Nothing of that sort. Now the djinni followed him persistently, incessantly reminding of his presence. In the shop. At the market. In the street. Abd-al-Rashid even started demanding from Jammal to give charity to every beggar he met. He might have gotten absolutely crazy: it was pure squandering! Only once he remained silent – when the merchant, driven to despair by the reproaches of the self-proclaimed Conscience, decided at last to throw a coin to a one-legged beggar sitting at the market gates. Jammal, who had gotten used to reproaches, stopped, glanced with a secret hope over his left shoulder where would usually loom Abd-al-Rashid. Maybe the damned djinni had finally left him in peace?

Yet his Conscience was found in the usual place.

“This one you may not give charity,” informed the djinni impassively, answering the mute question. “He is a fraud and a trickster. Both his legs are whole. Alas, he lacks conscience...”

“So you may go to him!” the merchant was enraged. “Or to a city qadi [6] ! Do you know what bribes he takes?! Why have you stuck to poor me?!”

The beggar pricked up his ears, and Jammal hurried to go away, just in case. Meanwhile the djinni was pontificating: “You must finally understand: I am your Conscience, not of your qadi or of this cheat! I have vowed to repay you, and I’ll fulfil my oath by any means.”

A groan of despair broke from Jammal’s throat: “O Allah, why?! For what sins?!”

For four days the merchant restrained himself. Tried not to answer the djinni in front of people, lest he would become reputed as a madman. Clenching his teeth, he tolerated all the reproofs. It appeared that he, a poor merchant, would perform improper deeds a hundred times a day, if not all the time. At least, thus considered Stagnash Abd-al-Rashid. Yet while on account of rejecting to give charity the djinni only grumbled squeamishly at his ear, when the merchant came to the city qadi in order to give him the habitual bribe for the current month (all the same it was cheaper than paying the taxes in their full), the djinni literally boiled up. “How can you indulge this thief and embezzler?! Spit in his eyes! Don’t give him money! Inform the mayor immediately! Let him put the qadi in prison! Let him cut off his ungodly right hand! Don’t you dare defile your honest name with a foul bribe! Pay your taxes and sleep well! And you should unmask the villain who has the insolence to take the post of qadi. The entire city will thank you!”

It was very hard to refrain and not answer the foolish djinni. However, Jammal perfectly understood what would happen if he’d argued with an empty space in front of the qadi’s eyes. For the vile Conscience remained invisible for other people. Nevertheless, while receiving the money the qadi was looking at the merchant suspiciously. Either Jammal couldn’t control his expression completely, or evil tongues had time to inform the qadi about the strange behaviour of the merchant, Allah save his mind...

That was just what he needed!

Until the end of the week the merchant restrained his anger and behaved as before, ignoring the reproaches of Conscience. However, except for the djinni Jammal had as much as three wives, and none of them was noted to have a compliant character. And if the whole three of them, uniting temporarily, badgered their husband together – it was even harder to oppose them than the tedious Abd-al-Rashid! The old slave woman Zukhrah, who had served even the deceased father of Jammal, didn’t satisfy the women as a servant anymore. She became decrepit, weak-sighted. You would call for her and get no answer. In short, they needed a new slave woman in the house.

For this the wives badgered their beloved husband.

The merchant understood himself the wives were right, yet he delayed the purchase as much as possible. He didn’t want to spend the money. Besides, were he to buy a young and pretty one – there would be no end for jealousy. Were he to buy an old and pockmarked one – a scandal again: skinflint, niggard! Yet he had nothing to do about it; so early in the morning Jammal went to his acquaintance Tyafanak, a slave-trader.

The djinni, naturally, followed.

Even along the way he started nagging: you’ll buy a new slave woman, he was saying, and what about the old one? You’ll throw her out, it’s written all over you! She had served your father and mother, wiped your snot, dressed and combed your wives, swaddled your children – and you, as repayment... Jammal went on his way, clenching his teeth, yet the Conscience’s reproaches did their dirty deed gradually: to the slave-trader’s house the merchant came quite irritated.

Tyafanak came out to meet him in person, invited him to drink coffee with sweets. While the host and the guest, reclining on soft pillows, were drinking coffee and talking, the servants set out in the yard the slave women meant for sale. The merchant was observing the women captiously. This one is a bit too old; that one is squinting – must be obstinate; this one seems to be good, even winked me stealthily. Maybe she thinks I’ll buy her for love amusements. You may dream of it: the wives will drive the both of us into the grave... While that one, with a child in her arms, will probably do. She’s looking at the ground, eyes lowered; middle-aged, unsightly but not ugly...