"The Trap" — Story of the Month

It was summer, and the quarters of old Damascus lay pressed together along the banks of the seven rivers flowing among them. From time to time the dust-laden wind slapped the city's pale face. Had you gone to Khan al-Hariri, you would have seen the dust rising from its courtyard and spreading in a succession of tangled clouds, and the clamor of the crowd would have deafened your ears, for the courtyard of the khan teemed with people and beasts.

In the middle of the courtyard, near the square basin, a middle-aged man sat on a black saddlebag of camel's hair, absorbed and motionless. His dress showed that he was no city dweller, but one of the people of the villages of the Ghouta, east of Damascus, at the edge of the Syrian desert. How long had Ata remained thus, pensive and musing? No one troubled to find out, nor did Ata himself care to answer the question. He was oblivious of everything going on around him: neither the mob and its clamor, nor the dust, nor even the burning sun that scorched his face and body affected him in any way. He was so sunk in his thoughts that anyone seeing him would imagine he could not be bothered to move his limbs. His face, with its short beard and drooping mustaches, was as rigid as an idol — like a Nabataean statue of basalt. His pursed lips and abstracted gaze told that he was at his wits' end over the matter that had seized his mind; it was plain that something of great moment was troubling him.

Layla, the owner of the khan and the one who ran it, was sitting on a soft couch on the second floor, at a spot overlooking the courtyard. Settled comfortably there, she smoked her narghile and surveyed the noisy throng with a searching eye. Layla was close on thirty-five, with a white face touched by a certain pallor, jet-black hair, and black eyes radiating intelligence.

As she smoked, cooling her face with a Japanese fan, her eye fell on Ata. At first she paid him no mind, supposing him one of the travelers who put up at the khan and sometimes stay several days. But when she looked at him again a few minutes later and noticed that he was still in his place and had not shifted his posture, curiosity flared up within her, and that sudden resolve which is one of the distinguishing traits of women drove her to find out the truth of his case. She clapped her hands, and a dark-skinned servant girl with disheveled hair came hurrying.

Layla asked her: Do you see that man sitting by the basin?

Stretching her neck, the girl said: Yes.

— Bring him to me at once.

"At your service," said the girl, and set off to obey her mistress's command, hurrying down the wooden stairs and crossing the courtyard to where Ata sat.

She accosted him, saying: Greetings.

Ata started and raised his eyes to her without uttering a word.

The girl shouted in his face: Won't you return the greeting?

A forced smile appeared on Ata's lips, cracked by the heat of the sun, and he said: Greetings.

The girl answered: Well done. Will you come with me?

With a strange look in his small eyes, Ata said: Come with you? Where?

— To my mistress.

Bewildered, Ata asked: To your mistress?

— Yes, to my mistress. Are you afraid?

— I have no business with your mistress.

— No doubt of that; but it is she who has chosen to have business with you.

His wrinkled face scowling, Ata said: And who is your mistress?

— She is the owner of this khan.

Ata sighed and said: Then that changes matters. And what does she want by summoning me?

The girl burst out laughing and said: The gods themselves do not know what my mistress wants.

Ata said: There is no god but God, and Muhammad is the Messenger of God. He rose from where he sat, lifted the saddlebag and threw it over his shoulder, slipped on his red shoes, and motioned to the girl to walk ahead of him. The girl went strutting along while he stumbled after her across the courtyard, and followed her up the stairs to where Layla sat on the couch like one of the queens of Babylon. Ata stood at the threshold without moving his lips. She beckoned him to enter, so he greeted her, threw the saddlebag aside, and sat down near the door on a low stool.

Layla called to her servant girl: Bring a cup of coffee. Then she turned to Ata and asked in a mellow voice: What is your name?

— Ata.

— And where do you come from?

He answered in a decided tone: From Harran al-Awamid.

— Tell me why you have been sitting all this long while in this sweltering weather, under the burning rays of the sun.

Shrugging his shoulders to show his unconcern, he said: Does anyone care about that?

Staring into his face, Layla asked him: And why not?

Fidgeting in his seat, Ata said: I beg you to leave me alone.

Layla gave him an encouraging smile and said: Upon my life, this is strange. What is the matter with you?

Ata asked her: Must I pour out my troubles to all the people of Damascus? Must I tell you how far the treachery of your city's people goes?

Layla cried: Oh my! And what have the people of Damascus done to you? Then she added, smiling a bewitching smile: Don't forget that I am one of them.

Sadly, Ata said: I have suffered a great wrong at their hands.

— Tell me the whole story.

— Why?

— Perhaps I can help you.

Indifferently, Ata said: I am certain you will not succeed where the police have failed.

Layla smiled mockingly, and said, as the servant girl came in with the coffee: Tell me your story anyway. Ata sipped the coffee and handed the cup back to the girl, then thanked Layla and said:

— A short while ago I returned from the pilgrimage...

Layla interrupted him: Congratulations.

Ata went on: God bless you. But before I set out for the Hijaz, I learned that in the quarter there was a man famous for his trustworthiness, to whom people go to deposit their precious valuables. I owned a hundred gold liras, so I carried them to him. When I returned yesterday and asked him to give me back my money, he refused to receive me, accused me of thievery and lying, and drove me from his house in the vilest fashion. And since there was no witness to my handing him the money, and I took no receipt from him for it, the police were unable to help me — and here I am now, lost in perplexity, not knowing what to do.

Layla drew a long pull on the narghile, until the water in its ornamented glass bowl rumbled like the roar of a raging camel. At last her face brightened; she raised her hand, looked at Ata, and said: And where does this man live, and what is his name? Ata told her his name and his address. She said to him: In about two hours. Do you understand? In about two hours, go back to him and ask him for your money as though you were asking for it for the first time.

Doubtfully, Ata asked her: And what good will that do?

She said in a stern tone: Put no questions to me. Do what I ask you to do. Now go.

Resigned, Ata said: Very well, God willing. And he left the place.

Layla ordered her servant girl to have a carriage made ready for her within an hour and a half. The girl carried out the order, and came back to tell her that the carriage would be ready at the gate of the khan at the appointed time.

At exactly the fixed hour the carriage stood at the gate of the khan. Layla, a veil over her face and perfumed with scent, climbed into the carriage; after telling the driver the place she wanted, she settled back in her seat and the carriage set off. After some twenty minutes she ordered the driver to stop. She got down from the carriage and asked the driver to wait for her. She knocked at a door on her left, and a young boy opened it. She asked him about the master of the house, and he said he was at home. She expressed her wish to see him, and the boy walked before her into a spacious hall furnished with the most sumptuous furnishings. She sat down on one of the couches and let her gaze wander over her surroundings. Presently an elderly man came in, well advanced in years, wearing a skullcap and a loose robe; he greeted Layla and sat down facing her.

The man, whose name was Mizrahi, said: What service can I render you?

Layla looked at him with a look full of agitation, and said: Venerable sheikh, I have no one but God and my husband, who went to Mosul to buy livestock. Several months have now passed since he left, and he has not returned, and I have grown terribly anxious about him, so I have decided to go to Mosul myself to look for him. I have heard a great deal about your trustworthiness, and so I have come to you with these three hundred gold liras, to deposit them with your honor until my return. And Layla drew from inside her black silk coat a purse, which she laid before her on the couch with the greatest care.

Mizrahi rose and came toward her; but when he was just one step away, Ata burst into the hall with his arms outstretched, made for Mizrahi, shook his hand warmly, and shouted: I have come back from the pilgrimage to Mecca! Would you kindly return the hundred gold liras I deposited with you?

The Jew looked at Ata, then at the purse lying before Layla, and said to himself: Three hundred are better than a single hundred. Without the least ceremony he left the hall, then returned after a moment carrying the purse that held Ata's gold liras; he counted them out and handed them over to Ata, who was seized with astonishment. Ata took his money and hastened out of the hall like a startled gazelle.

Mizrahi turned to Layla, smiling; but before he could utter a single word her servant girl entered the hall, rushed toward her mistress, spun around several times, and threw herself, breathless, into Layla's lap, saying in a broken voice:

Mistress... he has arrived!!

Layla planted a kiss on the girl's forehead, took up the purse, and said to the stunned Jew: Then of course there is no need for me to travel to Mosul.