KARIM             

Cornflower-blue smoke billowed from the bottle. More and more of it. Emma stumbled back, and Tristan stuck his head in the sand. The blue smoke grew arms and legs and a head so bald and shiny that it reflected the moonlight.

“Sssaaalaaaaam aalaaaikum!” the ghost from the bottle whispered. “Greeeeetings, oh my fair savior! My name is Karim, Karim the Beardless.” And he bowed so deeply that his bald head touched the sand.

“Very . . . pleased to meet you!” Emma stammered. She also bowed (though not quite so deeply). When she straightened herself up again, she noticed that the genie was only a head taller than her.

“I am sorry,” Emma said (after all, she didn’t know whether genies were easily offended), “but are you still growing? I mean, as far as I remember, the genies in my fairy tales are always huge.”

Karim sighed so deeply that the sand stirred up and covered his naked toes. “Ooh, you are so right, my mistress!” he called out dolefully. “And I once was indeed much bigger. I could shake the hand of my caliph while he stood on the highest tower of his palace. His dromedary would sleep in the palm of my hand. Yet now I am as small as a desert hedgehog and as weak as a nosebug.” With these words, the genie began to sob so hard that his tears dropped on the sand like rain.

“Oh dear!” Emma said comfortingly. “And how did you become so small?”

Tristan pulled his head out of the sand and sniffed Karim’s toes, which Emma thought was not very respectful.

“Can’t you see?” the genie sniveled. “My nose ring is gone! Stolen in a heinous act of treachery. Without the ring I am nothing—a maggot, a mere mouse, a snail being scorched and shriveled by the sun.”

“Ah!” Emma exclaimed. She looked at Karim’s blue nose. It did look rather naked. “Who stole the ring?” she asked.

Karim rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Sahim!” he breathed. “Sahim, the Master of Evil. The most dastardly of all yellow genies. He stole my ring, he stuffed me into that bottle, and he threw me into the sea.”

“Hmm . . . ,” Emma murmured. She dug the tip of her shoe into the sand. “So I guess I’m not getting my three wishes? I mean . . . those three wishes all the fairy tales always talk about. You know, the wishes you get when you free a genie?”

Karim shook his head glumly. “Without the ring, I can’t grant you even the tiniest, bug-sized wish, my mistress!” he said. “You should just throw me back into the ocean so that I can drown myself in my tears!” And he started to sob again.

Emma quickly held out a handkerchief. It was a bit crumpled and smelled of dog biscuits, but the genie accepted it gladly.

“That’s really not a reason to cry,” said Emma, while Karim dabbed the tears from his lashes (and even his lashes were blue, by the way). “I wouldn’t have known what to wish for anyway.”

“You are too generous, my mistress!” the genie sniffed. He smiled sadly as he handed Emma her handkerchief. “I shall be in your debt forever and three thousand days.”

He leaned down and picked up his bottle. He shook it and something dropped out of it, something that looked like a crumpled piece of fabric. Yet when the genie gently blew on it, the cloth started to unfurl like a flower, and it was suddenly a carpet. It looked a little tattered, but it was very, very beautiful.

The genie shuddered as he shook the cold, damp sand from his feet; then he sat down on the carpet with a deep sigh. “Farewell, my mistress!” he said with a quaver in his voice. “I shall fly back to my homeland to free my caliph and all of Barakash from the yellow genie. But you have Karim’s solemn vow: I shall return as soon as my ring is back on this wretched nose. By then you will definitely have thought of three wishes.”

He clapped his hands, and the carpet rose and carried him out over the sea.

Emma stood there and looked after the genie. She had no idea why she was suddenly so sad. The wind blew her hair into her eyes, and Karim’s figure slowly melted into the darkness. “Oh, Tristan, I hope he really does come back,” she said. “Not because of the wishes. Really. I mean, yes, I definitely could have thought of some. But I would like to hear more about that yellow genie.”

Tristan shoved his nose against her knee. He looked up at her expectantly.

“Of course!” Emma called. “Why didn’t I think of that? Karim! Karim, wait! Tristan says we’re coming with you!”

The night had already all but swallowed Karim’s blue figure, and at first Emma thought he hadn’t heard her. But then she saw the carpet flying back toward the beach.

“Yallah!” the genie shouted. He pulled at the carpet’s tassels, but still crashed down so hard next to Emma that he rolled headfirst into the sand. “Apologies, but I am a little out of practice!” he huffed as he stood up. “Did I hear you right? You want to accompany me? That is . . . ahem . . . certainly an honor, but . . .” Karim cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You are still very young,” he whispered to Emma, “and your dog is barely bigger than a desert rat. How is he going to challenge the Master of Evil? Either he has the heart of a lion, or his mind is a little weak.”

“Oh, his mind is perfectly fine,” Emma said a little crossly, “and believe me, we are used to trouble. I have four brothers, and Tristan has to deal with dogs twice his size all the time. So I don’t think he’s going to be scared by some yellow genie.”

Tristan seemed to agree, for he strutted toward the carpet, gave it a little sniff, and then rolled himself up on it.

Karim looked at Tristan as though he’d never seen a dog. “By the beardless chin of my caliph!” he shouted. “Dogs are not valued very highly in Barakash, but from this day on I shall bow my head in respect to every one of them.”

“Good. That’s settled then,” said Emma.

Before they took off, Emma quickly wrote a note to her parents:

Don’t worry. I’m off with a pretty big genie to find his nose ring. And I have Tristan with me. Love, Emma

The “pretty big” was of course an exaggeration, but Emma felt it made the whole thing sound a little less worrisome.

“How far is it to your caliph?” she asked Karim as they flew out over the ocean.

“You will see his palace at sunrise,” the genie answered.

“Ah!” Emma sighed. She just realized she was still wearing her bathrobe. That was a little embarrassing, since she was flying to see a genuine caliph.

Tristan didn’t have to worry about such things. He had already tucked his nose under his tail and was sleeping soundly.

But Emma didn’t want to sleep. After all, this was the most exciting night of her life (and being eight years old, she’d already lived through nearly three thousand nights!).

But then, over some strange ocean, her eyes fell shut.