Once upon a long time ago, on the outskirts of Badgag, there lived a young boy whose mischief was matched only by his playfulness. He knew nothing of the mocking, cruel taunts that children can wield with such perversity, and neither barbs nor arrows could touch him.
Though he was no stranger to play, his heart was pure; it possessed the purity of light.
His heart was pure, and his curiosity about the world was great. His eyes were always wide and alert, ready to discover something new. That was why his playmates had nicknamed him Nordine the Keen-Eyed, while some would add: Whose gaze pierces to the very heart.
Now Nordine was the happiest of children until the fateful day on which our tale begins. Yes, on that day Nordine is at the home of his uncle Jaffar, whom he visits once a week for lessons in morality. They are sitting together in the garden, shaded by a delicate tamarisk whose long, silky branches, laden with pale-pink clusters, sway above their heads, while Nordine listens earnestly and attentively to his uncle's lessons. A strange uncle, truth be told, almost unsettling. But as Jaffar dispenses his treacherous advice in honeyed tones, Nordine's keen senses allow him to overhear a whispered conversation taking place behind the hedge. He cannot see the speakers, but he can hear a deep voice speaking to a young listener. A fine story, apparently, interrupted only now and then by a few muffled exclamations. This is what Nordine hears:
You see, Mourad, once upon twice, in a remote region of Mesopotamia, there lived a man named Mehdi who loved animals. But despair had seized the poor man, and his passion had first waned, then become corrupted. If he continued to indulge it, it was invariably to profit from it. That year, he was raising a little monkey whom he had taught to enter houses through small openings and steal valuables. Monkeys and men do not, of course, attach value to the same things, but the trainer had taught his monkey to recognize jewelry and precious objects and bring them back to him. The reward, measured in bananas, was proportional to the quantity of jewelry retrieved, and the little monkey understood that very well. Then one day, after secretly entering a splendid house filled with many treasures, the little monkey noticed, on a small table, the cover of a little book bearing a picture of a little jackal. Taken aback, our monkey abandoned the task at hand and, as though driven by some dim foreboding, immersed himself in the book. He was immediately enchanted by the magical quality of the tale. For this is what the book said:
