On the six hundred and thirty-third night, Scheherazade lifted a little glass cup to the lamplight and said: “Let me tell you, O King, of a dreamer who spent a fortune before he had earned a single coin.”
In a narrow lane of Baghdad lived Alnaschar, the youngest brother of a talkative barber. When his father died, he left Alnaschar exactly one hundred silver dirhams. The young man bought a basket of fine glass with every coin: cups, bowls, lamps and little bottles for rosewater. He set the basket at his feet in the market, leaned his back against a warm wall, and began to dream.
A Palace Built of Wishes
“I will sell this glass for two hundred dirhams,” he told himself. “With two hundred I will buy more glass and sell it for four hundred. Soon I will have a thousand, then ten thousand. I will trade in pearls and silk. I will own a house with a fountain, horses with silver bridles, and servants in green coats.”
His smile grew wider with every number. “Then I will ask for the hand of the Grand Vizier’s daughter. When she comes to my house, I will be so grand and proud that I will not even look at her. And if she dares to speak to me, I will turn away and push her aside with my foot, like this!”
Alnaschar kicked out proudly. His foot struck the basket. It tipped, it rolled, and with a sound like a hundred tiny bells, every cup and bowl and bottle shattered on the stones.
The Sound of Broken Dreams
The whole market turned to look. Alnaschar sat among the glittering pieces and wept. A kind old woman stopped beside him. When she heard his story, she did not laugh. She pressed a purse into his hand and said, “Begin again, my son. But this time, keep your eyes on the basket and your feet on the ground.”
Alnaschar thanked her, bought new glass, and sold it carefully, one cup at a time. He never became a vizier’s son-in-law, but he became an honest merchant who greeted every customer with a smile and treated rich and poor alike.
Scheherazade set down the little cup. “Dreams are good companions, my lord, but poor masters. Whoever builds a palace of pride in his head may break the true treasure lying at his feet.”
And because the first light was touching the windows, she fell silent, promising a still more wondrous tale for the following night.
