Shahrazad Begins a Story

Far away, in a city where the domes of the rooftops gleamed like drops of moon and the jasmine perfumed the night, there stood a palace with many arched windows. In it lived a king who could not sleep. His name was Shahryar, and every evening, when the lanterns were lit in the courtyard, he sat at his window and watched the houses grow quiet one by one. Everything grew drowsy except him.

At the foot of the bed stood a cup of cool water with flower petals in it, and outside an owl called once and then was silent. The king sighed. 'Another night without sleep,' he said. Then someone knocked softly at the door, three short, friendly knocks, as if to greet without waking anyone.

In came Shahrazad. She was the storyteller of the palace, known throughout the city for her calm voice and her dreaming tales. She wore a shawl threaded with tiny silver lines and carried a book in her hand, though she almost never opened it, she knew all her stories by heart. 'Good evening, my lord,' she said. 'I heard that the moon is awake. I thought perhaps we could listen to it together.'

The king smiled a little, because it was hard not to smile when Shahrazad came in. She sat down on a cushion near the window, turned the book in her lap without opening it, and looked up at the night sky. 'I have a story for you,' she said. 'It is not a long one. But it is as drowsy as a cat on a cushion, and all it wants is for you to listen.'

'Once upon a time,' Shahrazad began, 'there was a small courtyard inside a city very much like ours. In the middle of the courtyard stood a fountain of blue and white tiles, and the water in the fountain splashed so quietly it almost sounded like whispering. Beside the fountain, on a cushion of velvet, lay a kitten. Her name was Mishmish, and she was the sleepiest kitten in all the world.'

Mishmish loved three things: the water of the fountain, the smell of jasmine, and the small star that every evening appeared first of all, right above the courtyard. The star had a name too, Shahrazad said. She was called Nour, which means light. And every evening, when Mishmish yawned and looked up, Nour waved to her with one tiny twinkle.