Other stories
Long, long ago and far, far away this story was told, and it has been told ever since, and I tell it to you now…
There was, in the city of Basra, when the evening was falling, a rosy glow upon the buildings around the central bazaar. And there was a Little Beggar, famous throughout the city for his japes and jokes and songs.
The Tailor and his wife were returning from carousing. They invited the Little Beggar to come home with them to entertain them. And there he was in their house regaling them with a story. And they fed him a piece of white meat from a fish.
The Little Beggar choked upon a bone in the meat. He fell backwards from the stool and onto the ground and lay there, motionless.
‘Uhhh! Wife, what have we done? This little man has come to our house as a guest to entertain us and we have murdered him. What will happen to my reputation?’
Dress maker and his wifeThe Tailor and his wife bundled the Little Beggar into a roll of carpet and they carried him from their house and through the streets of Basra where now it was getting gloomy and dark.
‘Our child is sick, stay away. Our child has scarlet fever.’
The people did not come close, until one woman said, ‘My master is a doctor. Follow me.’
And they followed the woman to a house with steps running all the way up to the front door. It was the house of the Jewish Doctor.
They followed her to the top step and left the body of the Little Beggar there. Of course, they took the carpet away with them.
The Doctor came out into the darkness and did not see the body of the little man in front of him, stumbled, and the body was knocked down the steps all the way to the bottom…
The Doctor ran down the steps. ‘Uhhh! What have I done? A patient comes to me to be cured and I’ve killed him. What will happen to my reputation?’
The Doctor carried the body into the house. He decided what he must do.
He lowered the body from his balcony into his neighbour’s backyard: his neighbour, the Muslim Steward of the Royal kitchens.
There, among the bags of flour and sacks of sugar, was propped the body of the Little Beggar.
At that moment, the Muslim Steward of the Royal kitchens came home.
‘What is this noise in the backyard?’
He took a club, went into the backyard and saw a figure leaning there. He’d thought it was rats, but this… He struck him hard between the shoulders and the Little Beggar slumped to the ground.
‘Uhhh! What have I done? A beggar comes into my backyard to take a little sugar and flour and I have killed him. Oh, whatever will happen to me for this murder?’
And the Muslim Steward of the kitchen seized the body and went out through the front of the house and into the streets of Basra which were now empty for it was late at night.
Along a dark alleyway he went towards the canal where he would dispose of the body. But as he came along he heard, coming in the opposite direction, the singing of a Christian who was clearly drunk.
He propped the body against a corner and went back the way he had come.
And now, along came that drunk man, that Christian Moneylender singing at the top of his voice after a night of drinking.
‘What is this here in the shadows? A thief! Oh, you won’t get away with it!’
And he seized the Little Beggar’s body by the shoulders and started dashing his head against the wall… ‘Thief! Thief!’
The Watchmen came running along the alleyway. They seized the Christian.
‘You, Christian Moneylender, have murdered this man in the streets.’
The next morning at dawn, the area in front of the great bazaar in the heart of Basra was thronging with people.
Before them sat the Sultan.
Next to him, the Governor.
And next to them, upon a table, was the body of the Little Beggar.
In front of them stood the Christian Moneylender.
‘You,’ said the Governor. ‘You who have often had dealings with the Sultan. You have killed a man in the street for no good reason. What have you to say for yourself?’
The Christian stood. ‘I am guilty. You should punish me.’
The Christian Moneylender was l
