“A thousand thanks, Rasoul.” Akram gave Aladdin’s mother a bow. “Peace be upon you.”
“And to you,” she said, nodding her head. “And…thank you.”
When the merchant and the guard left, she closed the door wearily and ran a hand through her son’s hair.
“Aladdin, what are we to do with you?”
“What?” he demanded, no longer slumped but grinning like a thief and jumping up and down with excitement. “Everything worked out! And look! We have a feast tonight!”
He excitedly pulled more figs and dates out of his pockets and put them in a chipped bowl. And then, from the sash that held up his pants, he pulled fresh almonds and smoked pistachios…and from somewhere under his scrap of a shirt, cashews.
“Aladdin!” His mother admonished him, but she was trying not to chuckle.
“I did it for you, Mom. You deserve a treat. You never get anything for yourself.”
“Oh, Aladdin, I don’t need anything. Except you,” she said, taking him in her arms and holding him tightly against her.
“Mom,” Aladdin whispered into her robes. “I’ve seen you give me the biggest part of whatever we have to eat. It’s not fair. I just want to take care of you.”
“There are a lot of things that aren’t fair, Aladdin.”
She drew back from him, still holding his hands, and looked into his eyes.
“That’s just the way life is—which is why it’s so important for Street Rats to take care of each other. That’s a good instinct you have. You should always look out for your friends and your family. Because no one is looking out for us.
“But that doesn’t mean you should become a thief.”
Aladdin looked at the ground, chagrined.
She put her hand under his chin to make him look up at her.
“Don’t let life’s unfairness, don’t let how poor you are decide who you are. You choose who you will be, Aladdin. Will you be a hero who looks after the weak and powerless? Will you be a thief? Will you be a beggar—or worse? It’s up to you, not the things—or people—around you. You can choose to be something more.”
He nodded, lip trembling. He was too old to cry. He was.
His mother kissed him again and sighed, then moved past him to examine the fruit.
“Maybe it’s because you’re just alone here with your mother all the time,” she said, partly to herself. “You don’t have any playmates except for those good-for-nothings Duban and Morgiana. You need a real friend, or maybe a pet, or something. Yes, a pet…”
But Aladdin wasn’t listening.
He moved to the window and pushed aside the screen. This was the best, the only good thing about their house: due to a trick in the zigzag streets, a hole in the mind of an architect, they had a perfect view of the castle.
He looked at the white towers, even whiter under the moonlight, the glittering onion domes, the colorful flags flying from spires so pointy and perfect they looked like they could pierce the sky itself.
You can choose to be something more.…
PERHAPS THERE WAS a moon in the sky somewhere, but her brother the sun ruled now, and everything faded into the whiteness of the hot day—which was even hotter on a glaringly bright sun-bleached roof.
“Safe!” Aladdin said with a grin, clutching his dearly gotten treasure. He took a quick look over the edge of the building to make sure no one saw him up there, his dark arms flexing with easy strength as he held his chest off the rough bricks. Then he sat down, relaxed, getting ready to break his precious prize in half. His large, clear brown eyes twinkled in happy expectation. “One loaf of bread. More valuable than all the cold, glittering gems at the bazaar.”
The little monkey next to him chattered in anticipation.
Abu had been a last gift from his mother. Aladdin’s father, of course, had never come back from “seeking his fortune abroad.” Aladdin had never believed in that fairy tale anyway, so it was no great loss. But his mother had been afraid of his becoming too wild, too much of a loner without a real family. She’d thought a pet would tame him.
And perhaps it had…
…except that he stole for both of them now.
“And lunch is finally served,” Aladdin said, gesturing at his friend with the bread.
“Stop, thief!”
Abu fled. Aladdin leapt up.
Somehow the market guards had actually managed to clamber up the ladder onto the roof behind him. Two had made it up, anyway, with an enraged Rasoul following close behind. These days he wore the striped turban crowned with a black onyx that marked him as a captain of the guard. Despite their run-ins, even Aladdin had to admit that the man had risen honestly through the ranks.
But that didn’t mean Aladdin liked him.
“I’ll have your hands for a trophy, Street Rat!” Rasoul bellowed. He puffed as he dragged his body up the ladder.
He must have been doubly annoyed by the effort he had to expend to get up there.
“All this for a loaf of bread?” Aladdin asked, exasperated. He had specifically chosen to lift it from one of the carts loaded up for a royal outing—a picnic for the sultan, for one of his desert kite-flying romps or something equally ridiculous. As fat as he was, one tiny sultan couldn’t possibly have missed one little loaf of bread.
But apparently the guards could. And under the law, if an accuser chose to, he could have a thief’s hand chopped off in punishment.
And Rasoul’s scimitar was looking particularly shiny and pointy in the sunlight at the moment.
So Aladdin leapt off the side of the building.
Aladdin was many things: quick, strong, clever, agile, fast-thinking, nimble.
He was not rash.
So while the guards stopped short, shocked at what seemed like a deadly, incredibly insane act, an only mildly nervous Aladdin plummeted down toward the street, grabbing at the clotheslines he knew would be there.
There was, of course, always the chance that the ropes wouldn’t hold.
But Aladdin had luck on his side; throwing his hands out only resulted in being hit in the head by clean laundry and getting rope burns as he slowed his descent. When it grew too painful to bear, he let go and landed with a bruising, bony crash on the dusty street.
There was no time to reflect on his safety, his luck, or any injuries that would have to be looked at later. He had to plan his next move immediately, to stay one step ahead of the guards who would be hurrying back down to see what had happened to him.
The Widow Gulbahar’s robes were tangled around him. It occurred to Aladdin that if no one saw, he could easily wrap himself up in them and disguise himself as a pious—albeit ugly—girl and sneak out through one of the harems.
He paused as loud feminine laughter erupted above him.
He looked up to see the widow herself leaning out a window and smiling not unkindly at him. Two other women stood nearby, where they’d been enjoying a good gossip before his exciting arrival. That would be their only pleasure today before the task of finding food, and work, began.
“Isn’t it a little early for you to be in trouble already, Aladdin?” Gulbahar teased.
“You’re…ouch…only in trouble…ouch…if you get caught,” Aladdin protested, trying not to show pain as he rose and joined them. He hoped they’d gotten the hint as he swirled a cloth around his head and neck. He leaned on the wall in what he hoped was a feminine way, throwing his hips out and keeping his back to the end of the alley where the guards would enter.