The moment the sun flushed the sand dunes with white-rosy light, Abdullah wrenched the cork out of the genie’s bottle. The vapor steamed forth, became a jet, and rushed upward into the blue-mauve shape of the genie, who looked, if possible angrier than ever. “I said one wish a day!” the windy voice announced.
“Yes, well, this is a new day, O mauve magnificence, and I am your new owner,” said Abdullah. “And this wish is simple. I wish these chains of mine gone.”
“Hardly worth wasting a wish on,” the genie said contemptuously, and dwindled rapidly away inside the bottle again. Abdullah was just about to protest that though this wish might seem trivial to a genie, being without chains was important to him when he found himself able to move freely, without rattling. He looked down and found the chains had vanished.
He put the cork carefully back in the bottle and stood up. He was horribly stiff. Before he could move at all, he had to make himself think of fleet camels with soldiers on them speeding toward this oasis and then of what would happen if the sleeping bandits woke to find him standing there without his chains. That got him moving. He hobbled like an old man toward the banquet table. There, very careful not to disturb the various bandits who were asleep with their faces on the cloth, he collected food and wrapped it in a napkin. He took a flask of wine and tied it and the genie bottle to his belt with two more napkins. He took a last napkin to cover his head in case he got sunstroke—travelers had told him this was a real danger in the desert— and then he set off, as swiftly as he could limp, out of the oasis and due north.
The stiffness wore off as he walked. Walking became almost pleasant then, and for the first half of the morning Abdullah strode out with a will, thinking of Flower-in-the-Night and eating succulent meat pies and swigging from the wine flask as he walked. The second half of the morning was not so good. The sun swung overhead. The sky became glaring white, and everything shimmered. Abdullah started to wish that he had poured the wine away and
filled the flask at the muddy pond instead. Wine did nothing for thirst except make it worse. He wet the napkin with wine and laid it over the back of his neck, where it kept drying out far too quickly. By midday he thought he was dying. The desert swayed about before his eyes, and the glare hurt. He felt like a sort of human cinder.
“It seems that Fate has decreed that I live through my entire daydream in reality!” he croaked.
Up till then he had thought he had imagined his escape from the villainous Kabul Aqba in masterly detail, but now he knew he had never even conceived of how horrible it was to stagger in blaring heat, with sweat running into his eyes. He had not imagined the way the sand somehow got into everything, including his mouth. Nor had his daydream allowed for the difficulty of steering by the sun when the sun was right overhead. The tiny puddle of shadow around his feet gave him no guide to direction. He had to keep looking behind to check that his line of footprints was straight. This worried him because it wasted time.
In the end, wasted time or not, he was forced to stop and rest, squatting in a dip in the sands where there was a small piece of shade. He still felt like a piece of meat laid out on Jamal’s charcoal grill. He soaked the napkin in wine and spread it over his head and then watched it drip red blobs on his best clothes. The only thing that convinced him he was not going to die was that prophecy about Flower-in-the-Night. If Fate had decreed that she was to marry him, then he had to survive because he had not yet married her. After that he thought of the prophecy about himself, written down by his father.
It could have more than one meaning. In fact, it could already have come true, for had he not risen above everyone in the land by flying on the magic carpet? Or perhaps it did refer to a forty-foot stake.
This notion forced Abdullah to get up and walk again.
The afternoon was worse still. Abdullah was young and fit, but the life of a carpet merchant does not include long walks. He ached from his heels to the top of his head—not forgetting his toes, which seemed to have worn raw. In addition, one of his boots turned out to rub where the money pocket was. His legs were so tired he could hardly move them. But he knew he had to put the horizon between himself and the oasis before the bandits started looking for him or the line of fleet camels appeared. Since he was not sure how far it was to the horizon, he slogged on.
By evening all that kept him going was the knowledge that he would be seeing Flower-in-the-Night tomorrow. That was to be his next wish to the genie. Apart from that, he vowed to give up drinking wine and swore never to look at a grain of sand again.
When night fell, he toppled into a sandbank and slept.
At dawn his teeth were chattering and he was anxiously wondering about frostbite. The desert was as cold by night as it was hot by day. Still, Abdullah knew his troubles were almost over. He sat on the warmer side of the sandbank, looking east into the golden flush of dawn, and refreshed himself with the last of his food and a final swig of the hateful wine. His teeth stopped chattering, though his mouth tasted as if it belonged to Jamal’s dog.
Now. Smiling in anticipation, Abdullah eased the cork out of the genie’s bottle.
Out gushed the mauve smoke and rolled upward into the genie’s unfriendly form. “What are you grinning about?” asked the windy voice.
“My wish, O amethyst among genies, of color more beautiful than pansies…” Abdullah replied. “May violets scent your breath. I wish you to transport me to the side of my bride-to-be, Flower-in-the-Night.”
“Oh, do you?” The genie folded his smoky arms and turned himself to look in all directions. This, to Abdullah’s fascination, turned the part of him that was joined to the bottle into a neat corkscrew shape. “Where is this young woman?” the genie said irritably when he was facing Abdullah again. “I can’t seem to locate her.”
“She was carried off by a djinn from her night garden in the Sultan’s palace in Zanzib,” Abdullah explained.
“That accounts for it,” said the genie. “I can’t grant your wish. She’s nowhere on earth.”
“Then she must be in the realm of the djinns,” Abdullah said anxiously. “Surely you, O purple prince among genies, must know that realm like the back of your hand.”
“That shows how little you know,” the genie said. “A genie confined to a bottle is debarred from any of the spirit realms. If that’s where your girl is, I can’t take you there. I advise you to put the cork back in my bottle and be on your way. There’s quite a large troop of camels coming up from the south.”
Abdullah sprang to the top of the sandbank. Sure enough, there was the line of fleet camels he had been dreading, speeding toward him with smooth waltzing strides. Though distance made them visible only as indigo shadows just then, he could tell from the outlines that the riders were armed to the teeth.
“See?” said the genie, bellying upward to the same height as Abdullah. “They might miss finding you, but I doubt it.” The idea clearly gave him pleasure.
“You must grant me a different wish, quickly,” said Abdullah. “Oh, no,” said the genie. “One wish a day. You’ve already made one.”
“Certainly I did, O splendor of lilac vapors,” Abdullah agreed with the speed of desperation, “but that was a wish you were unable to grant. And the terms, as I clearly heard when you first stated them, were that you were forced to grant your owner one wish a day. This you have not yet done.”
“Heaven preserve me!” the genie said disgustedly. “The young man is a coffee shop lawyer.”
“Naturally I am!” said Abdullah with some heat. “I am a citizen of Zanzib, where every child learns to guard its rights, for it is certain that no one else will guard them. And I claim you have not yet granted me a wish today.”
“A quibble,” the genie said, swaying gracefully opposite him with folded arms. “One wish has been made.”