10.
Little Nightingale the Crier

TELLER: Testify that God is One!
AUDIENCE: There is no god but God.

Once upon a time there were three girls. They were spinners and had nothing but their spinning. Every day they used to spin and go down to the market to sell their product and buy food. One day the town crier announced that it was forbidden to put on a light in the city, because the king wanted to test his subjects—to see who was obedient and who was not.^[1] That night the king and his vizier went through the city to check whose lights were on and whose were not.

What were the girls to do? They had nothing but their spinning. Every day one of them would spin, and they would sell her yarn and buy food for all of them to eat. What could they do? They wanted to continue with their spinning, but they dared not put on a light. So the eldest one called out, "O my Lord, my beloved! May the king be passing this way and

[1] For the town crier, see Tale 5, n. 17. Kings are presented in the tales as exercising their power in an arbitrary and fear-inspiring fashion. Cf. the behavior of both kings (the hero's father and his uncle) in Tale 5. Emirs, in contrast (see Tale 13, n. 8), who are Bedouin princes, are presented in a more human light.

hear me, and may he wed me to his baker so I can have my fill of bread!" The middle sister prayed, "And may he wed me to his cook so I can have my fill of food!" Then the youngest made her plea, "O my Lord, my beloved! May the king pass this way and hear me! And may he wed me to his son, and I give birth to two boys and a girl. I will call one of the boys `Aladdin and the other Bahaddin, and the girl Šamsizzha.^[2] If she smiles while it's raining, the sun will shine; and if she cries while the sun's shining, it will rain."

As chance would have it, the king was passing that way, and he heard them.

"Councillor!" ordered the king, "Manage it for me!"

"The owner manages his own property, O Ruler of the Age," replied the vizier.^[3] They put a mark on that shack and went home. In the morning the king sent soldiers, who said to the girls, "Come and see the king!" And they came.

"Obedience is yours, Majesty!" they said.

"Come here," said the king. "What's your story?"

"We are three girls, Your Majesty," they replied, "and we have no one to take care of us and nothing to eat. You ordered the lights out, so what could we do? What you heard, we actually said."

"All fight," he said. "Let it be as you wish!"

He married the eldest to his baker, the middle one to the cook, and the youngest to his son. Seeing that she had married the king's son, whereas they were the wives of the baker and the cook, her sisters became jealous and wanted to take revenge on her. When she became pregnant the first time and was ready to deliver, they went to the midwife and bribed her.

"Take this little puppy," they said. "Put it under our sister and give us the baby.^[4] We'll be waiting for you outside the door of the house. Wrap the baby and hand him over to us, and put the puppy in his place."

The sister had no sooner given birth than the midwife wrapped up the baby, putting the puppy in his place, and handed him over to them. She then went back inside.

[2] The names `Aladdin (`Ala' al-Din, "The Glory of Religion"), Bahaddin (Baha' al-Din, "The Splendor of Religion"), and Šamsizzha (Šams al-Duha, "High Morning Sun") occur frequently in the Thousand and One Nights .

[3] For the sly behavior of the vizier, see Tale 5, n. 9.

[4] For relationships among sisters, see Introduction, "The Tales and the Culture"; for customs related to childbirth, see Granqvist, Birth : 56-72.

"What did the daughter-in-law of the king's household give birth to?" people asked.^[5]

"Yee!" they said,^[6] "What did she give birth to? She gave birth to a puppy!"

The king's family, however, brought up the puppy and were proud of it.

Meanwhile, what did the sisters do? Taking the baby, they wrapped him well, put him in a box, and threw it into the river. On the bank of the river was an orchard, in which lived an old man and an old woman. The aged couple went out in the morning and found a box on the water. They picked it up and opened it, and found a baby. Since they had no children, the old man said, "Why don't we bring him up, old lady? He might be useful to us in the future."^[7] They adopted him.

Now we go back to the king's daughter-in-law. She became pregnant again, and was ready to deliver. As soon as she was about to give birth, her sisters went to the midwife. "Take this newborn kitten," they said, "and put it under her. And as much money as you want, we'll give you. Just hand the baby over to us."

The same thing happened again. As soon as the sister gave birth, the midwife took the baby, wrapped him in a cloth, and gave him to the sisters, placing the cat by the mother.

"What did the daughter-in-law of the king's household give birth to? What did the daughter-in-law of the king's household give birth to?"

"What did she give birth to?" people whispered. "She gave birth to a cat!"

The two sisters did as before, putting the baby in a box and throwing him into the river. Again the old folks living in the orchard came out and found a box. Picking it up, they opened it and found a boy. They adopted him, and now they had two children.

We go back to the mother. She was pregnant again, and was about to give birth. Her sisters said to the midwife, "Here's money! Take it! Take also this stone, put it next to her, and give us the baby."

[5] The way the woman is referred to here, as "daughter-in-law of the king's household" (kinnit dar il-malik ), reveals her place in the extended family in terms of patrilocality.

[6] Here, "Yee!" is an expression of dismay (but cf. Tale 1, n. 8), revealing the importance of public opinion. Arab society, especially in the small villages of Palestine, is highly personal, with anonymity considered a form of death. Later, after the old couple die, the brothers and sister leave the orchard because they do not want to live by themselves.

[7] A clear statement of the utilitarian view of children. See Tale 30, n. 7; Tale 40, n. 5.

When the sister gave birth, the midwife came and took the daughter she had had, wrapped her in a cloth, and gave her to them, leaving the stone in her place. The sisters took her, placed her in a box, and dropped her into the river.

"What did the daughter-in-law of the king's household give birth to? What did she give birth to?" people asked.

"What did she give birth to?" came the answer. "She gave birth to a stone!"

The son of the king, meanwhile, thought to himself, "What's going on? One time she gives birth to a dog, another time to a cat, and this time to a stone." He deserted her.^[8] The baby girl was also discovered by the old couple, and they brought her up with her brothers.

The boys became young men, and the girl became a young lady. She turned out to be exactly as her mother had wished. If it was raining and she laughed, the sun shone; and if it was sunny and she cried, it started to rain. One day the old man died, leaving them all his possessions. Whatever he had—the orchard and the hut—he gave it to the children.

"What!" said the young people. "Are we going to stay here in this orchard all alone? Let's go somewhere, build ourselves a place, and live in it."

Where did they go? They went to their father's city, bought a piece of land across from his palace, built a palace just like his, and settled in it. There they were, by themselves! They did not know anyone, but as they went back and forth in the town, their aunts recognized them. They realized these were the children they had thrown into the water. What were they to do? They wanted to get rid of them. They found an old crone who was willing to help, and, taking a tray full of trinkets with her, she went to their palace and started crying her wares. Waiting until the brothers had gone out to hunt, the old woman cried her wares by their palace.

The girl was sitting by her window. Her brothers were not around, and, wanting to buy something from the old crone, she started weeping. As her tears fell down, they landed on the henna powder and made it soggy. Looking up, the old crone said, "Yee! What am I going to call down upon your head? Why did you do that, my dear?"

"O grandmother!" answered the girl, "my brothers aren't here, and I cried. I don't know why."

[8] The husband, by deserting his wife, ceases to cohabit with her, but he remains responsible for her material welfare. The woman lives separately; she is not, however, divorced, nor is she free to marry again. Cf. Tale 22, n. 21; Tale 35, n. 12.

"Never mind," said the woman.

The girl invited her in, and the old crone came up beside her.

"O, my dearest!" she coaxed. "Here! Take this henna, and whatever else you want—I'll give it to you." Meanwhile, she was looking up and down the palace, inspecting it.

"Yee, by Allah!" she cried out. "Your palace is very beautiful, my dear, and nothing is missing from it except Little Nightingale the Crier."

"Where's Little Nightingale the Crier, grandmother?" asked the girl. "And who's going to bring him?"

"Your brothers will bring him," the old crone replied. "You have two such brothers, Allah bless the Prophet on their behalf! and you ask who's going to bring Little Nightingale!"

The girl sat and wept. Clouds formed, thunder roared, and rain fell. The brothers wondered what might have befallen their sister, and they came home running.

"What's the matter, sister?"

"Nothing's the matter," she replied. "A woman came to see me and said my palace was missing nothing except Little Nightingale the Crier, and I want him."

"And how are we going to get him for you, sister?" they asked.

"I don't know," she answered, "but I want Little Nightingale the Crier to put in our palace."^[9]

"Fine," said the eldest brother. "Prepare some provisions for my journey, and I'll go." Removing a ring from his finger, he gave it to his younger brother and said, "Wear this ring, and if it becomes tight on your finger, then I'm in danger and you should follow after me for three days and a third. If the ring doesn't get any tighter, then I'm all right and you shouldn't come for me."

[9] Four tales (9, 10, 11, 12) have titles directly connected with birds. In Tales 11 (see n. 5) and 12 (n. 1) the sexual symbolism of the bird is explicit; see also Tale 8, n. 7. In the present context two indications lend credibility to this interpretation. First, in Palestinian and Arabic folk narrative old crones usually serve as go-betweens in illicit relationships. And second, the fact that the brothers run home, anxious about their sister, betrays their concerns about her honor. On the connection between "bird" and "husband," see afterword, below; on the versatility of the bird symbol in the tales, see Tale 13, n. 11; on brothers and husbands, see Granqvist, Marriage 11:252-256.

Birds are also significant in other genres of Palestinian folklore, particularly folk songs and proverbs. See Stephan's collection of bird-related proverbs in part 2(1928) of "Animals in Palestinian Folklore," esp. no. 714—"If your bird shows up, your blessings are on the way " (in 'ojah terak, 'ojah xerak ).

His sister prepared his horse, loading it with provisions, and he departed. He traveled for a while, and in the course of his travels he came' upon a ghoul in the wilderness.

"Peace to you, father!" he said.

"And to you, peace!" responded the ghoul. "If your salaam had not come before you'd spoken, I would've torn your flesh to pieces before tackling your bones. What's your story? Where're you going, young master?"

"I'm on my way to fetch Little Nightingale the Crier," he replied.

"In that case," said the ghoul, "go straight ahead. I have a brother who's older than me by a month but wiser by a lifetime. He'll show you the way."

The young man traveled until he reached the second ghoul.

"Peace to you, father!"

"And to you, peace!" answered the ghoul. "If your salaam had not come before you'd spoken, I would've torn your flesh to pieces before tackling your bones. Where're you going, `Aladdin?"

"By Allah," replied the young man, "I'm on my way to fetch Little Nightingale the Crier."

"Son," the ghoul advised, "go straight ahead for a while, and you'll see my sister. If you find her grinding salt and her eyes red, come up to her and eat some of her salt, then suck at her breasts.^[10] But if you find her grinding sugar, don't go near her!"

"Fine," said the young man, and moved on. In a while he came upon the ghouleh and found her grinding salt. Her hair was disheveled, and her breasts were hanging down in front of her. Coming forward, he sucked at her right breast.

"Who was it that sucked at my right breast?" she asked. "He's now dearer to me than my son Isma`in."

He turned and sucked at the left breast.

"Who was it that sucked at my left breast?" she asked. "He's now dearer than my son `Abdir-rahman."

Turning to face her, he ate some of what she was grinding.

[10] For the ghouleh's red eyes, cf. Tale 33, n. 7; for the ghouleh as a helper, see Tale 20, n . 5.

Salt symbolizes the bond that holds people together. The phrase "They've shared bread and salt" (benhum `eš u-malih ) describes a strong bond, and when someone breaks a trust he is said to have "betrayed the bread and salt" (yxun il-`eš w-il-malih ).

"Welcome in Allah's safekeeping!" announced the ghouleh. "And may Allah betray him who betrays this oath! What can I do for you?"

"I want Little Nightingale the Crier," he answered.

"Ah, yes!" responded the ghouleh. "You should know that Little Nightingale the Crier is a bird in such and such an orchard. Better wait till my sons come home. You can't reach him on your own."

Blowing on him, she turned him into a pin, which she stuck in her headband, and sat waiting until her children came. In wind and storm her sons arrived. They were forty, and one of them was lame.^[11] Before they had even arrived, they were muttering, "You smell of human, mother!"

"I smell of no human," replied the mother, "nor do I have anything like that around. Sit down and be quiet!" But they kept on chattering and saying, "You smell of human."

"Listen and I'll tell you," she confessed. "He has suckled at my breasts, so he's now my son like all of you. All of you guarantee his safety, and I'll bring him out."

"He's welcome in Allah's safekeeping," they swore, "and may Allah betray ham who betrays this oath!"

When the ghouleh brought him out and they had a good look at him, they greeted him, and they all sat down together.

"Do you know what he wants?" asked the ghouleh of her children.

"No," they answered.

"He's your brother," she went on, "and he wants Little Nightingale the Crier. Which of you is going to take him?" One of them said he'd do it in ten days, another said in two, and a third in an hour.

"I'll take him there in the wink of an eye," the lame one jumped in.

"Get moving!" said the ghouleh. "But be careful, `Aladdin. There's a cage hanging in a tree, and Little Nightingale comes there to roost for the night. Perching in the tree, he will shout, 'I'm Little Nightingale the Crier! Who dare say, "Here I am!"' He'll say it three times. If you declare. yourself, you're lost; but if you don't, you can catch him and bring him with you."

"Very well," he said.

Picking him up, the lame ghoul brought him to Little Nightingale's orchard, where the ghoul let him down and left. The youth went into the orchard, and in flew Little Nightingale the Crier and perched in a tree.

[11] he number forty occurs frequently in both Palestinian and Arabic folk narrative. For a discussion of its significance in Palestinian folklore, see Tale 21, n. 7.

"I'm Little Nightingale the Crier!" he declared. "Who dare say, 'Here I am!'" The first time the young man held his tongue, but the second time he shouted back, "Here I am!"

"You!" laughed the. bird, and he blew on him, turning him into a stone, and rolled him down the orchard.

Now the ring tightened around `Aladdin's brother's finger, and he mounted his horse and came after his brother. As the first brother had done, so did the second. He visited the ghouleh and was taken to the orchard. Before leaving, though, he had given the ring to his sister. When he came into the orchard, the bird flew in: "I'm Little Nightingale the Crier! Who dare say, 'Here I am!'" The first time and the second, he kept quiet, but the third time he shouted back, "Here I am!"

"You!" said the bird, and he blew on him, tossing him down like his brother.

Who was left? The sister. The ring tightened around her finger. What was she to do? "My brothers are lost to me," she said to herself. She wanted to follow them. Saddling the horse, she disguised herself and followed them. She did the same as her brothers, going to the ghouleh.

"Listen!" said the ghouleh. "You'll be lost like your brothers, and all memory of you will be gone forever. But if you can catch him, you'll save your brothers and many other people as well. Take care! Don't talk back to him!"

"No, I won't," said the girl.

When they had brought her to the orchard, she climbed into a tree and sat waiting. In flew the bird: "I'm Little Nightingale the Crier! Who dare say, 'Here I am!' I'm Little Nightingale the Crier . . ." He repeated his call till he nearly burst, but she was waiting for him without making a sound. When he had finished, he went into his cage. Now, she was waiting fight behind the cage on the tree. She shut the door on him quickly, locked it, and took the cage in her hand.

"Please!" he begged. "Let me go free! I'll sing for you, I'll do anything."

"Not a chance," she said. "Bring back my brothers!"

"Take a handful of dirt from that molehill," he said, "and sprinkle it on those stones over there, and your brothers will rise."

Lifting some dirt, she threw it over the stones, and her brothers came back to life. She went On sprinkling dirt all over the stones, and a whole creation came back to life. Everyone went back to his family. Carrying

the cage with her, she returned to the ghouleh with her brothers. They said good-bye to the ghouleh and went home.

Once they reached home, they hung the cage up inside the palace. The boys would go hunting and then come back and sit in the coffeehouses. Eventually their fame spread in the city. "Whose children are these?" people asked. "Where did they come from?"

One day they met their father at the coffeehouse, but they did not recognize one another. How fond of them he became! He would invite them over and enjoy their company.

"You must come and have dinner with us," said the brothers to him one day. "You've already invited us two or three times, and now you must come and eat with us, O Ruler of the Age!"

"Yes," he said, "why not?"

When they had prepared the dinner, Little Nightingale the Crier said, "Put a dish of carrots with the meal, among the fruits." They served dinner and ate. How delightful it was! They had a great time. After dinner they brought a plate of fruits and served it, along with the dish of carrots.

"Little Nightingale? they called. "Come and eat!"

"No, by Allah!" he cried out. "Little Nightingale the Crier does not eat carrots, O you stupid people of this city! You bulls and donkeys! In all your life have you ever heard that a daughter-in-law of the king's household would give birth to a dog, a cat, and a stone?"

The king was taken aback. "Say it again, O Crier!" he urged.

"I am Little Nightingale the Crier," answered the bird, "and I don't eat carrots, O you stupid people of this city! In all your life have you ever heard of a daughter-in-law in the king's household giving birth to a dog, a cat, and a stone?"

"What are you saying, O Little Nightingale Crier?" asked the king.

"This is what I am saying," replied the bird. "The daughter-in-law of the king's household did not give birth to a dog, a cat, and a stone. Your children, Bahaddin and `Aladdin and Šamsizzha, are the ones who are here with you."

The king sent for the midwife. "Either you tell me the story," he threatened, "or I'll cut off your head."

"Please, O Ruler of the Age!" she begged, "It wasn't my fault. Her sisters bribed me and gave me the puppy, the cat, and the stone to put in place of her children. These here are your children."

The king had the heads of the midwife and the sisters cut off, and it

was announced that he who loved the king must bring a load of wood and burning embers. He burned their corpses in the fire and scattered their ashes to the wind.

This is my tale, I've told it, and in your hands I leave it.