"Craig Shaw Gardner - Arabian 1 - The Other Sindbad" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner Craig Shaw)

upon my head as I turned this particular corner, and discovered myself
in an area of shade in front of a great gateway.

Truly, I thought, this must be the home of some wealthy and fortunate
merchant, for the ground before me was swept and sprinkled with rose
water, and there was a small but well-built bench set a bit to one side
of the doorway, placed there, no doubt, for the benefit of weary
wayfarers. Since, at that very moment, I could think of no man more
weary than myself, I availed myself of the merchant's kindness, and sat
down as I placed my heavy burden on the bench beside me. And, as I
sat there, appreciating the benefits of the cool breezes and the scented
air, I heard equally sweet music drifting from the gates, mixed with the
fine cries of many exotic birds.

At this time, I must admit, I became curious as to the exact nature of
my benefactor's estate, and so rose and pushed my head through a
particularly large opening in the wrought-iron gate.

What I saw upon the other side caused my breath to leave me and my
spirit to soar. Beyond the gate was a great garden, filled with flowers
and plants and fruit-bearing trees, a few familiar to me, but many more
that I had truly never seen before, so that I imagined they had been
brought here from every region of the earth. And standing amidst the
flowers and shrubs was a vast throng of guests, their every need being
attended to by servants and slaves, even the lowest of whom was
dressed in garments of fine silk. Upon the walls were ornate tapestries,
while scattered about the grounds were tables and chairs that shone as
if they were made from solid gold, such as I imagined might grace the
apartments of only the greatest of sultans.
Of course, I have not yet mentioned the wondrous odors of cooked
meats and fine wines. In all, it was quite overwhelming, and set me to
thinking upon the differences in station that men see in their lives, and
how, in Allah's wisdom, a garden of great delight might be viewed by
one such as myself, so hot, so tired, so covered by the grime of the city
streets, the lowest of the low.

Thus, in such a reflective mood, I decided to sing myself a song to
speed me on my way. So did I begin to sing in my best falsetto:

"I swelter through the heat of day.
For hardly any gain;
A porter's life is full of strife,
But I do not complain!"

Then, as my father taught me, after a brief chorus of "oody-oody,
shebang shebang," I launched into the second verse:

"A package sits upon my head.
My back is bent with pain,
My corns are acting up as well,