The Tale of the Tailor, the Hunchback, the Jew, the Reeve, and the Barber

In the bustling city of Baghdad, where the Tigris River reflected the golden light of countless minarets, there lived a tailor named Mustafa who was known throughout his quarter for his skill with needle and thread, and his wife Fatima, whose cooking was praised by all who tasted it. They were a contented couple, neither rich nor poor, who lived in a modest house above Mustafa’s workshop near the great bazaar.

One evening, as the call to Maghrib prayer echoed across the city’s rooftops, Mustafa was closing his shop when he encountered a most unusual sight. There, sitting by the fountain in the small square before his house, was a hunchbacked man whose appearance was both comical and pitiful. The man’s back bore a severe deformity that curved his spine into an almost circular shape, yet his face was remarkably handsome and his eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor.

The hunchback was entertaining a small crowd of children with jokes and stories, his voice carrying a melodious quality that drew listeners like honey draws bees. Despite his physical affliction, he possessed a wit so sharp and a manner so charming that soon Mustafa found himself laughing along with the children.

“Good evening, friend,” Mustafa called as the children dispersed to their homes. “Your stories bring joy to this quarter. Are you perhaps seeking lodging for the night?”

The hunchback looked up with a grateful smile. “You are kind to ask, master tailor. I am indeed a stranger here, having traveled from distant Cairo. I perform in public squares for coins, but tonight the weather grows cold, and I confess I have not yet secured shelter.”

Something in the man’s gentle manner touched both Mustafa and Fatima, who had come to see what detained her husband. “Come,” said Fatima warmly, “share our evening meal. It is written that whoever shows kindness to a traveler shows kindness to Allah.”

The hunchback, whose name was Bakkar, accepted their invitation with tears of gratitude. As they climbed to the family quarters above the shop, he regaled them with tales of his travels across the Islamic world. He spoke of the scholars of Cordoba, the merchants of Samarkand, and the poets of Damascus with such vivid detail that Mustafa and Fatima felt as if they too had visited these distant places.

Fatima had prepared a feast of lamb stew with rice, fresh bread, honey cakes, and dates stuffed with almonds. The aroma filled their small dining room, and Bakkar’s eyes widened with appreciation.

“My lady,” he said to Fatima, “the fragrance alone of your cooking surpasses anything I have encountered in my travels. You honor me beyond measure.”

As they sat on cushions around the low table, sharing food and conversation, Bakkar proved to be as entertaining a dinner guest as he was a street performer. He told jokes that made them laugh until their sides ached, recited poetry that brought tears to their eyes, and shared wisdom gained from his years of wandering.

The evening progressed wonderfully until Fatima brought out a plate of fresh fish that she had prepared with special spices. Bakkar, in his enthusiasm to taste this final course, took too large a bite. A fish bone, invisible in the succulent flesh, lodged in his throat.

Instantly, his face contorted with pain and alarm. He grasped at his throat, his eyes bulging with distress. Mustafa leaped up and began pounding his back, while Fatima rushed to bring water, but their efforts were in vain. Within moments, Bakkar collapsed onto the cushions, apparently lifeless.

“Allah preserve us!” gasped Fatima, covering her face with her hands. “What have we done? Our guest has died in our house!”

Mustafa knelt beside the motionless form, checking for any sign of breathing or heartbeat. “He is gone,” he whispered in horror. “A bone from our fish has killed him. Fatima, we are ruined! The authorities will say we murdered our guest. Who will believe it was an accident?”

The practical problems of their situation quickly became apparent. In the laws of Baghdad, if a guest died under suspicious circumstances in someone’s home, the hosts could face severe penalties. The fact that Bakkar was a stranger with no family or friends to vouch for the couple’s character made matters worse.

“We cannot simply call the authorities,” Mustafa said, pacing frantically. “But neither can we hide what has happened. If we are discovered concealing a death…”

Fatima, despite her distress, proved more resourceful than her husband in this crisis. “Listen to me, husband. Dr. Hakim the physician lives just three streets away. He knows us well, and he is a righteous man. If we can bring Bakkar to his house, perhaps the doctor can help us explain what happened, or at least verify that it was truly an accident.”

This plan, born of desperation rather than wisdom, seemed their only option. Under cover of darkness, they wrapped Bakkar’s body in a large carpet and carried it through the narrow alleys to the physician’s house. The streets were largely empty, as most people were home for the evening meal, but every shadow seemed to hide watching eyes.

Dr. Hakim’s house was a substantial building with a courtyard entrance. Following Fatima’s desperate plan, they propped Bakkar’s body against the door in a sitting position, arranged his clothing to look as natural as possible, and knocked loudly before retreating to hide in a nearby alley.

The physician’s servant, a young man named Ahmed, opened the door and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw what appeared to be a hunchbacked man sitting motionless by the entrance.

“Master,” the servant called inside, “there is a strange man at our door who will not answer when I speak to him.”

Dr. Hakim, a Jewish physician who was respected throughout Baghdad for his skill and learning, came to investigate. In the dim light of the oil lamp his servant held, he could see the hunchback but could not immediately determine the man’s condition.

“Sir,” the doctor called gently, “are you ill? Do you require medical attention?”

When there was no response, Dr. Hakim approached more closely. As he leaned down to examine the man, the body, which had been precariously balanced, suddenly toppled forward and fell at the physician’s feet.

“Allah save us!” cried Dr. Hakim, immediately recognizing that the man was dead. “Ahmed, this man has died at our very doorstep! But look at his neck - see how it is twisted? Someone has broken this poor soul’s neck and left him here to implicate us in his murder!”

The physician’s mind raced with the same fears that had gripped Mustafa and Fatima. As a Jewish doctor in a predominantly Muslim city, he was particularly vulnerable to accusations of wrongdoing. Even though he had many friends and patients among all communities, he knew that suspicion could quickly turn to persecution.

“Master,” said Ahmed nervously, “what shall we do? If the authorities find a dead body at our door…”

Dr. Hakim made a decision that he would later regret. “Help me carry him to Abu Mansur’s house. You know Abu Mansur - the Reeve who works for the Caliph’s administration. He is powerful enough to handle such matters properly, and he knows I am an honest man.”

Abu Mansur the Reeve was indeed a man of importance, responsible for tax collection and civil administration in his district. His house was larger and more impressive than the physician’s, with servants and guards. Dr. Hakim and Ahmed managed to carry Bakkar’s body to the Reeve’s courtyard and, following the same desperate logic that had brought the body to the physician’s door, they propped it against the wall near the kitchen entrance.

This time, however, their plan went awry more quickly. One of the Reeve’s guards was making his rounds and spotted what he thought was an intruder trying to break into the kitchen storehouse.

“Halt, thief!” the guard shouted, rushing toward the figure with his staff raised.

In the darkness, he could not see clearly and struck what he believed to be a burglar with a powerful blow to the head. When his victim fell without resistance and his lantern revealed the truth, the guard let out a cry of alarm that brought other servants running.

Abu Mansur himself emerged from his house to find his courtyard in chaos, his guards clustered around what was obviously a dead body.

“What has happened here?” the Reeve demanded.

“Master,” stammered the guard who had struck the blow, “I thought he was a thief breaking into the storehouse. I struck him down, but… but I think he may have been dead already. His body is cold, and there is no blood from my blow.”

Abu Mansur examined the body carefully. His experience in civil administration had given him some knowledge of legal matters and violent deaths. “This man did not die from your blow,” he told the guard. “See how his neck is positioned? And his body is far too cold. He has been dead for hours.”

The Reeve’s practical mind immediately grasped the implications. Someone had deliberately placed this body in his courtyard, probably hoping to implicate him in a murder. But who? And why?

“We cannot keep this body here,” Abu Mansur decided. “If it is discovered in my courtyard, I will be accused of his murder regardless of the truth. We must take him somewhere else.”

Abu Mansur knew of a barber shop not far away, run by a man with whom he had recently had a dispute over taxes. The barber, named Zein al-Asnam, had been argumentative and disrespectful during their last encounter. In his fear and anger, Abu Mansur conceived a plan to rid himself of the problem while settling his score with the barber.

The barber’s shop was located on a busy street, with living quarters above and a small garden behind. Working quickly and quietly, Abu Mansur and his servants managed to carry Bakkar’s body to the garden and prop it against the shop’s back door.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Zein the barber was not asleep. He was a man who suffered from insomnia and often spent his nights in his garden, enjoying the cool air and tending to his small plot of herbs and vegetables.

As fate would have it, he was examining his mint plants when he heard sounds in his garden. Assuming that thieves were attempting to break into his shop, he grabbed a heavy stick and crept toward the source of the noise.

In the darkness, he saw what appeared to be a man crouched by his back door. Without hesitation, he struck the intruder with all his might. The body fell forward with a thud, and Zein immediately realized his mistake.

“What have I done?” he whispered in horror, seeing the distinctive silhouette of the hunchback’s deformed spine. “I have killed an innocent man!”

The barber’s terror was compounded by a terrible irony. Only days earlier, he had been arguing with Abu Mansur the Reeve about tax payments, and he had spoken angrily about corrupt officials who oppressed honest working men. If the authorities found a dead body in his garden, his recent dispute with the Reeve would certainly be remembered and used against him.

Zein spent the rest of the night in agonized indecision. He could not leave the body in his garden, but he also could not think of any way to dispose of it that would not make his situation worse. As dawn approached and the city began to stir with the call to morning prayer, he knew he had to act.

In desperation, he decided to take the body to the city’s central marketplace, where it might be discovered and attributed to the countless strangers and travelers who passed through daily. Using a wheelbarrow normally employed for carrying laundry, he covered Bakkar’s body with cloth and began the journey through the awakening streets.

However, his nervous behavior and the obviously awkward shape of his burden drew attention. A sharp-eyed member of the city watch noticed the barber’s furtive manner and decided to investigate.

“You there, barber!” called the watchman. “What do you carry so secretively through the streets at this early hour?”

Caught red-handed, Zein’s nerve finally failed him completely. “I have done a terrible thing,” he confessed, tears streaming down his face. “I have killed a man, and I was trying to hide the evidence of my crime.”

Within the hour, Zein had been arrested and brought before the magistrate. Word of the incident spread quickly through the neighborhoods involved, and soon Mustafa the tailor heard the news with growing horror.

“Fatima,” he said to his wife, “an innocent man is about to be executed for our accident. This has gone too far. We must tell the truth.”

Husband and wife rushed to the courthouse, arriving just as the executioner was preparing to carry out Zein’s sentence. The barber stood with dignity despite his terror, having made his peace with what he believed was his deserved fate.

“Stop!” cried Mustafa, pushing through the crowd. “This man is innocent! I am the one responsible for the hunchback’s death!”

The magistrate, surprised by this interruption, ordered Mustafa to explain himself. With Fatima beside him, the tailor told the complete truth about how Bakkar had died in their house from the fish bone, and how their fear had led them to begin this chain of tragic misunderstandings.

“And I too must confess,” said a voice from the crowd. Dr. Hakim stepped forward, his face pale with shame. “I received this body at my door and, fearing for my reputation, I took it to another’s house rather than report the death properly.”

Abu Mansur the Reeve, who had been watching the proceedings with growing unease, finally could not bear the weight of his own guilt. “And I,” he said, stepping forward as well, “received the body in my courtyard and, in my fear and anger, placed it where this innocent barber would find it. If anyone deserves punishment, it is I, for I acted not from panic but from spite.”

The magistrate found himself facing an unprecedented situation. Here were four men, each confessing to responsibility for the same death, each trying to save the others from punishment, and each telling a story that, while incredible, seemed to be truthful.

“This is indeed a most unusual case,” the magistrate mused. “But before I render judgment, I would hear what the supposed victim has to say about these proceedings.”

The crowd gasped as the magistrate gestured toward a corner of the courtroom where, to everyone’s amazement, stood Bakkar the hunchback, very much alive and looking somewhat embarrassed.

“But… but you were dead!” stammered Mustafa. “I checked for breathing, for heartbeat!”

Bakkar smiled sheepishly. “Good tailor, I was indeed unconscious, and perhaps appeared dead. The fish bone lodged in my throat, and I lost consciousness from lack of air. But during the night, as I was moved from place to place, the bone shifted and was dislodged. I awakened in the barber’s garden with a terrible headache but very much alive.”

“Then why did you not reveal yourself sooner?” asked the magistrate.

“My lord,” Bakkar replied with a rueful grin, “I have spent the night being carried around Baghdad like a sack of grain, struck by a guard, hit by a barber, and generally treated as a piece of unwanted baggage. When I finally regained my senses, I was curious to see how this remarkable series of misunderstandings would resolve itself. I must say, I have never been the center of so much attention, even in my performances.”

The courtroom erupted in laughter, relief replacing the tension that had filled the air. The magistrate himself could not suppress a smile at the absurdity of the situation.

“This case,” he announced, “shall be recorded as one of the most unusual in the annals of Baghdad’s justice. You have all confessed to crimes that were never committed, against a victim who was never dead, and you have each shown both the folly of fear and the nobility of conscience.”

He turned to address each man individually. “Mustafa the tailor, your initial impulse to hide an apparent accident was understandable but unwise. However, your courage in coming forward to save an innocent man shows true character.”

“Dr. Hakim, your fear for your reputation led you to poor judgment, but your confession shows integrity. Let this be a lesson that truth, however difficult, is always preferable to deception.”

“Abu Mansur, your actions were the most blameworthy, as you acted not from panic but from spite. However, your ultimate honesty prevents me from imposing severe punishment. But you will make full restitution to Zein the barber for the distress you have caused him, and you will apologize publicly for your treatment of him.”

“Zein the barber, you acted as any man might when confronting what he believed to be a thief. Your readiness to accept responsibility for what you thought was a tragic accident shows courage.”

“And Bakkar,” the magistrate concluded, turning to the hunchback with a stern expression that softened into a smile, “while your decision to remain silent prolonged this comedy of errors, your eventual revelation prevented a grave injustice. But next time you are struck unconscious by a fish bone, kindly have the courtesy to remain dead or wake up promptly!”

The crowd burst into applause at this last comment, and even Bakkar bowed with theatrical flourish.

As the proceedings concluded, the five men found themselves drawn together by their shared experience. What had begun with fear and misunderstanding had ended with truth and, surprisingly, friendship.

Mustafa insisted that Bakkar return to his house to finish the meal that had been so dramatically interrupted. Dr. Hakim offered to examine the hunchback to ensure he had suffered no lasting effects from his adventure. Abu Mansur, humbled by his experience, begged forgiveness from Zein and invited him to his house as a guest. And Zein, whose night of terror had ended in vindication, declared that he had learned never to strike first and ask questions later.

The tale of the Tailor, the Hunchback, the Jew, the Reeve, and the Barber quickly spread throughout Baghdad and beyond, becoming a favorite story in bazaars and coffee houses. It was told as a comedy, but also as a moral tale about the importance of truth, the dangers of acting from fear rather than wisdom, and the way that communities could come together when individuals were willing to take responsibility for their actions.

Bakkar himself became something of a celebrity in Baghdad, often retelling the story of his “murder” with theatrical embellishments that grew more elaborate with each performance. He settled in the city, where his wit and storytelling ability made him a favorite entertainment at weddings and festivals.

And in the quarter where it all began, Mustafa and Fatima’s house became known as the place where the most unusual dinner party in Baghdad’s history had taken place. Visitors would often ask to see the room where the hunchback “died,” and Fatima, despite her embarrassment at the memory, would always end the tour by serving fish - though she was now extraordinarily careful about bones.

The story served as a reminder to all who heard it that while fear and shame can lead people to make poor decisions, the willingness to tell the truth and accept responsibility can transform even the most complicated problems into opportunities for understanding, forgiveness, and community. And it proved that sometimes the most serious situations can be resolved not with punishment and retribution, but with honesty, humor, and the recognition that we are all, in our own ways, capable of both folly and nobility.