The Angel of Death
Malek-al-Mowt
The Caliph suspected that the combination of old age and sickness were going to see him on the road to death, when, not unexpectedly Malek-al-Mowt, or the Angel of Death visited him in the middle of the night. It was his wont to appear to whoever had been earmarked for the quietus in a dream. He was not surprised, but he was not going to go without a fight. Malek, he entreated the gatherer, is there no way to prevent this tragedy? Is there no compromise? Couldn’t you take my first wife instead? Mowt shook his head. How about my forfeiting half my fortune? The Angel lifted his nose at such a paltry offer.
I’ll tell you what, the Caliph finally said, let us play a game of chess, and if I win, you have to renew my lease, and Death was cornered.
They immediately set the game up, and the Caliph checkmated his opponent in under sixty moves.
You have to be ready in three days, Death said, I’ve got to attend to other commitments now. But, the Caliph asked, shell-shocked, you agreed, I won_.
Death shook his head. Oh Caliph, don’t be naive. You know that I am a killer, but you cannot accept that I am also a liar?
