Fuad coughed quietly. “Can I have a glass of beer, Marid?” he asked. “I’m getting real thirsty.”

I signaled to Indihar to draw one. “You paying for this, Fuad?” I said. His long face fell further. He looked like a puppy about to get a beating. “Just kidding,” I said. “The beer’s on the house. I want to hear how this story comes out.”

Indihar set a mug in front of him, then stood around to hear the rest of the story. “Bismillah,” murmured Fuad, and he took a long gulp. Then he set the beer down, gave me a quick, thankful grimace, and started again. “Anyway,” he said, “when I got home, my mama was real mad. I didn’t have no chicken and I didn’t have no money. ‘Next time,’ she says, ‘put it in your pocket.’

“ ‘Ah,’ I go, ‘I should have thought of that.’ So the next morning, my mama wakes me up and tells me to take another chicken to the souk. Well, I got dressed and went out and chased them around some more and caught one and carried it down the hill and up the hill and across the bridge and through the streets to the souk. And this time I didn’t stand in the hot sun all morning and all afternoon. I went right up to the merchant and showed him the second chicken.

“ ‘This one looks as bad as the one you brought yesterday,’ he says. ‘And besides, I’ll have to provide space far ft here in my stall all day. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you a big jug of honey in trade. It’s very fine honey.*”

“Well, it was a good trade because my mama had four other chickens, but she didn’t have no honey. So I took the jug of honey from him and started home. I’d just crossed the bridge when I remembered what my mama told me. I opened the jug and poured the honey in my pocket. By the time I climbed the last hill, it was all gone.

“So my mama was real mad again. ‘Next time,’ she says, ‘balance it on your head.’

“ ‘Ah,’ I go, ‘I should have thought of that.’ On the third morning, I got up and caught another chicken, and carried it to the souk and brought it to the merchant.

“ ‘Are all your chickens in such bad shape?’ he says. ‘Well, in the name of Allah, I will give you my supper for this bird.’ And the merchant gave me a mess of curds and whey.

“Well, I remembered what my mama told me, and I balanced it on my head. I went through the streets and across the bridge and down the hill and up the hill. When I got home, my mama asked me what I got for the chicken. ‘Enough curds and whey for our evening meal,’ I go.

“ Then where is it?’ she says.

“ ‘On my head,’ I go. She took one look and dragged me to the washstand. She poured a whole pitcher of cold water over my head and scrubbed my hair with a stiff brush. All the time she was shouting and blaming me for losing the curds and whey.

“ ‘Next time, carry it carefully in your hands,’ she says.

“ ‘Ah,’ I go, T should have thought of that.’ So the next morning, very early before the sun came up, I went out to the chicken coop and chose the nicest, fattest chicken that was left. I left the house before my mama woke up, and I carried the chicken down the hill and through the streets to the Souk of the Poultry Dressers.

“ ‘Good morning, my friend,’ says the merchant. ‘I see you have another aged, toothless chicken.’

“ ‘This is a very nice chicken,’ I go, ‘and I want what it’s worth and nothing less.’

“The merchant looked at the chicken closely and mumbled to himself. ‘You know,’ he says at last, ‘these feathers are stuck on very tight.’

“ ‘Isn’t that how they’re supposed to be?’ I go.

“He pointed to a row of dead chickens with their heads cut off. ‘See any feathers on these?’

“ ‘No,’ I go.

“ ‘Ever eat a roast chicken with feathers?’

“ ‘No,’ I go.

“ Then I’m sorry. It will cost me much time and labor to unstick all these feathers. I can only offer you this big fierce tomcat.’

“I thought that was a good trade, because the tomcat would catch the mice and rats that crept into the coop and stole the chicken feed. I remembered what my mama had told me, and I tried to carry the tomcat carefully in my hands. Just after I went down the hill and before I went up the hill, the tomcat snarled and spit and squirmed and scratched until I couldn’t hold him any longer. He jumped out of my hands and ran away.

“I knew my mama was gonna be mad again. ‘Next time,’ she says, ‘tie him with a string and pull him behind you.’

“ ‘Ah,’ I go, ‘I should have thought of that.’ Now, there’s only two chickens left, so it took me longer to catch one the next morning, even though I didn’t even care which one it was. When I got to the souk, the merchant was very glad to see me.

“ ‘Praise Allah that we are both well this morning,’ he says, smiling at me. ‘I see you have a chicken.’

“ ‘Yeah, you right,’ I go. I laid the chicken on the warped board he used for a counter.

“The merchant picked up the chicken and weighed it in his hands, and thumped it with his finger like you’d thump a melon. ‘This chicken doesn’t lay eggs, does it?’ he asks.

“ ‘Sure, it lays eggs! It’s the best egg-laying hen my mama ever had.’

“The man shook his head and frowned. ‘You see,’ he says, ‘that’s a problem. Every egg this chicken lays, that’s less meat on its bones. This might’ve been a nice heavy chicken if it hadn’t laid no eggs. It’s a good thing you brought it to me now, before it shrunk away to nothing.’ 

“ ‘All the eggs ought to be worth something,’ I go.

“ ‘I don’t see no eggs. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll trade you this killed, cleaned chicken ready to eat for your egg-laying chicken. You won’t find a better deal than that from any of these other poultry dressers. Once they hear this chicken is such a good egg-layer, they won’t give you two copper fiqs.’

“I was just glad this man had taken a liking to me, because he was telling me things none of the other merchants would’ve told me. So I traded my worthless egg-layer for his dressed chicken, even though to me it looked a little scrawny and smelled funny and was kind of the wrong color. I remembered what my mama told me, so I tied a string around it and pulled it along behind me as I walked home.

“You should’ve heard my mama yelling at me when I got home! That poor plucked chicken was completely ruined. ‘By the life of my eyes!’ she shouted. ‘You are the biggest fool in all the lands of Islam! Next time, carry it on your shoulder!’

“ ‘Ah,’ I go, ‘I should have thought of that.’

“So there was one chicken left, and I promised myself that I was gonna get the better of the deal the next day. Again I didn’t wait for my mama to wake me. I rose early, scrubbed my face and hands, put on my best suit of clothes, and went out to the coop. It took me an hour to catch that last chicken, which had always been my mama’s favorite. It’s name was Mouna. Finally I got my hands on its thrashing, flapping body. I carried it out of the chicken coop, down the hill, up the hill, across the bridge, through the streets to the souk.

“But this morning the poultry dresser was not in his stall. I stood there for several minutes, wondering where my friend could be. Finally, a girl came up to me. She was dressed as a modest Muslim woman should be dressed, and I couldn’t see her face because of the veil; but when she spoke, I knew from her voice that she probably was the most beautiful girl I’d ever met.”

“You can get yourself in a lot of trouble that way,” I told Fuad. “I’ve made the mistake of falling in love over the telephone. More than once.”

He frowned at the interruption and went on. “She was probably the most beautiful girl I’d ever met. Anyway, she says, ‘Are you the gentleman who has been trading his chickens with my father every morning?’

“I go, ‘I’m not sure. I don’t know who your father is. Is this his poultry stall?’ She says it is. I go, Then I’m that gentleman, and I have our last chicken right here. Where’s your father this morning?’