screaming. Arram stuck his head through the curtains and a huge slave with a drawn sword grabbed him. The concubines all gasped and covered themselves. Arram looked up and couldn't believe what he was seeing; armed slaves were dragging the caliph away!

"How dare you!" cried Haroun al-Rashid. "Don't you know who I am?"

A thin man whom Arram did not recognize to be in charge. "Up to your old tricks again, Abu al-Hassan?" said the thin man. "I showed you mercy last time, but now you leave me no choice."

Arram struggled in the grip of the slave and said, "Do you have any idea who that is?"

The stranger looked at him. "Yes; do you?"

"He is Haroun al-Rashid!"

"You are mistaken," said the thin man. "I am Haroun al-Rashid. That man is an imposter." He narrowed his eyes. "And I don't know who you are."

Icy sweat drenched Arram. Before he could reply the slave put a sack over his head, and he was dragged away.

His heart sank. He had no idea what was going on, but he was sure he knew what was going to happen next. He consoled himself that at least he wouldn't have to live for very long after they cut his manhood off, as they would almost certainly chop his head off too.

The slave pushed him and they walked, Arram sometimes stumbling because he couldn't see his own feet. After a while the bag was removed , and he blinked and looked around. He expected to see a dungeon or a torture chamber, but instead he was in a lavish banquet hall. The table in front of him overflowed with savory foods, and the true caliph sat eating a stuffed hen. He pointed to an empty chair.

"Have a seat, boy. Eat something."

Arram paused, unsure what to do, then sat down and began grabbing everything he could reach. After all, he reasoned, there'd be no good eating where he was going next. The caliph watched, seemingly amused, as Arram stuffed his mouth full of candied plums and then tried to eat an entire lamb kebab in two bites.

"When you're finished trying to swallow the mpire, perhaps you would do your caliph the honor of telling him who you are, and how you came to be in his private harem, in the middle of the night, during the holy month of Ramadan?"

Arram swallowed. The caliph seemed to look through him, and he squirmed. Wiping his mouth and fingers on a cloth, Arram began to tell the story, haltingly at first, of everything that had happened since leaving home. Haroun al-Rashid watched him, saying nothing, now and then nibbling a bite of something. When he was finished the caliph did not say anything for some time. All he did was glare, and Arram wished that they would get on with his execution, because he hated all this waiting.

Then he saw the caliph's face twitch. His mouth drew up in a small smile. His shoulders began to shake, and then he was roaring with laughter. Arram sat back, stunned.

"Marvelous!" said the caliph. "Simply marvelous. I would never believe it had I not seen the issue of your misadventures with my own eyes."

And he laughed and laughed, and soon Arram was laughing too, mostly from relief. The caliph called for a scribe and had Arram repeat his story so that it could be recorded, and he and Arram talked and ate and drank and told stories the rest of the night through.

As dawn approached the caliph looked out the window at the city. He rubbed the rings on his fingers, as though unused to the feeling of them. "Well Arram, the morning is almost here. In truth, I should have you put to death; the law says that I should. But it is Ramadan, and a higher law commands that I be merciful. So as payment for your wonderful story, I will set you free at dawn."

Arram's heart soared.

"And since it is the holy month I will even give you a gift. What do you want more than anything in the world, Arram of Sicily? Tell me, and it's yours."

Arram cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, your worship..."

"Yes?" The caliph looked at him, unblinking.

"In truth, all I really want is to hear another story. I would like to know, who was that man who impersonated you, and how is it that he can enter your sacred palace with such ease?"

The caliph looked pained and Arram feared that his fortunes were about to change yet again, but then the caliph sat, and sighed, and began to speak:

"Know this, young Arram; that though I am renowned throughout the world for my wisdom, even I, Haroun-al Rashid, can be quite foolish. Three years ago, during the holy month, I was out walking the night in disguise, and I met a simple weaver named Abu al-Hassan. I talked with this man and heard him exclaim that if he could live for but three days as the caliph lives that he could enter paradise without regrets, knowing that he had tasted the best of this life.

"It being Ramadan, I thought that to grant his wish would be a great gift, so I had my bodyguard, Masrur, follow him to his home, and in the night, as he slept, I had him carried to my palace, very gently, so as not to wake him. He was dressed in my best clothes and put into my bed, and assigned a cadre of slaves and servants and new concubines to attend him.

"When he awoke he was amazed and thought that some jinni must have put him under a spell, for wherever he went in the palace people bowed to him and called him the caliph, as I'd told them to, and all the pleasures and luxuries of the world were at his fingertips."

"What did he do?" said Arram.

"At first he refused to believe that anything around him was real, but I had anticipated this. I had the servants tell him that he was the victim of a strange sickness that caused him to forget that he was the caliph and to be tormented by false memories of a life that was not his. They told him that if he but went about his business he would soon regain his wits and remember who he really was.

"Well, Abu al-Hassan took a little convincing, but soon he was living a true life of luxury here in my palace, and it gratified me very much to see this simple man made so happy by the things that I sometimes took for granted."

"But where were you during all of this?"

"I? Why, I disguised myself as a trusted vizier, and helped Abu al-Hassan minister to all matters of state during those three days, to make sure he didn't get in over his head. And at the end of three days I donned my sovereign attire again and went to Abu al-Hassan and explained to him what I'd done and why, and I was prepared to give him money enough to last many years and bestow on him robes of honor and call him my brother.

"But of course, it turned out there was one problem."

"He believed he really was the caliph!" cried Arram.

Haroun al-Rashid nodded. "We did our job of convincing him too well. Even today he believes that he is the true caliph and that I am a usurper, and anytime he gets a little money he buys new clothes and some cheap jewels and goes around proclaiming himself to be Haroun a-Rashid. And of course, many believe him, even here in the palace, because so few have ever seen me with their own eyes."

The caliph stretched a little. The morning sun tinged the windows rosy pink.

"And now you know two marvelous stories, Arram of Sicily, mine and yours. But you cannot recount these stories to anyone, for it is not fit for people to know so much about their supreme ruler. But you are young, and I will soon be old, and someday death, the destroyer of happiness, whom no man, however rich, can bargain away, will come for me, and on that day you will be permitted to tell your story and mine, together, and your story will travel the world and everyone in the empire and beyond will know you. That is my gift to you."

Then the caliph gave him a sack of dinars, more than Arram had ever seen in one place, and bid him come back that night so that they could feast again, and tell more marvelous stories. But Arram was troubled.

"Begging your pardon, but one thing still bothers me?"

The caliph raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Well, it seems to me that the only reason that Abu al-Hassan can impersonate you so easily is that so few people have ever really met you, and when they do you're usually in disguise."

The caliph said nothing.

"And your palace is so great and you have so many servants and slaves that some of them go years without seeing you, even your wives and concubines."

The caliph played with his ill-fitting rings.

"I guess all that I'm wondering is, how do I know that you're the real caliph at all? What if you're Abu al-Hassan, or some other impostor? How could I tell?"

The caliph said nothing, but his brow darkened and Arram thought, one more time, that perhaps he'd talked his way into a trip to the chopping block. But then the caliph smiled, showing all his teeth, and called for a guard.

"Take this boy to the gates of the city," instructed the caliph, "and expel him. But let him keep this money, and give him a good horse to ride. And tell him that wherever he goes that he should say that he met the caliph of Baghdad."

He leaned in. "The one, true, caliph of Baghdad."

And so it was. And with the money that he received that day Arram made his start as a merchant, and soon became quite wealthy. One year, during the holy month, he returned to Baghdad, shining jewel of cities, and there he met Haroun al-Rashid again, but this time the caliph was neither of the men he'd met as a boy, but a third person entirely, and Arram had no idea whether to believe he was the true caliph at all. Perhaps Arram eventually solved the riddle of the caliph's true identity. But then, perhaps not. That story, and that secret, are not known to us.

And only Allah knows all.