By Teresa Noelle Roberts
hen Spain was known as al-Andalus, there lived in the great city of Cordoba a merchant named Abdullah, who was neither very good nor very bad. His temper was placid, but that was because anger took energy he would rather use for growing richer, or for indulging himself in the pleasures available to the wealthy. He prayed five times a day (as long as it did not inconvenience him); gave alms to the poor (but not often); abstained from wine (unless it was especially good) and pork (it made his stomach uneasy); and did not cheat his customers (at least not so they would notice; the laws of Cordoba were harsh toward dishonest merchants).
In just one way was Abdullah truly good: While he was an indifferent parent to his sons, he adored his only daughter, Labbannah, the last child his wife had given him before dying. Moreover he understood her better than parents often understand their children. Abdullah traded in silks and would have gladly showered his daughter in finery, but that was not what Labbannah needed to be happy. Following the example of the poet-princess Walleda and the great teacher Mariam of Seville, she preferred books and manuscripts to gold-embroidered veils and brocade tunics, and so with books he gifted her. And since her brothers married advantageously, Abdullah let Labbannah remain single and devote herself to her studies.
And in just one way was Abdullah truly bad: He had a lust for precious gems that was like a drunkard’s for wine. His jewelry collection would have impressed the Caliph himself, but still he burned for more, and to add to his collection, he was willing to do things a good person should not.
One evening, dining with friends on lamb stewed with quince and saffron, Abdullah heard that the poet Hamdun had been gifted by the Caliph with an emerald of the first water.
Without even having seen the gem, Abdullah burned for it as another man might for a famous beauty.
But how to get it? No man would simply sell a gift from the Caliph.
Over almond sweetmeats flavored with cardamom, another friend passed on more gossip about Hamdun. The poet was enamored with a dancing-boy, a mere slave hired out by his master as an entertainer, but rumored to be the most handsome young man in the city, and moreover so flexible that he could bend backward and touch his head to his feet.
As if Iblis himself whispered in Abdullah’s ear, a devious idea came to him.
While his friends moved on to other dishes and other stories, Abdullah slipped away to see if he could turn the slave-boy to his purpose.
At first the lad resisted, but Abdullah persisted. “Youth and good looks fade, my friend, but freedom and fortune are ever fresh. Valuable though you are, the price I offer will buy your freedom and more.” With that temptation before him, the boy agreed.
Unfortunately for the boy, Hamdun was enamored, but not stupid. Once he discovered the emerald was missing, it did not take the wisdom of the great imams to deduce who had stolen it.
Captured, the boy tried to denounce Abdullah as the instigator of his crime, but who would believe a terrified slave over a respectable merchant?
The day that the dancing-boy was executed, Abdullah hid in his strong-room, toying with his exquisite new emerald and trying not to feel guilty.
But the stone’s beauty could not soothe him. He could justify the theft as a drunkard justifies one more drink. But the death was another matter.
A lad even younger than his Labbannah had been tortured and killed because he had enticed him to crime. That thought made his stomach unsettled and his heart heavy and robbed his gems of their sparkle.
As darkness fell across Cordoba, the shadows whispered to Abdullah.
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