Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp

Long ago, in a great city in China, there lived a poor tailor called Mustapha. He had a son named Aladdin, a lazy, playful boy who would rather run about the lanes with other idle boys than learn a trade. However much his mother begged and wept, Aladdin would not work. At last the sorrow sank so deep into Mustapha's heart that he died. Mother and son were left in the little house with empty hands. The mother spun cotton from morning till evening to keep them alive, while Aladdin slipped out into the street the moment her back was turned.

One hot afternoon, as Aladdin sat on a stone tossing date stones into the dust, a stranger came up to him. The man had a long beard, a dark cloak, and eyes that glittered oddly beneath his turban. 'Are you not the son of Mustapha the tailor?' he asked softly. 'I am, sir,' answered Aladdin, 'but father died long ago.' At that the stranger clapped his hands together, and the tears came. 'Dear boy! I am your uncle! I have been away forty years and come home to find my brother, and now he is gone.' He kissed Aladdin on the brow and bade him run home quickly and tell his mother.

At home, his mother was astonished. 'Your father had a brother,' she said, 'but I always thought he was dead.' Still, she set out supper as well as she could. The stranger came laden with wine and fruit, kissed the place where Mustapha used to sit, and dried his eyes. He called himself Aladdin's uncle and sounded full of comfort. The next day he took Aladdin to the bazaar, bought him a fine new suit and showed him the whole city. When they came home at evening, the mother smiled for the first time in a long while. But that night, while Aladdin slept, the stranger sat in the dark and smiled to himself. He was no uncle. He was a powerful magician from Africa, and he had travelled far to find this very boy.

Next day the false uncle led Aladdin far outside the city, past fine gardens and cool fountains. They walked and walked until the mountains rose before them like dark gates. Aladdin grew tired and asked to turn back. 'Only a little farther,' said the magician, and told cheerful stories to keep up the boy's courage. At last they stopped between two steep mountains, in a narrow valley where no birds sang. 'Here,' said the magician, 'I will show you something wonderful. Gather sticks.' Aladdin obeyed, and the magician kindled a fire. He scattered a powder onto the flames and muttered words that were not like other words.