so the story-telling began.
‘ONCE UPON A TIME,’ SAID THE GIANT, ‘A YOUNG EXPLORER found himself the guest of an ancient tribe in a remote area of Central Africa. Each night when the tribe gathered to eat and drink and tell stories the explorer joined them. No one from the outside world had recorded the tribe’s stories, which stretched back to the most primitive of times, and the young explorer felt himself to be in a unique position.
‘After exchanging greetings and sharing food, the village elder, a man of about seventy, began telling one of the tribe’s favourite stories. It was one of the oldest tales known to the tribe, and concerned a lion that whispered advice into a man’s ear.
‘The explorer recorded this and many other stories. He was very pleased with himself, and when he returned home he boasted over and over again about the wonderful stories he had discovered. Among the people he boasted to was an older explorer, who asked him, “What was your favourite story?”
‘The young explorer replied that his favourite had been a story about a lion whispering advice into a man’s ear. “The story is unique,” he said. “No other explorer has recorded the tribe’s stories.”
“‘I too have just come back from a long journey,” said the older man. He described how he had spent his time wrapped in furs, shivering on the edge of a bleak, icy desert a world away from the humid, life-buzzing jungle of his young colleague. He explained that he too had come back with a collection of stories that the tribe he’d visited considered unique to its own culture.
‘“And which one was your favourite?” asked the younger explorer.
“‘It was a story about a lion whispering advice into a man’s ear,” said the older man.’
‘One of the tribes must have got the story from somewhere else,’ said Hasan.
‘But how?’ asked the Giant. ‘Neither of the tribes had ever travelled. They were separated by thousands and thousands of miles, by mountains and oceans and deserts. Both countries were land-locked, and both said their story was old even before the invention of boats, let alone more modern forms of transport.’
‘Then how did they know the same story?’ persisted Hasan.
‘I believe the story was old before either tribe existed,’ said the Giant, ‘and that the explorers had simply been talking to different branches of the same tribe.’
‘Which is?’
‘Humankind.’
‘Neat,’ said Betts. She had been standing in a corner, propped up against a bookcase, listening with one ear while flicking through a book. ‘Is that the point of your story, then?’ she asked. ‘That we are all different branches of the same tribe?’
‘I don’t think there’s ever just one point or meaning to any story,’ said the Giant. ‘Just as there is no right way or wrong way to interpret them.’
Hasan felt irritated with Betts for interrupting what he thought was his own private conversation with the Giant: after all, he had been in the library first. ‘I’ve got a story as well,’ he said.
‘Then by all means tell it,’ said the Giant.
Hasan hesitated. ‘But what if it’s not the one you are looking for? Will I be sent away from here?
‘Of course not,’ said the Giant.
Still Hasan hesitated. He enjoyed being the centre of attention, but was uncomfortable in such an informal atmosphere among a group of strangers. He was the son of a strict and powerful man, used to doing exactly what was expected of him, and what was expected of him was being in bed asleep, not sharing other people’s dreams. He suddenly noticed he wasn’t even wearing his pyjamas any longer, but was in his day clothes. It was all rather muddling. He was afraid of being rejected by these people, even if they were only dream people. For a year now he had lived with this fear of rejection, of being spurned and left alone. Ever since … but he could not bear to think about the tragedy that had befallen him. He knew he would burst out crying if he did. And showing his emotions was another thing Hasan found difficult.
‘But if I did have to leave here, what would happen?’ he persisted.
‘You would simply wake up in your own bed and remember us all only as the dream we are,’ said the Giant. ‘No harm would come to you.’
This reassured Hasan. ‘I’m only telling my story because it’s funny,’ he said, feeling he was regaining control of his strange situation. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’
And so he told his story.
THE MAN WHO KILLED TWO THIEVES WITH A CHICKEN
A FARMER OVERHEARD TWO NOTORIOUS THIEVES PLOTTING to rob him that very afternoon. Having nothing to rely on but his wits, he quickly rushed home and said to his wife, ‘We’re about to be robbed. Cook a meal of lamb and apricots, but don’t let anyone see you prepare it. As soon as you’re done, hide it away. When the thieves I’m expecting arrive, tell them I’m out in the fields with something precious. The moment they set off to find me lay the dinner on the table with two extra places.’
After giving his wife these strange instructions the farmer took one of the two chickens he kept in a cage in the yard, tied it up in a bag, and rushed off into his fields. Sure enough, the thieves turned up a while later and his wife, who by then had cooked and hidden the meal, sent them off after him.
When the farmer saw the thieves approaching he didn’t give them a moment to think. ‘Well timed!’ he called. ‘I was just about to stop work and have a meal. I must send a messenger to my wife to tell her you’ll be joining us.’
‘What messenger?’ asked the puzzled thieves, looking about them. ‘You’re quite alone here.’
‘Alone? I’m most certainly not alone,’ said the farmer. ‘I have this magic chicken with me.’ He pulled the chicken from the bag, held it to the ground by its neck, and instructed it: ‘Go and tell my wife to prepare a meal of lamb and apricots for our honoured guests.’
The moment he let the frightened chicken go it scrambled off, and with a great clucking and flapping of wings vanished over a hedgerow.
The thieves thought the farmer quite mad, but when he led them back to the farmhouse they were astonished. There was the meal, exactly like the one he had ordered, waiting for them.
The thieves were burning with curiosity about the chicken and after the meal they asked to see it.
‘I’ll fetch it right away,’ said the farmer. A few moments later he returned with his second chicken, which to the thieves looked pretty much like the first one.
‘Don’t you think it’s wonderful having such a fine chicken?’ he asked, dangling it enticingly before their eyes. ‘Why, sometimes it even lays golden eggs.’
‘Aren’t you afraid of it being stolen?’ asked the thieves.
‘Not
