Страница 4 из 38
"And so the princess passed a troubled night and waited for the morning.
"Early the next day, just at dawn, there came a rustle of garments as the first conspirator crept into the garden. He climbed the branches of the pomegranate tree, hiding himself among the leaves. The princess bided her time.
"Soon she heard the murmur of low voices as her father and her cousin entered the garden. Still, the princess did nothing. She waited as her father approached the pond, gazing down into its still water.
"Now! the princess thought. She tried to speak the magic word that would bring about the transformation. To her horror, she discovered she could not! For she had no tongue to speak the word. Goldfish do not speak as young girls do. And the princess was just a goldfish, swimming in a pond.
"Desperate now, she sought a way, any way, to save her father. In a frenzy, she swam around the pool.
"'Mercy!' exclaimed the king. 'What ails the fish this morning?’ In the next instant he drew back in alarm. For he had seen a face not his own, and not the prince's, reflected from above in the water. It could only be that someone was hiding in the pomegranate tree. Someone who wished to do him harm.
"When the prince saw the king draw back, he betrayed his true weak nature. He panicked in fear lest all should be lost. And so he also revealed his treachery. From his sash, he drew forth his knife.
"'Traitor!' cried the king as the young man set upon him. The prince was young and strong, but he proved no match for the fury of his uncle. They fought bitterly, and the king's robe was torn. But at last the king knocked the knife from his nephew's hand and swept his feet from under him, sending him splashing into the water. The prince struck his head upon the stones that lined the pool. His head slipped beneath the water and did not rise.
"But the king's danger had not passed. Seeing the young prince dispatched, the prince's fellow conspirator decided to risk all. With a great cry, he sprang from the tree, his knife pointed at the king's unprotected back. But before he could strike home, the fish that had first attracted the king's attention leaped from the water. Up, up, up it sailed, in a perfect arc of gold. The conspirator's knife pierced it clean through.
"The would-be assassin fell into the pond, as had the prince before him. There, he met the fate he had pla
"The sight of his daughter, her heart's blood seeping out onto the cobblestones, gave the king a greater shock than any assassin's knife.
'"My daughter! What magic is this? he cried.
"But by then, the princess was beyond speech. She had given up her life. And so it was the dji
"And so tell me, O King. What value do you place upon your daughter now?
"So speaking, the dji
"Great was the king's sorrow when he heard the dji
"The king had the princess's body laid to rest with all the pomp and ceremony he could command, and declared an entire year of mourning. In her honor, he erected a statue in the pool she had loved so well.
"A fish, its eyes the blue of lapis lazuli. Each and every scale a piece of beaten gold. And from its mouth poured water as clear and sparkling as diamonds. Such was her value, for such had been the strength and purity of her love."
Maju's fingers stopped their movement among the silk. "Well, Shahrazad," she said. "What do you make of this story?"
Shahrazad stayed silent. "Never trust the word of a dji
Maju chuckled. "Sound advice," she replied. "Your mind is quick, as always. And your heart? What does it say?"
Shahrazad sighed and put her head upon her mother's shoulder. "That I should know my own value and never seek to be what I am not."
The storyteller reached to stroke her daughter's hair. "Well spoken," she said softly. "Your heart is a strong one, my Shahrazad. With a heart such as yours, many wishes are granted, even those that seem impossible. Remember well what I have spoken."
"I will, Mother," promised Shahrazad. She felt her mother's fingers whisper along her hair. Could Maju read her the way she read the cloth? Shahrazad wondered. She lifted up her head and felt her mother's touch drop away.
"I will always be different, won't I?"
"You will always be different," Maju replied.
"And they will never like me."
"I ca
Abruptly Shahrazad got to her feet, her expression set. "Then I will learn to live without them."
Maju tipped her face up, as if she could really see her daughter's determined face as it stood over her.
"Do you think that such a thing is possible?"
Shahrazad snorted and turned away. "I don't know yet. When I do, I'll tell you."
At Shahrazad's sharp reply, Maju made a tsk eing sound with the tip of her tongue. She got to her feet in her turn, and the piece of silk she had been holding fell from her lap and floated down into the water. It settled on the surface for no more than a moment.
But in that moment, those with eyes to truly see would have beheld an image they had not noticed before. A fish, outlined in intricate stitches of shimmering gold. Then the silk sank beneath the surface of the water like sugar melting into coffee, and this fish became as any other fish in any other pond.
"I am not so sure I like your story, Maju," Shahrazad informed her as she turned to take her mother by the arm."That dji
"O, bah!" Maju exclaimed. "I waste my talent on you. Such things happen only in fairy stories. Have I not always said so?"
Shahrazad was laughing as they left the garden.
For many moments after their departure, the garden stayed still and silent. Then, there came an agitation high in the pomegranate tree, as if its branches had caught a sudden wind and held it. A face appeared amid the leaves. A youth several years older than Shahrazad shimmied down the trunk and dropped to the ground. Without hesitation, he moved to the pool, and caring nothing for his fine robes, he thrust his arms into the water, all the way to the bottom.
Although he searched until he was wet from head to foot, he could find no trace of the cloth the storyteller had left behind. Finally he simply sat beside the pool, staring down at the fish moving lazily in the water and tried to count them.
This youth's name was Shahrayar.