When Love Wears the Skin of a Demon There are secrets that smell of rose water and saffron. Others stink of turned earth, of congealed blood, of flesh left too long in the sun. In the glorious Baghdad of Caliph Harun al-Rashid, where the markets exploded with color and the mosques rose like marble fingers toward the sky, there lived a young man named Sidi-Nouman. He was neither a prince nor a warrior covered in scars. His ancestors, prudent and wise men, had left him a modest but solid fortune. Sidi-Nouman lived in a house with shaded courtyards, without ostentation, but sheltered from the storms of poverty. And yet, in its silent corridors, an echo was missing. A companion was missing. When, according to the inexorable customs of the time, a young woman named Amina was promised to him as a bride, Sidi-Nouman believed he had touched paradise. On the wedding day, when his trembling fingers lifted the embroidered silk veil, his breath broke in his throat. Amina possessed a be...
When Love Wears the Skin of a Demon
There are secrets that smell of rose water and saffron. Others stink of turned earth, of congealed blood, of flesh left too long in the sun.
In the glorious Baghdad of Caliph Harun al-Rashid, where the markets exploded with color and the mosques rose like marble fingers toward the sky, there lived a young man named Sidi-Nouman. He was neither a prince nor a warrior covered in scars. His ancestors, prudent and wise men, had left him a modest but solid fortune.
Sidi-Nouman lived in a house with shaded courtyards, without ostentation, but sheltered from the storms of poverty.
And yet, in its silent corridors, an echo was missing. A companion was missing.
When, according to the inexorable customs of the time, a young woman named Amina was promised to him as a bride, Sidi-Nouman believed he had touched paradise. On the wedding day, when his trembling fingers lifted the embroidered silk veil, his breath broke in his throat.
Amina possessed a beauty that hurt the eyes. Her skin had the color of the new moon, her hair a cascade of starless night. He began his married life with a joy so great it almost frightened him, convinced that destiny had woven for him a tapestry of silk and honey.
He did not know that silk, sometimes, serves only to cover rot.
The Pin in the Rice
The day after the wedding, the house filled with the aromas of a sumptuous banquet. Lamb braised with plums, rice scented with cardamom, sweets dripping syrup. Sidi-Nouman waited for his bride, a smile ready on his lips.
When Amina entered and sat at the table, he prepared to share that first meal as husband and wife. But something was wrong.
As Sidi-Nouman dipped his spoon into the soft rice, Amina drew from the folds of her robe a small case. From it she slid out a long pin, thin and sharp. With an unnatural slowness, almost hypnotic, she speared a single grain of rice. She carried it to her lips. Then another. And another again.
Sidi-Nouman stopped, his spoon in midair. “Amina,” he murmured, trying to keep a light tone, “is that how you eat rice in your house? Do you do it for economy? Do not fear, my love. Our fortune is large enough for all our needs. Eat as much as you like, my dear!”
Amina did not answer. She did not raise her eyes. She went on gathering her rice with the pin, at ever longer intervals, as if each grain cost her an immense effort. She ignored the spiced meats. She ignored the sweets. From time to time she carried to her lips a crumb of bread, a fragment so tiny it would not have satisfied even a sparrow.
That night, Sidi-Nouman watched her sleep. Her chest rose and fell in a placid rhythm. How can a body so perfect sustain itself on air and crumbs? he wondered, while a first, cold seed of doubt took root in his stomach.
The same scene repeated at dinner. And the day after. And the day after that.
No human being can live on two or three crumbs of bread and a few grains of rice: biology admits no exceptions. Sidi-Nouman, irritated but also deeply worried, decided to discover how and when his wife obtained her real food. He pretended not to pay attention, hoping that in time she would grow used to him. But his expectations were in vain.
And so, night after night, Sidi-Nouman stopped sleeping.
The Moon over the Cemetery
Where Whispers Have No Voice
It took a full-moon night, one of those in which the silver light cuts the shadows like razor blades, for Sidi-Nouman to decide to break the unspoken pact of trust.
He lay at her side, his breathing heavy and regular, feigning the deep sleep of the just. He heard the almost imperceptible rustle of silk. Amina rose. She dressed in the dark, with fluid movements, without hesitation, like one born to those shadows. She left the room, leaving the door carefully open.
Sidi-Nouman threw a garment over his shoulders, slipped into his slippers, and followed her.
The streets of Baghdad were deserted, a labyrinth of clay walls and palms swaying in the night wind. The moonlight allowed him to keep his distance. Amina did not walk like a woman going to a secret appointment. She walked like a predator returning to its lair.
His heart missed a beat when he saw her cross the stone arch of a cemetery, not far from the city walls. A place of twisted cypresses, of headstones tilted by time, and of silences that weighed on the chest.
Sidi-Nouman hid in the shadow of the boundary wall. He crouched cautiously among the weeds, holding his breath until he tasted iron in his mouth, and then he saw her.
Amina was not alone.
The Taste of the Turned Earth
From the darkness a figure emerged. It was tall, bent, wrapped in rags that stank of mold and of ancient sins: a ghoul, one of those demons that wander the region, making their dens in abandoned buildings and falling upon unwary travelers, whose flesh they devour. If no living creature comes to them, they take refuge in the cemeteries and feed on the corpses.
Sidi-Nouman was left almost speechless with horror. His wife, the beautiful Amina, approached the demon not with terror but with the familiarity of one who finds an old companion again.
The two passed beside him without noticing. They headed toward a freshly dug grave. The earth was still turned, damp. They began to unearth a corpse that had been buried that very day.
They sat on the edge of the pit to enjoy their frightful meal. They chatted in low voices, merrily, like two guests at a banquet. The wet sound of flesh being torn mingled with their subdued laughter.
When they had finished, they threw the body back into the pit and covered it with earth. They erased the traces of their sin. Then they parted.
Sidi-Nouman made no effort to disturb them. He returned quickly home, taking care to leave the door open as he had found it. He slipped into bed and feigned deep sleep.
Shortly after, Amina entered as silently as she had left. She undressed and slipped furtively into bed, pleased with herself for how she had conducted her expedition.
Sidi-Nouman, with his eyes closed and his heart in turmoil, heard her breathing grow regular. And he could not close an eye until dawn.
The Water of the Curse
And the Collapse of the World
At the first sound that called the faithful to prayer, he dressed and went to the mosque. But not even prayer managed to give peace back to his troubled spirit. He spent the morning wandering from one garden to another, devising plans. He thought of using violence, but he was reluctant to be rude. He felt that with gentleness he would obtain more than with force.
When the lunch hour arrived, they sat together again. As usual, Amina insisted on gathering only a few grains of rice with the pin. And then Sidi-Nouman decided to speak.
“Amina,” he said as softly as he could, “you must have sensed my surprise when, the day after our wedding, you refused to eat anything but a few mouthfuls of rice. And yet I have been patient with you. And yet, Amina, now I know: for you there is no sweet worth the flesh of a corpse.”
He had not yet finished saying those words.
Amina understood at once that he had followed her to the cemetery. A nameless fury seized her. Her face turned purple, her eyes seemed about to burst from their sockets, and she foamed with rage. The beautiful Amina, the bride with the starlike smile, was gone. In her place there was something ancient and ferocious.
She grabbed a water vessel she had within reach. She dipped her hand into it. She murmured some incomprehensible words. Then she sprinkled the water on his face and screamed madly:
“Wretch, receive the reward of your curiosity and become a dog!”
Without sensing any change within himself, Sidi-Nouman suddenly understood that he had ceased to be a man. In the immensity of the shock and the surprise, since he had no idea that Amina was a sorceress, he did not even dream of fleeing. He remained nailed to the ground, trapped in a body that no longer belonged to him.
Amina grabbed a stick and began to beat him. Her blows were so strong that he marveled they had not killed him at once. Yet they managed to wake him from his torpor, and he rushed into the courtyard, closely followed by Amina, who lunged frantically at him.
In the end she grew tired of chasing him, or a new trick came to her mind: she opened the gate that led onto the street, intending to crush him as he passed. Although he was a dog, Sidi-Nouman understood her plan. Driven by the sheer scale of the danger, he calculated his movements so well that he managed to run through.
Only the tip of his tail was crushed when she slammed the gate.
And then he ran. He ran through the streets of Baghdad, yelping and howling so loudly in pain that the other dogs came to attack him.
The World Seen from Below
Rufus, the Baker, and the Coins
To escape them, he took refuge in a cook-shop that sold sheep's tongues and heads. At first the cook showed him great kindness and drove away the other dogs that were still at his heels. But although he was safe for the moment, he was not to remain long under his protection, because the man was one of those who consider all dogs impure.
After his enemies had gone off in search of other prey, the cook tried to lure him out of his corner to force him down into the street. But Sidi-Nouman refused to leave his den and spent the night sleeping, which he desperately needed.
The next morning, his host went out early to do his shopping and returned loaded with sheep's heads, tongues, and trotters. The smell of meat drew several hungry dogs to the surroundings. Sidi-Nouman slipped furtively out of his corner and placed himself among them. Despite his aversion to dogs, the cook was a good-hearted man and, knowing that he had eaten nothing since the day before, threw him morsels bigger and better than those given to the others.
A few steps further on there was a baker's shop, whose master was a jovial man, merry of face and quick of hand. At that moment he was having breakfast and, although Sidi-Nouman showed no sign of hunger, he at once threw the dog a piece of bread: “There's breakfast for you too, you well-mannered dog.” Before devouring it, Sidi-Nouman bowed his head and wagged his tail in thanks. The baker understood, and smiled.
That excellent man was kinder than Sidi-Nouman could ever have expected. The baker always treated him with affection and shared with him breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sidi-Nouman sat with his eyes fixed on him, and the baker never left the house without him at his heels. If it happened that, getting ready to go out, he found Sidi-Nouman asleep, he would call: “Rufus, Rufus!” Because that was the name he had given him.
One day a woman came in to buy bread. In paying, she left several coins, one of which was bad. The baker noticed it and refused to take it. The woman, for her part, refused to take it back, claiming it was perfectly good.
“It is truly such a poor imitation,” the baker at last exclaimed, “that not even my dog falls for it. Here, Rufus! Rufus!”
Hearing his voice, Sidi-Nouman jumped onto the counter. The baker threw the money in front of him and said: “Find out whether there is a false coin.” He looked at them one by one, then set his paw on the false one, glancing at his master to point it out.
The baker was extremely surprised by his cunning. The woman, finally convinced, drew out another coin in its place. When she had gone, the baker was so pleased that he told all the neighbors what had happened.
Soon the shop was full from morning to evening with people who pretended to buy bread and came to see whether the dog was really as clever as was said. The baker had a flourishing business and admitted that for him Rufus was worth his weight in gold.
The Sorceress's Gaze
And the Glass Bottle
One day a woman who had never been in the shop before came to ask for bread. As usual, Sidi-Nouman was lying on the counter. She threw six coins in front of him, one of which was false. He spotted it at once and put his paw on it, looking at the woman.
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “You are perfectly right, it is that one.”
She remained staring at him attentively for a while. Then she paid for the bread and left the shop, motioning to him to follow her secretly.
Sidi-Nouman's thoughts ran always in search of a way to free himself from the spell. Noting the way this woman had looked at him, it came to his mind that perhaps she could guess what had happened to him. However, he let her go a little way and limited himself to watching her from the doorway. She turned and, seeing him completely motionless, motioned to him again to come closer.
Meanwhile the baker was busy with the oven and had completely forgotten him. So Sidi-Nouman slipped out and ran after the woman.
When they arrived at her house, which was rather far, she opened the door and said to him: “Come in, come in; you will never regret having followed me.” Once he was inside, she locked the door and led him into a large room where a beautiful girl was at work on a piece of embroidery.
“My daughter,” the woman exclaimed, “I have brought you the baker's famous dog, who knows how to tell good money from bad. You know that when I first heard of it, I told you I was sure he must truly be a man, transformed into a dog by magic. Today I went to the baker's to test the truth of the story myself and I persuaded the dog to follow me here. Now what do you say?”
“You are right, mother,” the girl answered. And rising, she dipped her hand into a vessel full of water. Then, sprinkling it over him, she said:
“If you were born a dog, remain a dog; but if you were born a man, by virtue of this water take back your true form.”
In an instant the spell broke. The dog's form vanished as if it had never existed, and before her stood a man.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Sidi-Nouman threw himself at the young sorceress's feet and told her his whole story.
“Sidi-Nouman,” she replied, “speak no more of the obligation you have toward us. Knowing that I have been of use to you is more than sufficient reward. Let us speak of Amina, your wife, whom I knew before her marriage. I knew she was a sorceress, and she too knew that I had studied the same art, under the same mistress. We often met going to the same baths, but we did not like each other and never tried to become friends. As for you, it is not enough to have broken your enchantment: she must be punished for her wickedness.”
The young sorceress consulted her books and discovered that Amina was not at home at that moment, but would return at any time. She gave him a small bottle and said:
“Return home without delay and await Amina's return in your room. When she enters, go down to meet her and, taken by surprise, she will try to flee. Then keep this bottle ready and pour over her the water it contains, saying courageously: ‘Receive the reward for your crimes.’ That is all I have to tell you.”
Everything happened exactly as the young sorceress had foretold. He had not been in the house many minutes when Amina returned. As she approached, Sidi-Nouman placed himself before her, the water in his hand. She gave a loud cry and turned toward the door, but it was too late. He had already thrown the water in her face and spoken the magic words.
Amina disappeared, and in her place there was a horse.
In the days that followed, Sidi-Nouman led the horse through the streets and beat her, as one tames what one cannot forgive: and so it was that the Caliph had seen him, the day before, beating that horse, and had summoned him to court to explain that conduct.
The Caliph's Judgment
“This, Commander of the Faithful, is my story,” said Sidi-Nouman, prostrating himself on the carpet of the throne room. “And may I dare to hope that, now that you have heard the motive of my conduct, Your Highness will not consider that this wicked woman has been treated too harshly?”
Caliph Harun al-Rashid listened attentively. Then he answered:
“Sidi-Nouman, your story is truly strange, and there is no excuse to offer for your wife. But, without condemning the treatment you have reserved for her, I would have you reflect on how much she must suffer to have been transformed into an animal, and I hope you will let this punishment be sufficient.
“I do not order you to insist that the young sorceress find the way to restore your wife to her human form, because I know that when women like her begin to do evil they never stop, and I would do nothing but draw upon your head a vengeance far worse than the one you have already suffered.”
And so Sidi-Nouman, thanks to his patience, the kindness of the baker, and the wisdom of the young sorceress, found his humanity again and freed himself forever from the perfidious Amina. And the Caliph, satisfied with the explanation, dismissed him with benevolence.
But a part of him, the part that had learned to smell lies in the air and had known the world from below, on four legs — that part would never truly become human again.
If you could discover a dark secret about the person you love, and it were to cost you your soul, would you follow her into the dark? Or would you rather never know, and eat your rice grain after grain?
Tell me in the comments, if you like: the shadows of Baghdad are always listening.
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