Arabian Nights

ARABIAN NIGHTS:

Truth lies not in one dream,

but in many dreams.

Who will bid for this slave,

the Lady of Moons?

She will give the best massages

you've ever had:

Head massages to bring sweet sleep,

leg massages

to make you skip like a goat.

As the poet says:

"The masseuse is worth

more than all wise men.

"She tends to the heads of kings."

- Five hundred dinars!

- Six hundred!

Seven hundred!

Did you hear, Lady of Moons?

Seven hundred dinars!

- Shall he own you?

- I don't want a monkey-beard!

I'll take her. Eight hundred!

You're no good,

God has only given you one eye!

How dare you!

You let her do that?

I can't help it.

Her owner has given her

the right to choose her buyer.

One thousand!

What an offer!

Will you accept this old man

as your owner, Zumurrud?

You have a soft candle in your pants.

It rises when you sleep,

and sleeps when you rise!

God pity whoever lies with you!

How dare you bring a slave here

who ridicules us so brazenly,

so irreverently,

and so stupidly?

I beg your forgiveness.

I won't be sold to anyone

but that young man.

Me?

He can't have any money!

- You've decided?

- Only he can be my owner.

He has smooth cheeks

and his beauty enchants me.

Come on, buy this slave.

She has chosen you!

What are you waiting for?

She's yours!

Come.

Take my hand, come along.

Take this money.

- What then?

- Pay the seller,

then rent a house

in the district of carpenters.

Not there, silly. Not like that.

I don't know how to do it,

you show me!

Stop playing, Barsum. Come!

Come, I say! Quick!

Nuredin, wake up. Come here!

What is it, my love?

Did you stay up all night to do that?

Look.

Go to the market

and sell it for two hundred dinars.

But listen carefully.

Don't sell it to a blue-eyed man.

Not at any price. Understood?

I fear that something will part us.

I feel a shadow in my heart.

Fear not, I am here.

Look how beautiful this is, sir.

A work of art. Who made it?

A slave girl made it for me.

I'll buy it.

You ask me to sell my soul.

I'm joking. Please take it.

Two hundred dinars.

I'll pay one thousand.

I've been forbidden

to sell it to a blue-eyed man.

That's a good offer:

It's more than it's worth.

Very well. But stay away from me!

Christian, why fellow me?

? II I ask is for something to eat.

I'm starving.

I have nothing. Go with God.

God expects us to help each other,

doesn't He?

What is it?

What are you reading?

Listen...

My eyes saw her, to my misfortune.

What agony it was to leave her there.

Poets of my court!

Let us see if it's true that poets can

speak of things they have not seen.

Compose a poem

that begins with these words:

"My eyes saw her, to my misfortune.

"What agony it was to leave her there."

You!

My eyes saw her, to my misfortune.

What agony it was to leave her there.

This gazelle which held me captive

beneath the shade of two palm trees.

She bathed in water from a silver vase.

She saw me, and hid her charms.

But they peeped through her hands.

Ah, to lie with her for an hour or two!

I said to two youths: "I love you".

"Have you money?", they replied.

And l:
"Yes, I spend generously."

They exclaimed:
"It's a deal."

Look over there.

Who are those three boys?

You boys!

May I read some verses to you?

I wrote them when I was almost

as young as you.

"I am old now,

with all the desires of the young.

"I have a passion for enjoyment,

and I love men in their youth.

"Oh, city of purity,

we dream of nothing but sin."

Now, I have a suggestion.

- We're listening.

- Tell us!

Come to my house:

I promise everything you desire.

Precious wine from the monastery,

lamb and all kinds of birds.

Let us eat, drink,

then you will take pleasure

with each other,

and with me, if you wish.

Very well.

Let's go.

The greatest joy is a young drinker

with handsome boys for company.

One sings for him,

one drinks to his health,

and the other offers him

his mouth to be kissed.

Write a verse about us!

I would give my life

for the tenderness of this cheek

- what bliss!

Blessed be He who created

the smooth cheeks of youth,

and gave you this beautiful colour!

While my soul remains

in this tranquil village,

my heart is torn between two desires:

The minarets of Baghdad,

and the land of the two mosques.

- What is your name?

- Berhane.

- How old are you?

- Fifteen.

- Are you married?

- No, and I don't ever want to be.

Why? Have women hurt you?

No, but books say

they are treacherous.

Heaven on earth

is to be found on their breasts,

and the moon shines on their mound.

This too is written in books.

But it is in their nature to betray men,

whether near or far.

They paint their eyes

and plait their hair.

They make you swallow bitter pills.

Will you come to my palace?

Yes, thank you, sir.

- What is your name?

- Giana.

- How old are you?

- Fifteen.

- Would you like to come with me?

- With pleasure.

Come, let's go.

You'll lose your bet, Zeudi.

Your girl is urine

compared to my myrrh.

No point in arguing.

We've put them to sleep together

with different drugs,

so they'll wake at different times.

They'll judge for themselves.

You and I will never agree.

She is more beautiful than he. Look!

You're wrong.

He is the most handsome.

Love will decide the contest.

We will wake them, and the one

who falls in love with the other

is the less beautiful:

For the plain love the beautiful.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes