The Vine Page 4

  Prince Zayn thought for a moment.

  “Shadows and I spend the day together,” Afif added. “We usually ride through the marketplace and around the city, to see the sights.”

  “Who gives you gifts?” the prince asked.

  Afif looked at him in puzzlement. “We are not princes, Zayn! Stable-boys only get gifts from their family, and I have no family. But I always buy some apples for Shadows.”

  On the night of Prince Zayn’s birthday, Afif found himself glancing longingly toward the palace several times during the course of the evening. The stable-boys could distantly hear the sounds of music, carrying in the evening air, and the lights of the palace blazed; as happened many times a year, for the birthdays of all members of the royal family as well as for other celebrations. As always, the stable-boys were ordered by the chief groom to stay out of the way.

  Afif had always wanted to see what a royal celebration was like – who among the stable servants did not? – but this time his idle wish was transforming into curiosity and desire. Prince Zayn would be there, in his palace, enjoying the music and the banquet and the entertainments that he had described to Afif, surrounded by guests in their finery, no doubt receiving wondrous gifts …

  Zayn would tell him all about it tomorrow, Afif assured himself. And of all the stable-boys, Afif would be closest to knowing what a prince’s birthday celebration was like.

  Sure enough, on the following evening the brightly coloured lantern burned in the prince’s window. Eagerly Afif climbed the vine that night, wondering if Zayn might show him some of the gifts he had received.

  As always, Zayn greeted him; then he ushered the stable-boy toward a low table near the silken couch. Upon the table, which was clothed by an elaborately embroidered cloth, rested dishes of delicacies and ewers of drink, surrounding the prince’s multicoloured lantern. To the right, a pile of items that Afif had never before seen in the prince’s chamber winked and gleamed in the lamplight.

  “What …” Afif began.

  Prince Zayn smiled. “My friend, would you allow me to share some of my birthday with you?”

  ~*~*~*~

  On another night, as Zayn and Afif sat in the prince’s window, regarding the stars and the silver crescent of the moon, a nightingale began to sing, clear and loud in the prince’s garden.

  The bird’s song was hypnotic and beautiful. Prince and stable-boy alike sat in silence, engrossed by such mastery. Afif had heard the nightingale’s song many times, as he lay in the loft above the stables, surrounded by sleeping stable-boys; but this time the song floated ethereally over the prince’s scented garden, and it was uninterrupted by prosaic noises such as the snort or stamp of a horse or the snore or sigh of a stable-boy.

  As the night-singer’s music continued, Afif realised that he was weeping. After a while he looked sidelong at the prince, and saw that he too had tears gleaming in his eyes.

  Feeling his gaze, the Prince Zayn likewise glanced at him, but neither spoke.

  ~*~*~*~

  The prince Zayn was quite handsome, Afif thought, with his large, very dark eyes, strong straight nose and white teeth. He was slightly taller than Afif, with a clear forehead, sculpted features, and black, wavy hair. Though he was not yet eighteen, he moved with confidence and grace, as one who does not have to hurry nor justify his existence; but he was without presumption, self-importance, arrogance or conceit. He spoke with Afif as with an equal, and his influence and friendship gave Afif greater confidence in himself.

  Although their friendship was secret, and must presumably remain so forever, Afif was no longer just a stable-boy: he was a friend of a member of the royal family; a friend of a gracious, cultivated prince. Although he must never let it show – and some days he had to remind himself repeatedly of that fact – it was difficult not to feel proud that of all the stable-boys the prince could have befriended, it was Afif whom he had chosen.

  Even if the prince would have invited any stable-boy to accompany him on that ride in the starlight, the prince’s decision to follow that with an invitation to his chamber was pure compliment.

  One night, after Afif had finished pointing out to the prince as many of the stars and constellations as he could identify, the prince smiled. “Good. You now know all the ones that I know.”

  The prince and the stable-boy sat in silence for a while; and Afif dared to ask a question that had been sitting in the back of his mind ever since that starlit night in the desert.

  “Zayn … why did you tell me to ride with you in the starlight on that night in the desert?”

  The prince gave a small shrug. “I am not sure. Perhaps I felt that if bandits came upon us, I would need another rider to go for help. Perhaps I wanted to make sure that you did not cause trouble by telling someone in the camp that I had run away, or that I was taking rides alone at night and therefore might be a spy. Perhaps I wanted to ensure that you yourself were not up to mischief or wickedness, alone in the night.

  “Or perhaps part of me knew that you, like me, could not sleep. That the stars were burning in your blood and singing in your ears as they were burning and singing in mine.

  “Perhaps Almighty God told the stars to tell me that I should take you with me, because you and I would become friends.”

  The prince smiled at Afif. The stable-boy smiled back. It was a wonderful thought, that their friendship might have been destined.

  There was silence for a while.

  Then Afif asked,

  “Zayn, why did you come to me in the stables and invite me to visit you here in your bedchamber?”

  “On that night,” the prince said slowly, “when we were riding on the dunes, I looked at your face, and I believed that you were feeling exactly what I was feeling.” He paused.

  “It may have seemed that we did not speak much, but I felt that we had both said more than that which our words conveyed.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Years passed, and still Afif and the prince Zayn managed to keep their meetings secret. They learned more and more from each other, and each began to view the other as a treasured companion.

  Afif began to find the conversation of the other stable-boys rather tedious and uninteresting. He had always suspected that he might be more intelligent and more thoughtful than most of them, which was one of the reasons why he had always preferred the company of horses, but now more so than ever. He could never speak of anything the prince had shown him, and he had to keep secret his ability to read.

  Afif tried to be patient. This was the price of being a stable-boy who was friends with a prince. The price of learning the things that he had learned was keeping them secret.

  Nevertheless, it was frustrating. For the first time, he began to feel that his full potential, his whole self, was not being used in the job of a stable-boy.

  ~*~*~*~

  Zayn and Afif often found it most comfortable to read a book together when lying down side by side. The desk in Prince Zayn’s chamber was designed for only one person to be seated at it, and holding one of the prince’s large, heavy books between two people whilst they were seated on the couch was awkward and uncomfortable. So the prince would toss some of his many, colourfully embroidered and patterned cushions onto the floor, and he and the stable-boy would lounge in them with the book laid on the rug before them.

  On this night Afif could scarcely keep from yawning as the prince took his turn in reading aloud. The low, warm lamplight, the prince’s quiet, cultured tones, and the fact of being sprawled in many comfortable cushions did not make it easier for him to feel awake.

  “You are tired,” the prince observed. He sighed wistfully. “I wish you could stay and sleep with me.”

  “I very much doubt that your father would think it appropriate, Your Highness,” Afif observed dryly.

  Zayn sighed again, heavily, and hugged a purple velvet cushion. “My whole life is governed by what others think appropriate,” he grumbled resignedly. “Today
my father told me that it was ‘inappropriate’ for a prince to ‘amble’ around the courtyard feeding pigeons ‘like a monk’.” He plumped his chin into the cushion.

  Afif chuckled despite himself. “Perhaps you should have strode masterfully around the courtyard ordering the pigeons to kneel before you as you bestowed upon them your largesse,” he suggested playfully.

  Zayn rolled his eyes. “Yes, my father would have liked that.”

  He rolled onto his back, still hugging the cushion, and regarded the painted ceiling.

  After a moment he said, “I have looked at the monks and beggars in the marketplace, and I have wondered what it must be like to have nothing.

  “And I have read the philosophers who say that to have nothing is to have everything you need; that to have everything is still to have nothing; that we do not even own the breath in our lungs, because someday it too will be taken from us.

  “And I have wondered why, then, I was born with everything. Why do I have everything while others have nothing?”

  He looked at Afif.

  “Because you were born a prince,” Afif replied simply. “I was born a stable-boy, and the beggars were born beggars. The pigeons were born pigeons, and the monks were born monks. We are only what we are.” He shrugged.

  “Then, if we are only what we are born to be, are the philosophers right when they say that to be free is to be happy in one’s chains?” Zayn asked softly, his eyes, dark as ever in the lamplight, staring into Afif’s.

  Afif nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “I think, if the monks can be happy with nothing, and if pigeons can be happy being pigeons and horses can be happy being horses, then happiness and freedom are the same thing. If you can be happy in a cage, then freedom doesn’t matter.”

  Zayn rolled onto his side and leaned on his elbow, facing Afif, resting his cushion on the rug in front of him and his other hand on the top of the cushion. He posited slowly, “Because if freedom does not make you happy, then nothing will. If one could be free – if one could go anywhere and do anything and be anything one wanted to be in the whole wide world – and still not find happiness in anything, then freedom itself is worthless. All of that freedom and power would be worth nothing. Happiness is the heart’s desire, not freedom.”

  Afif nodded.

  “Would you choose life or freedom, then?” Zayn challenged him, after a brief moment of thought. “Which is better: to live in a cage, with everything you could wish to have, or to die free with nothing? If you could choose, which would make you happier?”

  Afif thought for a long moment, gazing unseeing at the pages of the book before him.

  “What does it mean ‘to die free’?” he asked. “What is freedom? Is it what you said before – to go anywhere, do anything, become anything in the whole wide world? Who can expect that kind of freedom? Who has that much power?

  “And what is a cage? Surely any restriction placed upon us is a cage. I am in the cage of being a stable-boy with no parents. You are in a cage that looks like a palace. A pigeon’s cage has feathers and wings. We are all in cages, Zayn.”

  There was a pause.

  “You are excellent with horses, Afif,” the prince began, “but you are wasted cleaning out stalls.”

  Afif smiled humbly.

  “Someday, years from now, when I am an advisor to my brother who will be sultan, I will try to make sure that you become the next chief groom,” Zayn informed him. “That way you will be able to advise the royal family with regard to their horses.”

  Afif blinked. “Will you really?”

  “Of course. You are wise enough and compassionate enough to take care of both horses and people, and you have spent your entire life in stables. You have watched a chief groom for years and are therefore familiar with what is required of him. You are highly qualified for the role. Not every stable-boy might be so capable, but you are.”

  Afif considered this. “And will I be able to see you in that role?”

  “Of course.” Zayn smiled at him.

  Afif smiled back, then got to his feet. “I am honoured, Your Highness.” He began to bow.

  “Stop that,” Prince Zayn commanded immediately, pointing a stern finger at his friend.

  Afif straightened, his eyes twinkling with repressed laughter.

  “You smell of horse,” Zayn insulted him.

  “You smell of perfume,” Afif retorted.

  Zayn laughed, and, sitting up cross-legged, threw the purple velvet cushion at him. Afif laughed too, and flung the cushion back into Zayn’s lap.

  “It is a good smell, though,” Zayn assured him sincerely.

  “So is yours,” Afif admitted.

  He sat down in front of the prince, cross-legged also on the thick rug.

  “So then,” Zayn began slowly, resting his forearms on the cushion in his lap, “if we are all in cages, then the question is whether we choose to be happy within those cages. Will we be happy with what we have? And if we can choose to be happy or not with what we have, then we choose what our own happiness and freedom look like.”

  Afif nodded. “And I think the philosophers would say that the wise man chooses to let his happiness look like what he already has.

  “For no matter how much he wishes it, a beggar will never become a pigeon.”

  Zayn nodded slowly.

  ~*~*~*~

  As always, Afif was happy to see the lantern in the prince’s window at dusk. On this night, however, as soon as he stepped off the windowsill he knew that something was badly wrong.

  The prince had opened the lattice for him as usual, but instead of greeting him, the prince was standing still in the colourful lamplight, and there was something in his face that made Afif’s heart sink.

  “Afif, my father told me today,” the prince began, in broken tones, “that I am betrothed to the princess Amina of Hagara. … We are to be married in the coming Spring.”

  “Oh,” said Afif, not knowing what else to say.

  Zayn buried his face in his hands for a moment. Afif was silent, not understanding.

  “I told my father that I do not feel ready to marry.” The prince took a breath. “He told me that it is time I grow up. That what I want and what I feel ready for have no bearing on this situation; that greater things are at stake.” Zayn was close to tears. “He said that in this situation my feelings are less important than what is best for the sultanate.”

  Zayn gulped. “I have never met her. She might be lovely and good-natured but … I do not want to marry someone whom I do not know.

  “She is ten years older than I am. And … Afif, it is said that she has no love for horses.”

  Afif stared.

  And suddenly he could not bear the thought of his prince being fettered to a woman who shared none of his passions; who held no place in his life or affections.

  Zayn drew another breath, about to speak further. The prince held himself straight, but Afif could see him trembling, and the tears standing in his dark eyes.

  “We will live here, but … Afif, if I am married I may not be able to see you again.”

  Afif stared. “What?”

  “Do you think my wife would permit this? Do you think she would permit me to be friends with a stable-boy? Even if she and I were to sleep in separate rooms, it would become more difficult for thee and me to meet. And if my wife were ever to discover us, if she did not approve she could tell our secret.”

  Zayn stepped forward and gripped Afif’s shoulders hard. “If my father is trying to make me grow up, my duties will only increase. It will become harder and harder for me to see you.”

  Zayn dropped his head forward. “Afif, what am I to do?!”

  Afif stepped forward and embraced his friend, feeling helpless; for what can a stable-boy do to stop a royal betrothal?

  Zayn sobbed, and Afif understood why, for now he could clearly see that his prince was bound in chains just as surely as if the entire white palace
were hung about his neck. And the prince clung to the stable-boy, his one piece of freedom who might soon be taken away from him.

  Afif remained with the prince for a long time, longer than usual, as the moon climbed higher and the night grew older. Zayn and Afif sat in silence on the soft, lavishly patterned rug near the bed, leaning their backs against the side of the bed, gazing out of the window at the night sky, each gripping the other’s hand with fingers interlaced, unwilling to let go ever again. Their bodies became numb and stiff, but still neither moved nor spoke.

  At last the prince leaned his head on the stable-boy’s shoulder, his forehead touching the side of his friend’s neck, and begged, “Give me some hope, my friend. Do not leave me tonight without hope.”

  And the stable-boy did not know what to say.

  But he determined that he would say something; he would not leave his friend without hope.

  So he said, “For as long as you have Aruna, you have a reason to come to the stables. For as long as you have Aruna, you have a reason to see me.

  “A horse is our hope, my friend.”

  The prince sniffled and nodded, his head still on the stable-boy’s shoulder.

  “Our horses enabled us to meet each other properly for the first time,” Afif added. “Maybe, if God wills it, horses will enable us to keep meeting.”

  The prince nodded again, and squeezed Afif’s hand; and Afif could tell that he was grasping this hope because it was hope, not because it promised much.

  That night, after he had finally left the prince in the last few hours before dawn, Afif dreamed restless, unhappy dreams.

  ~*~*~*~

  The following night, the lamp was again in the prince’s window. Usually Zayn would not summon his friend two nights in succession, but Afif understood why Zayn wished for his company again. So, despite his tiredness, he lay awake until the other stable-boys were all asleep, then made his journey swiftly over the roof and the wall, down the chinar tree and through the garden, and climbed the great vine once more.

  This time the prince embraced him without saying a word, and they stood there in silence for a long moment.