King Issa Touran Shah left Tikrit and headed toward the great city of Cairo. In the great city, the king visited the tomb of his father, where he kissed the ground, read the Fatiha, and asked God to guide His servant. God may have guided the king, but wine complicated the directions. In the diwan, he teetered upon his chair, and Prince Baybars whispered in his ear, “Fear God and cease your drinking. Your subjects deserve a sober ruler.” The king promised to drink no more, but he appeared sheepish and even more inebriated the following day.
Prince Baybars complained to Othman, “Alcohol should not influence the decisions of the ruler of Islam. We must open his eyes.”
“My wife believes she can persuade him to stop drinking,” Othman said, “but I do not trust him. I have seen the way he looks at women. It is not natural.”
“If she can inspire him to wisdom,” Baybars said, “we must seek her help.”
Layla informed Othman that she needed to get into the king’s chambers. “I will not have you in his room,” Othman objected. “No respectable woman enters a man’s chambers unless they are her husband’s.” Layla replied, “I will take some friends.”
Layla and three companions, retired luscious doves, waited for the king to fall asleep. They hid behind the largest curtain, joined by Harhash and Othman, who refused to have his wife in the room without him. When the muezzin called the faithful for the prayers of dawn, Layla shook King Issa Touran Shah out of his slumbering stupor. “Wake,” she said sternly. “It is time for prayers.”
The king rubbed his heavy eyes and sat up. “My prayers have been answered. Show me your breasts.”
Layla slapped the king so hard his neck almost swiveled full-circle. Behind the curtain, Harhash whispered, “I do not think you have to worry about your honor.”
“Why did you hit me?” cried the king. “You are my subject. Behave accordingly.” Layla double-slapped him, palm out and back of the hand. “Stop that,” he yelped. She raised her hand to strike him again, and he cowered. “I am the king.”
“You are a dog.” Layla threw the terrified king to the floor and pulled his hair. He tried to move away but recoiled when he saw the other doves emerge from behind the curtain. They slapped him in order, one by one.
“You are an embarrassment,” the first admonished.
“You are lower than human waste,” said the second.
“Your father is suffering in heaven.”
“Who are you?” asked the king.
“Remove the drapes of drink from your eyes,” yelled Layla. “Can you not see?”
“You are the leader of the kingdom of Islam.” The first dove kicked him.
“We are here to protect our faith.” The second dove threw him at the wall.
“No,” whined the king. “This cannot be. God’s women are gentle and kind.”
“Be quiet.” Slap.
“God is rarely kind,” said the third dove.
“And neither are we,” added Layla. “We are here to guard our own. Follow the word of God, Issa Touran Shah. Do not equivocate. Our eyes follow you. Falter and we will return. If you have even one sip of wine, you will think we were kind on this visit.”
“Not one sip. Do not fail us.”
“Fear us.”
“Tremble.” Each luscious dove smacked the sobered king before leaving the room.
In Paris, King Louis IX saw sparkles and glitter in his dreams and decided to invade the kingdom of the faithful, following in the footsteps of many a foreign king before him. “The Muslim king is an inept drunkard,” King Louis said. “My dreams speak of untold treasures in the fool’s coffers. I will be wealthy beyond my wildest imaginings, all for the glory of God. And God, ever so benevolent, does not require that I pay for His army out of my assets. Inform the faithful that donations are needed to pay for the soldiers of God, troops to force Arab tongues to speak His name. We ask for money to spread His word in the inhospitable desert. Praise be.”
Louis raised a great army and promised them riches. They sailed across the Mediterranean and landed in Egypt, where they laid siege to Damietta. Greed coursed through King Louis’s veins, and he split his army in two. He kept the siege going and sent half his army to al-Mansoura. Need I remind you that greed is always fatal?
The day after the doves’ visitation, King Issa Touran Shah appeared in his diwan weary and clearheaded. Baybars and the kingdom’s viziers were pleased. The king whispered in Baybars’s ear, “I have followed your counsel and have eschewed vice.” The king ruled justly for seven days. On the eighth, a messenger arrived with a missive from the mayor of Damietta: “O Prince of believers, morning prayers were interrupted on this day and the air darkened. A king of the foreigners has landed on our shore and crawled inland with his army. Help us and guide us, leader of the faith, and may God guide you in eternal victories.”
“What am I to do?” asked the king.
“I will lead the first wave of your army into battle,” said Baybars. “The infidels are attacking us. Declare jihad and call on all the armies of Islam. Follow me with the second wave, and together we will destroy the army of foreign locusts.”
“Brilliant,” exclaimed the king.
Baybars had the peasants of Egypt divert the waters of the Nile toward King Louis’s army. The foreign horses drowned, and the exhausted soldiers struggled to extricate themselves from the great river. This time, al-Awwar wasted no time, heading straight for King Louis. The hilt of Baybars’s sword struck the foreigner, and he fell unconscious. Baybars marched toward Damietta, where he met King Issa Touran Shah and the army of Islam, led by the slave general, Qutuz the indefatigable. The army of believers attacked, and the foreigners were killed left and right. Touran Shah watched the battle from a promontory. Prince Baybars rode up the hill to inform the king of his glorious victory. Our hero saw the king bringing a cup of wine to his lips.
Baybars chided, “Shame on you, my king. You had repented.”
The king replied, “Forgive me. In the joy of victory, I forgot my oath.”
He dumped the contents onto the rock before him and threw the goblet up into the sky. But fortune was not with him that day. The cup hit a solitary falcon in flight. Dazed, the bird fell and touched down on the back of the unsuspecting king’s turbaned head. When the frightened king tried to shoo the falcon off, the bird dug its claws in. Fluttering wings obstructed the king’s view. He tumbled forward, and flew off the hill to his inglorious death.
My niece’s belly left the elevator before her. She waddled toward the patient rooms, not looking in our direction. I waved my arm. She saw me and smiled. She had a much better poker face than I did, not registering any surprise at the sight of Aunt Wasila and Dida so early in the morning. “My feet are killing me,” she said.
I told my aunt I’d be back and walked Salwa to the room. “You don’t have to stay with them,” she said. “Hovik is parking the car and will be right up. He actually likes them. You don’t want to be there when Aunt Samia arrives and realizes she’s not early enough to beat her rival.”
“You want to spare me the stress but force it on your husband?”
“Hovik finds the family fascinating. He’d want to be there. He considers being around our family an anthropological study.” She stopped and looked at me. “You enjoy it as well, don’t you? You’re like Hovik, an inveterate watcher.” I shrugged, smiling. She resumed her waddle.
“I got you something,” she said. “Hovik is bringing it up. Don’t argue with me, and I don’t want any shit from my mother, either. I’m warning you.”
“Argue with you about what?”
Salwa went up to my father and touched his hand. “Grandfather,” she said, “I saw Aunt Wasila outside, and she was asking about you. Isn’t it funny that she’s here? Can you hear me?”