The Storyteller's Daughter

The eldest was the first to put his feelings into words. Disgraceful as they surely were, were not their sister's actions actually all her husband's fault? he inquired of his brothers.

King Shahrayar had allowed his wife great liberties, a thing which was not wise, as the eldest brother had cause to know, for had he not been a king himself once?

But this Shahrayar had been so foolish as to create the very garden in which his queen and her lover had plotted against him. He had even gone so far as to proclaim it a place no one, not even he, himself, could enter but by the queen's will alone. Such dealings between men and women simply were not natural.

"Our eldest brother is right," the second declared, a thing that caused the others to stare at him in wonder for none could remember the last time he had agreed with his elder brother.

These brothers were not like Shahrayar and Shazaman. They were so jealous and quarrelsome, they disagreed about everything save the rising and setting of the sun. For these things seemed so sure and set in their course that even the brothers could find in them no fault.

"Women are weak creatures," the third brother said, now picking up the refrain. "They require great guidance and careful watching."

Surely "freedom" was a word that had no place in a woman's vocabulary, he went on. In fact, her vocabulary should contain as few words as possible: Husband. Obedience. Duty. Hearth. Home. These were words a woman should learn well. If she knew these, she need know little else.

"That is so." The fourth brother nodded wisely, though he did not yet have a wife of his own. "And to that end, women should be kept indoors, within their own households." This was not cruelty, but a kindness, he reasoned, for it was better for them so. Life inside the home was the only kind of life that women understood, the only kind they were capable of understanding.

At this, the brothers clasped hands across the brazier around which they were gathered, congratulating themselves on the fact that for once in their lives, they were in accord. Why all men did not think as they did, they could not tell. But this much, they did know: If women were allowed too much liberty, either of mind or of body, trouble was bound to be the inevitable result.

And so, by these degrees did the brothers convince themselves that the deeds of their sister had, in truth, been her husband's fault. And no sooner had they convinced themselves of this, than the desire to be revenged against him—and so remove the stain upon their honor—sparked up and began to glow red-hot.

For at Shahrayar's feet could be laid the true source of their shame: He had failed to govern his wife.

If a man could not govern his own wife, how could he be expected to govern a country? the brothers asked themselves. And so, at last, they convinced themselves of one final thing more: Removing Shahrayar would not simply be revenge. It would be justice, also.

And so they began to plot to remove Shahrayar and place the eldest brother upon the throne. But bringing down a king is no easy matter, as many who have tried it have discovered to their cost.

The eldest brother was all for action. "Let us raise an army and storm the palace!" he shouted, leaping to his feet.

The second brother pulled him back down with one quick yank on his arm. "Get a hold of yourself" he ordered sternly. "And keep your voice down. This we certainly shall do, but in secret and slowly. To raise an army takes money and time. Is there nothing that can be done till then?"

"What about poison?" the third brother inquired.

"Impossible," the fourth instantly scoffed. "We could never get close enough to Shahrayar. We're too well known."

"All right, then, we'll hire an assassin," the third brother countered, not yet ready to give up his idea.

But this suggestion only increased the fourth brother's scorn. "And pay him what? Have you forgotten that we've no money? Besides, paying someone else to do our dirty work is a risky business. They can always be bought again by someone else for a higher price. It's our honor that has been sullied. We should handle this ourselves."

"How?" the first brother spoke up again, glaring at the second and fourth brothers in turn. "You don't like our ideas, fine. At least we came up with something. That's more than I've heard from you two so far."

"You didn't come up with something, you came up with the most obvious thing," the second brother replied. And so the argument was off and ru

They quarreled for hours until their eyes grew scratchy with smoke from the brazier, and their voices grew hoarse. And at the end of this time, they still knew two things only: They must discover who could be found to bear arms to support them, for they could not hope to completely overcome Shahrayar on their own. In the meantime, the best way to keep an eye on him was from inside the palace. But who could be trusted to do this, they did not know. The brothers were about to retire to their separate chambers in frustration when the fifth and youngest brother spoke for the very first time.

“Let me go.”

At this, his elder brothers jumped like the guilty conspirators they were, for the truth was that they had entirely forgotten the presence of their youngest brother. They often did this, for he was but a youth of fourteen years old. More than old enough to join in their councils, according to their customs. But the youngest was unlike his older brothers in almost every regard. He was quiet and studious, slim and slight of build; not sturdy, boisterous and warlike as the others had been when they were young. The truth was that they did not understand him, mistaking his quiet air for inattention at best, and cowardice at worst. What they did not understand, they had chosen to ignore.

All the while as the others had been scheming and plotting, bickering and arguing, the fifth brother had been curled up like a mouse in the room's farthest corner. He had watched, and he had listened, but he had made no sound at all. Now his voice fell upon the ears of his brothers like a plunge into icy water, shocking them speechless.

The eldest was the first to recover. He strode to where his youngest brother was now sitting up straight and raised his hand to strike him. But the second brother grabbed his arm and held it motionless.

"What are you doing?” the third brother demanded angrily of the second brother, taking the first brother's side as always. He thought striking their youngest brother was a fine idea. It was the best way to impress the need for secrecy and silence upon him.

"Wait," the fourth brother counseled, stepping between his second and third brothers. He always took the second brother's side. In this way, the brothers were always balanced in their quarrels.

"We have discussed this matter fruitlessly for hours," the fourth brother reminded the others. "It is too late to prevent him from overhearing, for he has been here all along. Therefore, let us listen to what our youngest brother has to say."

"What he has to say?" the eldest brother mocked as he yanked his arm away from the second. "What can he have to say? He is just a boy."

"Exactly," his youngest brother piped up, unimpressed and unoffended by his eldest brothers show of temper. He had big fists, it was true, but his brain was small. Had he not allowed them to be conquered?

"Who pays attention to a mere boy? Not even you, my brothers. But those whom others do not notice may still see much, and they may do even more."