Sinbad and the Whale That Was an Island

The step was cool, and that was the whole of Hindbad’s good fortune that morning. He set down the basket of brass buckles he had been carrying since dawn and let his head fall back against the warm wall. Dust sat on his eyelids. His feet were two stones in his sandals.

Inside the house, a lute was playing. Through the gate came the smell of lamb and saffron and something sweet with honey in it. Hindbad groaned and said it aloud, to nobody, because nobody was listening.

“Some men are born tired, and some are born soft,” he said. “I carry and I sweat and my back aches before noon. And he sits behind his gate with his music and his meat.”

The gate opened. A man stood there, broad and grey at the temples, in a plain white robe that had cost more than Hindbad’s whole year.

“I am Sinbad,” the man said. “You have been talking about me on my own step. Come in and say it at the table, where the food is.”

Hindbad’s mouth went dry. “I meant no insult, sir.”

“You meant every word, and maybe I deserve half of them. Come in.” Sinbad held the gate. “Take off those sandals. Leave the basket. There is rice.”

So Hindbad sat at a low table among cushions, and ate until he was ashamed of himself, and then ate a little more. Servants took the plates away. The lute stopped. Sinbad folded his hands.

“You think my luck fell on me from the sky,” he said. “Let me tell you how it came. I was a porter once. My shoulders know your basket. And I will tell it true, even the parts where I was a fool.”

***

“My father left me a little money,” Sinbad said, “and I spent it the way a young man does, on fine cloth and other men’s company. When I counted what was left, it fit in one hand. So I bought rope and sailcloth and went to sea.

“The ship was small and she smelled of tar and old fish, and I loved her from the first hour. We ran down the coast for many days. The sailors sang when they hauled. I learned the rope and the current and the way the wind turns cold before rain.

“One morning we came to a green island. It was low and flat and soft underfoot, and the men were glad of it. Some set out cook pots. Some fell asleep in the grass. The captain stayed on deck and said nothing at all, which I should have noticed.

“I was at the water’s edge, washing my face, when the ground shivered. Not like earth. Like a horse under a fly. Then it heaved, and the grass slid sideways, and a sailor shouted something I did not catch.

The green island lifted its head. Water poured off its back in sheets. I saw the eye, Hindbad, big as a door, and it looked at me with no anger in it at all. We were fleas on a sleeping thing, and it had woken.

The whale went down. The sea closed over the cook pots and the grass and the men. I grabbed a wooden trough that had been used for the washing and held it like a drowning man holds a friend. When I came up, the ship was a small dark shape already far off, and the shouting was gone.”

Sinbad stopped. “You are not eating,” he said.

“I forgot to,” said Hindbad.

The trough spun slowly. Sinbad lay across it with his chin on the wood and the sea slapping his face. “For a day and a night I did not let go,” he said. “The current carried me. I watched the sun go down and the stars come up, and I thought about my mother’s kitchen, and the smell of bread.”

Hindbad leaned forward. “Weren’t you frightened?”

“Frightened is a thing you do with your whole body,” said Sinbad. “I was too tired for it. Then, near dawn, I heard oars.” He smiled. “A ship came out of the grey, and a sailor threw me a rope. I caught it with both hands and they hauled me up like a sack of onions.”

The captain gave him dry clothes and a corner to sleep in. “I worked my passage,” said Sinbad. “I scrubbed the deck and mended sail. When we put in at a port, I traded my labour for a little stock of pepper and glass beads. I sold them at the next stop for more than I paid, and again after that.”

“So the sea gave you your start,” said Hindbad.

“The sea gave me a trough,” said Sinbad. “I gave it hands.” He tore a piece of bread. “Luck is a rope thrown to a drowning man. It is no use if he will not reach.”

Hindbad was quiet. “I might have let go,” he said.

“Then you would have been unlucky,” said Sinbad. “But you would not have been wrong. Only tired.” He pushed the plate closer. “Eat. There is more to tell.”

***

On the second voyage, Sinbad went ashore with the others to gather fruit. The valley they found had walls of rock so high the sky was a blue ribbon overhead. “I wandered too far,” he said. “When I turned back, the path was gone. I was alone in a place where the cliffs leaned in like listeners.”

He looked at his hands. “The ground glittered. Diamonds, Hindbad, lying in the dust like dropped rice. And among them, serpents. Small ones, thick as my wrist, asleep in the sun.”

“Weren’t you afraid?” asked Hindbad.

“I was,” said Sinbad. “But I noticed something. The serpents did not move when I stood still. They only stirred when I stepped. So I stepped softly, and I watched.”

Above, on the cliff edge, men appeared with baskets. “They shouted down to each other. Then they threw something over the rim. A hunk of meat, raw and red, fell past me and hit the rocks with a wet smack.”

Hindbad frowned. “Why meat?”

“For the eagles,” said Sinbad. “The birds nest in the crags. They would swoop and carry the meat up to their young. And the diamonds, stuck to the meat, would go with it. The men waited at the top with clubs to drive the eagles off and take the stones.”

Sinbad smiled. “I watched one eagle take a piece. It was a great brown bird, all shoulder and claw. And I thought: here is a rope thrown to me. I only had to reach.”

Sinbad set down his cup. “I filled my pockets with diamonds until they bulged. The serpents slept on. Then I picked out the biggest piece of meat I could find and dragged it to a flat rock. I tied myself to it with my turban and a length of rope from my belt. My heart was loud. I lay still, the meat warm against my back.”

“You tied yourself to meat?” Hindbad asked. “To be carried off by a bird?”

“I did. And I waited. The sun moved. I heard the beat of wings before I saw anything. A shadow crossed the rock. Then claws closed on the meat, and the world went up.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“I was. I shut my eyes and held on. The eagle climbed in slow circles, and the air grew cold. Below me the valley shrank to a green crack. I could hear the merchants shouting. Then the bird dropped onto its nest, and I rolled free.”

The men on the cliff edge had seen. They ran to the nest with clubs and shouting. “A man!” one cried. “There’s a man in the nest!”

Sinbad got to his feet. “I am a sailor,” he said. “I came for the stones.”

The head merchant stared. “The stones are ours. We threw the meat.”

“Then take the meat,” said Sinbad. “I will keep what I gathered.” He opened his pockets, and the diamonds glinted.

The merchant looked at the stones, then at Sinbad. “You are either a fool or the bravest man I have met. Take your diamonds. But tell me how you did it.”

So Sinbad told them, and they laughed and shook their heads. He walked out of the valley with his pockets full and his legs shaking.

***

Sinbad leaned back in his chair. “That was the second voyage. I came home rich again. And that is how it went, voyage after voyage.”

Hindbad the porter sat quiet. His own basket lay by his feet, the dust still on it.

“You are wondering,” said Sinbad, “why I have all this and you have a basket.”

“I did wonder,” Hindbad said. “At first.”

Sinbad stood and went to a chest. He took out a small purse and put it in Hindbad’s hand. “That is not charity. It is payment for listening. A man who has a story should have someone to tell it to.”

Hindbad looked at the purse. “But luck—“

“Luck is a rope thrown down to you,” said Sinbad. “Nerve is grabbing it. A man can have both and still drown. But a man with neither will never leave the dock.”

Hindbad did not answer. He put the purse inside his coat.

“Go home,” said Sinbad. “And when you carry your basket tomorrow, carry it a little straighter.”

Hindbad stepped out into the evening. The street was cool, and the lamps were being lit one by one. He walked home with his head up, not because he was rich, but because he had been listened to. And the purse was warm against his chest.