It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that there was a child beggar named Azzam who did toil that his family should eat, and so in this way his life was without pleasure. His father had become overfond of wine and so did spend much of the day sporting with himself in a manner which would have greatly displeased Allah had he known, peace be upon him. Azzam's mother was no better, for rather than buying meat and fruit at the market, which in any case she could not have done for all their dinars went towards the purchase of her husband's wine, she idled away the day with entertainments of a low sort whilst puffing away on her pipe with such devotion that their home was referred to as the Alsafhat Alrayiysiat hayth Tusbih yd Wahidat ghyr Maryiya which means the home where a man cannot see his own hand in front of his face.
One day Azzam was fishing from the bank of the great Khabur river, hopeful of catching something that his family should not go hungry that evening. As he sat he saw a procession of camels on the bank opposite, decorated in fine materials of blue and gold, and each one carrying a minstrel or a singer or an acrobat or some other entertainer. These personages were a troupe who were on their way to provide delight for the Caliph, and Azzam knew this for it had been the talk of all his friends. The troupe did sport gaily as they passed, one plucking upon an oud as his fellow gave voice to song, and it seemed as though they did not have a care in the world.
'It is all right for some,' said Azzam as he frowned and considered his lot in life. 'O that I might sport gaily on top of a camel such as those I see before me.'
His wrath caused his mouth to become dry and so did he pull the stopper from his pitcher of water, but before he could drink, a great smoke seemed to fill the air, and at first he looked around as though expecting to see his mother come to visit him and puffing away as was her habit. He then looked at his pitcher and saw that it lay on the ground at a little distance, and that which he had unstopped was an unfamiliar vessel, one from which a great creature had sprung to fill the sky, a terrible Afrit with hair uncovered and worn at length like that of a temple girl, but the colour of the sun. The Afrit's garment shone like polished copper but in blues and golds and made a crinkling sound as the Afrit moved. Around his neck and arms he was decorated with ropes and chains of gold, and jewellery studded the fingers of his great hands. Held before his eyes were circular windows the colour of dawn, and he inhaled upon a great medwakh packed tightly with aromatic dokha as he beheld the young man which had brought about his summoning.
'Now then,' the Afrit said, and he did say it thrice before speaking further, but with a curiously stilted delivery arranging his words into groups of three or four. 'I do believe what we have here is a young man who would very much like to ride upon one of those camels. Is that correct?' The Afrit then made a noise, a pitch which ululated like the call of a certain type of bird, which he followed with a question, enquiring, 'how is it which is about that then?'
'I do not understand your second question, sir,' Azzam replied, 'but it is true that I am envious of those fine men on their camels.'
As he spoke, he found himself miraculously seated on top of the largest camel, and he could feel it roll beneath him as it walked forward across the sand, moving like a great ship on the ocean. It seemed to him that the hours of the day were disjointed, and he experienced himself, once again back on the ground taking instruction from one of the herdsmen who instructed him with all of the regulations of camel health and safety; and then again he was riding, and experiencing great happiness.
At length he found himself back at the river bank. The procession of camels was no longer to be seen, yet the Djinn remained.
'Now then, young Azzam,' the Afrit began. 'Goodness gracious me - was that really you up there on that camel?'
Azzam found the question strange, for his camel ride had not seemed to him very much like a dream, and yet there was the possibility that it could be so. As he puzzled over this conundrum, he realised too late that the Afrit was now before him, holding a great medallion of gold with a ribbon of finely woven silk. The Djinn held the cord, clearly meaning to bestow it upon Azzam as though it were an award, and although made of but spirit and smoke, the Afrit did smell of men's bathing rooms and other unsavoury places. Azzam knew this only because the terrible creature had come so close.
Upon the medallion was carved the inscription:
العفريت الثابتة لك
It was then that Azzam noticed how the Afrit's eyes had grown wider behind the rose lenses, and that his breathing had become uneven.
'Oh my goodness gracious me,' exclaimed the Afrit excitedly.
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