He was feeling, more than seeing, the dark water he was approaching. It was very dim near the wharf, the only light was provided by reflections. The salty brine washed sluggishly against a tarred piling embedded in the muck.
Just a single row boat was tied up.
He let his gaze wander in the distance, on the horizon, where the sea was turning into deep blue and violet. Not a single sail, not a ship silhoutte. This disturbed him, as the silence around him, now that the longshoremen had departed and it looked as if he was the only one left.
Suddenly, he became aware of the presence of someone, just behind him. He turned and was surprised to see a small man, shorter than he, with a strange headgear made of green cloth and a face with two bright eyes, sparkling with curiosity.
They looked at each other in silence. Then the stranger addressed him: “Sailor?” It was not a question, just a remark. Then he added: “Did you miss your ship?”
Sanjam was wondering how the other could have guessed, when the stranger added: “I realized it by the way you were scanning the horizon, of longing, I would say. And in addition you are dressed like a sailor, and the bag you are carrying is not uncommon around here”.
Sanjam did not know what to say.
He felt ill at ease and, at the same time, he felt embarassed to show it. It had never happened before to him to miss an embarkation, and yet he had been in dozens of harbors. Well, now it has happened and he needs to think of a place to spend the night. There should be an inn, and the next day he would look for a ship, without waiting for his own. His ship was expected back in three weeks, more or less.
.
“Is there a place where I could sleep?”
The stranger nodded, then added: “We should hurry up, in a short while it will be dark.
They started moving along an uphill road, which bent to the right, with low dry-walls on the sides. A seagull - white all over - which up to then had stayed perched on a pole, flew off.
They had met , if one may say so , Sanjam and the seagull, in the Cochin Harbor. Sanjam had thrown some fish in the air, amusing himself watching the seagulls dexterity , and catching it. Since then the seagull had become, in a way, fond of him, and although sometimes it looked as if he had vanished, he always reappeared, unexpected, whenever Sanjam disembarked.
Sanjam had named the seagull Cochin, in memory of their first encounter.
The two men went on in silence, when they reached the top of the ascent where the actual town commenced, the stranger stopped right opposite a two storey house, with delicate azure shutters. There was a beautyful expanse of water in front of the house as , on the other hand, in front of each house or building that Sanjam had seen during the couple of hours he had wandered around.
“Should you be content with a poor accomodation, you might spend the night here, with me. I live alone and I would enjoy your company”.
That was how their friendship started.
Sanjam’s face revealed a strong character, which could be regarded as severe but for the smile, that appeared all of a sudden and made everything pleasant, even his walking tempo, which he had most probably acquired during his long stays at sea.
His hair, as black as ink, gathered up into a ponytail, made his rigid features stand out. His brown eyes, when lighted up, filled up with specks as green as some algae, and you realized that those eyes were accustomed to searching and scanning everything around carefully and calmly. This was evident in most people living at sea.
Unfortunately for Sanjam no ships were expected ahead of his.
However Nizam - that was the stranger’s name - had suggested a deal of sorts. He would give Sanjam hospitality and in return Sanjam would help him in his work, a work he used to do in the evening, after closing his shop.
In the street, there were other shops: one selling saddles and harnesses, another one cloths, ribbons and hats, a store was selling brushes along with all kinds of paints. Nizam’s shop, instead, was selling something unusual, kaleidoscopes, which he himself manufactured.
Apparently it was something simple to make, but one should take into account that Nizam regarded as a victory for himself to carry out any work at his very best. Besides, a kaleidoscope was, in his eyes, something artistic, a search for beauty.
He knew that a kaleidoscope’s enchantment depended on how various tiny objects were chosen and, in a way, mixed together between two opaque glasses.
But since each kaleidoscope had a basic theme, when choosing the objects one had to keep in mind that theme. Art and experience were necessary so that the light, reverberating and reflecting among the mirrors, would create ever changing and alluring geometrical effects, always within the chosen theme.
It was similar - Nizam thought - to what happens in arabesques, which are based on geometrical figures put together with mathematical accuracy, that intersect, superimpose and reveal themselves in endless forms, thus conveying rythm and a great visual harmony.
During the day Sanjam took care of customers.
Some of them requested rather simple kaleidoscopes, which theme consisted in a few geometrical figures in just two or three colours. Other customers were looking for precious kaleidoscopes, of inlaid brass or decorated in relief. There were customers who asked for large diameter kaleidoscopes, the most difficult to make. If one would rotate them in the twilight, they would then combine the last brightness of the day to the first shadows, creating a magic atmosphere, beyond time.
Nizam kept on a low table a large numbers of bowls. The variety of bowls or, rather, of their contents - was amazing. Tiny lace scraps, mother-of-pearl chips, small spirals obtained from a thin silver sheet, opalescent jade splinters, grains of stained glass, and colorful ceramic beads, golden sand grains, delicate crystal slivers, and shells powder, as well as small phials full of coloured liquids.
Finally, minute scraps of all those things that - skilfully balanced - would produce a sequence of images that, as if by magic, would overlap, would split and later recompose, alike and yet different, endlessly.__
Every day Sanjam went to the harbor.
Not because he expected to see any ship, but because there, in the presence of the sea, he got the feeling that Daikin was closer to him, and he was free to think of her without being disturbed by the city sounds, by the people’s buzzing, even by the swallows flights that endlessly drew lines up in the sky. Daiken was the love of his dreams. And as fate might have it, the reason he was stranded here in the first place.
The lack of Daikin, the want of her, turned at times into a burning desire, into a physical pain which made him feel almost sick. To be truthful, he had caught a glimpse of her only once, behind the iron bars of the Palace garden, when he had stayed two days in Zufar. She was walking alone, along a narrow path, and in the twilight, looking at her moving with a Princess tempo, he had the impression that her feet did not touch the ground and that she had long, turquoise hair. Well, the Palace belonged to the Prince of Zufar and Sanjam thought that, no doubt, she was the Princess, since it was common knowledge that the Prince only had one daughter, whose name was Daikin.
Sanjam had realized that it would have been a folly for him just to think of her and yet - as much as he tried - he had never been able to forget her.
Nobody knew if Najapur had become by chance as it now appeared , or if it had been deliberately planned like this from the beginning.
Every building, every mansion, every house, even the simplest one, had a flat pond of water in front. The entrance, in fact, was always at the back.
The water was fresh and clear, so that houses and buildings accurately reflected into it, as well as balconies and windows, pots of flowers on windowsills, canary’s cages, roof gutters and the friezes that adorned the top storeys.
If a window opened, the same window flung open below, in the water. And whoever appeared at that window and looked below, could see his homonym staring at him, repeating his gestures, half-closing his eyes if the light reflection was too strong.
The city doubled and refracted, mirroring in itself, so that one could talk not of a single, but of two Najapur, the one above talking to the one below.
When the last light seemed to be at a standstill, languishing before giving way to the long dusk shadows, some images, which had come into sight in the water during the day, reappeared. The woman who had lent out of the window and had retreated later on, now, in that faint light, became visible again as if the water had retained some of the images and now reprduced them.
Sanjam liked to wander about the city at daybreak, when houses were still asleep, and look at the still water, filled with magical reflections illuminated by the first rays of light.
It was in one of those reflections, one morning, that he saw, as if it had surfaced from the bottom, Daikin’s image, and although he had seen her, indistinctly, long ago, he felt sure he was looking at the same person, and his heart skipped a beat. Then, all of a sudden, a breath of wind rippled the water and the image shattered, as in his kaleidoscope, and then disappeared.
Since then, he had come there often, always at the same time, in the hope to see her again, but she was never to be revealed to him again.
Two weeks had passed, Sanjam had started collecting sea-glass for a kaleidoscope..
He was walking far from the city, along the seashore, where wide beaches alternated with small coves. Only Cochin, the seagull, followed him. Cochin would hover slowly and then suddenly dash down, almost skimming the vawes, lightly, with no effort. Sanjam used to think that Cochin was a far better sailor than himself, capable of any manoeuvre, in any kind of wind.
On that day Sanjam had sat on a spur, gazing on the horizon: he was missing the sea. All of a sudden the seagull appeared straight on him, almost still, holding in his beak what Sanjam thought was a small pebble.
He stretched out his hand and Cochin dropped into his palm what he had in its beak. Sanjam examined the small object, turned it over and felt amazed: that pebble, in fact, was a pearl. He scrutinized its surface - still moist with saltwater - against the light, then looked at it again: it was a real pearl, no doubt. Sanjam was an expert : a pearl diver, that had been his first job, before signing on as a sailor.
It was a strange pearl of an opalescent pallor and its tint, a barely gilded pink, contained hundreds of iridescent reflections as sometimes you might see in the foam of the waves.When Nizam saw the pearl and listened to Sanjam’s account, he could hardly believe it. He stared at the pearl for a long time, and noticed that the thin layer of water - which covered it - was still there, as if the pearl wanted to retain that drop of sea which enveloped it.
The next day Nizam made a proposal to Sanjam.
If Sanjam agreed, he would try to make him a kaleidoscope using the pearl. He was excited anticipating the images he would get. So, that same evening Nizam started to work at the kaleidoscope. He carefully calculated the most appropriate diameter and length, he considered which objects, in addition to the pearl, to include. It was a long and delicate operation.
At the end, Nizam handed the kaleidoscope to Sanjam so that he could be the first to see the result. Sanjam drew the kaleidoscope up to his eye and started rotating it, at first in one way, then in the other. He moved it away, rubbed his eyes, then looked into it again, almost disbelief added to the greatest astonishment.Inside the kaleidoscope he saw all the floating seas and the oceans of the world: deep green, intense blue, rose-violet, with the white foam on the wave’s crests. And he also saw lots of fish: silver, purple , green, rose, amber, yellow, multicoloured ones with golden scales and fins floating like kite tales. The fish eyes were big, round, as green as emeralds, and their long tails arched as a crescent moon.
It was amazing, and the two men remained stunned, unable to utter a word.
Sanjam had closed his eyes as if all those extraordinary sights had worn him out. And while he kept his eyes shut, a different sight formed suddenly in his mind.
He saw, as if it were a recent occurrence, a beggar whom he had met in some harbour, he could not recall which one. The beggar was blind and he held his hand out to the passers-by while, in the meantime, muttering some words - lines, perhaps - with a tone resembling a singsong, or a wailing. A lot of time had gone by since then, but Sanjam still remembered one of those lines of which, to be truthful, he had not fully understood the meaning and, maybe just for that reason, it had remained engraved on his memory: “ If you divide a single drop of water, a hundred new oceans are born.”
Perhaps, Sanjam thought, the layer of water that covered the pearl was the drop which that beggar had mentioned. That was why, in the kaleidoscope, the endless seas of the world were reflecting, running one after the other.
On a fine morning, going as usual to the harbour, Sanjam had found, just in front of him, his ship at anchor. She had arrived that night, and they were unloading it hastily since the ship captain was in a hurry to leave to make up for the delay. The ship had actually arrived two days late, due to the bad weather.
The second port of call would be the Principality of Zufar, and Sanjam, whereas on the one hand was looking forward to getting there, on the other hand, just thinking of it, was seized with such an anxiety, such a perturbation, that at night he could not sleep at all.
When he went ashore at Zufar, Sanjam was surprised by the great crowd milling around. It was a cheerful turmoil, some sort of festivities, one could say.
At crossroads, from big braziers, the smell of honey pancakes, of peppers stuffed with green pistachios simmered into ghee - clarified butter - filled the air. People were sipping hot cinnamon tea from small baked clay bowls. Sugarcanes were inserted between cogwheels of heavy cast iron machines: an extremely sweet syrup was thus extracted and was drunk diluted with water.
There were hawkers of sugar, which was cut from large loaves with long knives. One could see stalls with every kind of spices, from cinnamon to ginger, from coriander to sesame, and all sorts of magic herbs, from savory to dill, to radishes, in heavy, jute bags.
Vendors offered pilgrims flasks made of pottery. Bears appeared and disappeared at their
magicians command, entertaining and scaring people. And everywhere, to light up stalls, braziers, benches, there were a multitude of small oil-lamps which created a dreamy ambience.
The reason of the festivities was that the Prince had declared three days of celebration for his daughter’s wedding.
At the Palace, one could see dignitaries and courtiers coming and going. Painters, stone-cutters, decorators were at work in the courtyards while in the large halls, which ran aloong the second floor, the wonderful miniatures collection was arranged so that it could be admired from the best view. Manuscripts and books, some of them bound in engraved lacquer, were put up in crystal boxes.
And, close to the armoury, the secret goblets had been displayed , a rare sight to see . Inside the goblets, arcane formulas were finely chiselled in gold, their meaning known only to the Prince.
The Prince was a great admirer of the Arts, and he had become in time an expert collector of the most valuable works of art: calligraphy scrolls of great masters, ancient miniatures, rare musical instruments, extraordinary carpets, vials made of glass as thin as paper, gold engraved harnesses and twelve pairs of luminescent babouches which the famous architect Zaroud used to make and were now unobtainable, since Zaroud had taken its formula with himself, on his death.
When Sanjam heard that in a short time the Prince’s daughter’s wedding would be celebrated, he was overcome by gloomy despair.
The festive atmosphere which seemed to pervade the entire city made him feel even more depressed, as if they were celebrating the end of his dream.
The Prince had in fact decided that the person who would have presented the most admirable work of art would have become his daughter’s bridegroom.
Already had arrived, from every Country, the most famous artists: some were bringing carpets which looked exceptional for the pattern delicacy and for their colours combination, some brought saddles and saddlecloth with precious inlays, others swords with double-edged blades, finely wrought in gold, blue and silver.
Each present was placed into a vast white marquee, erected in the Palace garden.
At the end of the third day the Prince would have made his choice.
Sanjam, to get away from the crowd, walked towards the harbour. And there, as that other time, Cochin, which always followed him, dropped something into his hand. It was just a little pebble, white and round.
* See “ The Elves of the Kirbiz Wood”As soon as Sanjam saw it, he immediately realized what Cochin was trying to tell him.
He entered a store where he spent all his savings to buy a luxurious outfit, with a delicate embroidery on the sleeves, and a big silk turban, adorned by two owl feathers.
Then he fetched his kaleidoscope.
At the Palace gate the guards, impressed by his outfit, made a low bow. Sanjam entered the marquee and laid down his present next to the others’.
Finally, the day of the Prince’s choice arrived.
The Prince, being, a person of profound art experience, observed and examined each present with great attention. When he saw the kaleidoscope, he was intrigued by it. On the outside, he saw no ornament, nothing precious. Besides, never before a kaleidoscope had been submitted to him as a work of art. He took it, he brought it to his eye, and turned it slowly.
The dignitaries who escorted him were surprised since it seemed that the Prince could not take his eye off it. Some minutes had already elapsed and everybody around the Prince was surprised at the oddness of his behavior.
After quite a while, the Prince looked away from the kaleidoscope and asked to meet the person who had made such an exceptional object.
Sanjam was proclaimed the winner.
While waiting for the wedding, Sanjam was invited to stay in a splendid apartment of the Palace. The windows, as in the entire building, had tall wrought iron bars, with the Prince’s coat of arms in the center. However, the bars were removed from Sanjam bedroom and the window was always left wide open, so that Cochin could come and go as much as he liked.
A day had passed. Sanjam was standing in a room of his new apartment, close to a window, overlooking the splendid gardens below.
He suddenly felt a yearning to look, once more, through his kaleidoscope. He took it out of its case, brought it to his eye, and remained astonished, speechless, utterly incredulous. Floating in the ocean, a young, extremely beautiful woman was looking at him, her sweet eyes filled with tears, her turquoise hair waiving gently like ribbon, as if silently appealing to him, while the waves were driving her away.
That young woman, whose charm reminded him of the image that, some time ago, he had seen in the water, in Najapur, was no doubt Daikin.
Sanjam got an excruciating sense of foreboding. He ran and asked the Prince permission to immediately see the Princess. Although, according to the custom of Zufar, he should not be allowed to see her before the wedding , the Prince, noticing how terribly upset he was, gave his permission.
Sanjam was led to the Princess’s apartments, but the Princess was not there. And yet her maids swore that she had never left her rooms in the entire day.
The Prince ordered the guards to search the entire Palace, every room, every hall, every corridor, every courtyard, even behind the trees of the vast gardens. In short, to look in every corner.
But she could not be found, as if she had vanished into thin air.
Perhaps, they are still looking for her.