When my sister travels somewhere with her husband or when we have a family gather in there or our chalet her two daughters always beg me for a story before bed. So i close their light, lay aside of their little beds And start fantasying while staring at the dimmed ceiling. I don't know from where i bring all those stuff i told them about and how i brought them altogether!
Here I typed the last story I have told with some alteration, I am showing you the last one because the first ones were quite messy.
Once upon a time, there was a poor Man who lived on the shore. He didn't have a boat to go fishing, so he was living on the fish nets that he weaved for fishermen.
One day while the sea tide was falling, The Man decided to have a break and wander about the muddy islands appearing as the sea was leaving.
After a while he got tumbled by a rock, when he looked back to it he found that it was a golden sea shell, covered with mud. The Man likes to listen to sea shells, so he placed the open end of its fold on his ear and closed his eyes with a smile of pleasure.
Suddenly a little voice came out from it! “Sultan Suleiman ... Sultan Suleiman … please take me to him … please”.
The Man was amazed by the talking shell, and wondered about that Sultan it’s claiming for.
Thus he walked to the city and asked the traders over there and they showed him the way to the grand palace. He had walked with the shell hid in his shabby robe until he reached the over scaled gate. And as he was admiring that premier scene to his poor eyes, his ears had his attention by an old man’s voice constant and confident.
“Do you hand me what you have by one hundred freshly made pieces of bread baked with dates and sesame?” the voice announced.
When The Man turned his face he saw The Old Baker working. He couldn't recognize his face from the flour haze in his place, and he felt extremely anxious as the Old Baker knew about what he was hiding!
“I can only give it to the sultan”, The Man shortly answered.
“Usually people deny, I like your honesty” replied The Old Baker, with a smile appeared on his face as he was approaching The Man from the hot smoky shop:
“I want to help you, I know the secret”.
“How is that, what secret?” The Man enquired.
“The Sultan doesn't accept visits from anyone he ordered three guardians on the three receptions of his majesty. Each guard repeats one question to you and you should pass all the three questions, and no one ever got the answer from our people. And I will tell you how to pass”, The Old Baker said and took one hundred pieces of fresh bread, and handed it to the man and explained: “each time you are asked a question, answer the guard honestly then give him one piece of your bread.”
The Man trusted the Old Baker after he had noticed his value to honesty as he carried on his speech. He carried the bread with both hands and walked to the great gate.
Inside the palace, he felt as a little rat in that luxurious spacious place he entered. Admiring the details and the colourful carpets that he walked aside of it not to dare stepping on those works of art. Finally he got to the first guard.
“How many/how much do you have?” the Guardian asked in a very loud voice.
“One hundred, sir” The Man answered, with rather a weak voice.
The guardian then examined the bread with his sharp eyes and let the man through his gate!
But before getting through, The Man did as the Old Baker had told him, and gave him one piece of bread from what he had. The Guardian gave him a glance of respect and thanked him with a nod.
The next gate appeared faster than the first one, and very crowded. The people were talking to each other desperately as if they were trapped there for a long time, and they were being served with food and drinks. The Guardian of that second gate mimed for The Man to get closer. As he was walking through the crowd people started to ask him questions and let him down in different accents and different languages, with the same repeated tones:
“Why bother yourself of what you have”
“No one deserve what I have”
“Nothing worth your pride”
“Why aiming for more”
“Don’t listen to anyone but yourself”
The words were vivid in his head, kept beating like the sound of drums. He moved his body into this meat fuss with eyes wide open he decided to look at each source of sound with a clear eye contact, in this clever manner he shut down any sound of exclamation. It was strange how each person couldn't look back again to the man’s sharp brown eyes. He finally got to The Guardian.
He asked him the same question:
“How many/ how much do you have?” he announced in rather a louder voice than the first one.
“Ninety-nine, sir” the man answered meekly.
And as the first guard did, he counted the pieces then smiled! And while he was opening the gate silence slowly penetrated through the crowd. And they were all suddenly sculptured in there amazement gestures.
The Man gave the guardian a piece of what he had and continued.
The Man now entered a very beautiful room with maroon furniture, golden sculptures of men scattered randomly and music beating so deep and strong with fast shifts like an orchestra with one instrument, Oud.
A graceful woman was standing with loose drape in the colour of her wavy hair. She walked to The Man like a feather kissing the marble ground by her bare feet.
She got closer and closer to him while he was planted to the room’s carpet:
“I am the third Guardian” the confident voice came out “and you should spend your night here before you present yourself to the Sultan".
The Man was speechless as he thought that the beauty of the palace was the best scenery that may meet his salty face. He stood in his place motionless. He feared this Guardian the most for he may get seduced by her fine splendour.
She arranged him a place to sit, and laid down on another sofa.
“How many/ how much do you have?” she enquired with a deep voice.
“well, I have, …, …” the man forgot the answer and he fell down to the ground from the difficult confrontation.
The poor Man sat mute on the floor for three hours couldn't say a word holding his bread in his hands looking around the room to anything other than the graceful Guardian who was walking around the room waiting for the man’s answer.
After the three hours had passed “ninety-eight” he announced with a clear sound.
The Man got his strength and serenity after he had understood what the golden sculptures are meant to say.
The woman now started to revolve round and round, shedding a very beautiful scent that made The Man feel dizzy and fell fast a sleep.
The sun embraced his tired face, and with eyes hardly open rolling his brown iris to find no one in the room and the gate of the third Guardian was open. The man freshen himself by the bowl of water which was put for him with a towel and got prepared to meet The Sultan.
The Man entered to the Sultans Court dazzled by the brightness of the place after a long dark night. He saw in the middle of the symmetry a great throne in where a man in a fine heavy gown sitting with a sad thought in his proud face.
He stepped on the marble and walked unexpectedly on the symmetrical line closer to the throne.
When he reached the middle of the court he got the attention of The Great Sultan. The Man then made a gesture of respect and revealed his message to his majesty.
“Allow me, your Majesty”, The Man declared: “to return your longing”.
A glow started to emerge as The Man brought The Sea Shell out of his robe. The blinding glow got brighter and brighter, until a fair lass appeared from that strange phenomenon. The Sultan stood up, his eyes widen and his face expression was totally changed.
“Come here my daughter, come to me oh dear”, said The Sultan.
“I am so happy for our reunite my great father”, said the young lady.
“How beautiful you become, I wish you didn't get hurt”
“Thanks to him Pa, I was in careful hands” glanced to The Man.
“How can I thank you young man, you only have to ask” claimed The Sultan.
The Man couldn't absorb the queer happening but after the last question he fell into his deep thoughts.
“I want to marry The Third Guardian, your Majesty”, said The Man “and I want you to give The Old Baker the honour of ministry”.
Ж
