‘Get the rope, and I will let you down.’
So she fetched the rope, the hatchet, and the pin and the needles, and said, ‘Take them, and put them in the pocket of your cloak, and be sure not to lose them.’
Dschemil put them carefully in his pocket, and tied the rope round her, and let her down over the wall.
‘Are you safe?’ he asked.
‘Yes, quite.’
‘Then untie the rope, so that I may draw it up.’
And Dschemila did as she was told, and in a few minutes he stood beside her.
Now all this time the ogre was asleep, and had heard nothing. Then his dog came to him and said, ‘O, sleeper, are you having pleasant dreams? Dschemila has forsaken you and run away.’
The ogre got out of bed, gave the dog a kick, then went back again, and slept till morning.
When it grew light, he rose, and called, ‘Dschemila! Dschemila!’ but he only heard the echo of his own voice! Then he dressed himself quickly; buckled on his sword and whistled to his dog, and followed the road which he knew the fugitives must have taken. ‘Cousin,’ said Dschemila suddenly, and turning round as she spoke.
‘What is it?’ answered he.
‘The ogre is coming after us. I saw him.’
‘But where is he? I don’t see him.’
‘Over there. He only looks about as tall as a needle.’
Then they both began to run as fast as they could, while the ogre and his dog kept drawing always nearer. A few more steps, and he would have been by their side, when Dschemila threw the darning needle behind her. In a moment it became an iron mountain between them and their enemy.
‘We will break it down, my dog and I,’ cried the ogre in a rage, and they dashed at the mountain till they had forced a path through, and came ever nearer and nearer.
‘Cousin!’ said Dschemila suddenly.
‘What is it?’
‘The ogre is coming after us with his dog.’
‘You go on in front then,’ answered he; and they both ran on as fast as they could, while the ogre and the dog drew always nearer and nearer.
‘They are close upon us!’ cried the maiden, glancing behind, ‘you must throw the pin.’
So Dschemil took the pin from his cloak and threw it behind him, and a dense thicket of thorns sprang up round them, which the ogre and his dog could not pass through.
‘I will get through it somehow, if I burrow underground,’ cried he, and very soon he and the dog were on the other side.
‘Cousin,’ said Dschemila, ‘they are close to us now.’
‘Go on in front, and fear nothing,’ replied Dschemil.
So she ran on a little way, and then stopped.
‘He is only a few yards away now,’ she said, and Dschemil flung the hatchet on the ground, and it turned into a lake.
‘I will drink, and my dog shall drink, till it is dry,’ shrieked the ogre, and the dog drank so much that it burst and died. But the ogre did not stop for that, and soon the whole lake was nearly dry. Then he exclaimed, ‘Dschemila, let your head become a donkey’s head, and your hair fur!’
But when it was done, Dschemil looked at her in horror, and said, ‘She is really a donkey, and not a woman at all!’
And he left her, and went home.
For two days poor Dschemila wandered about alone, weeping bitterly. When her cousin drew near his native town, he began to think over his conduct, and to feel ashamed of himself.
‘Perhaps by this time she has changed back to her proper shape,’ he said to himself, ‘I will go and see!’
So he made all the haste he could, and at last he saw her seated on a rock, trying to keep off the wolves, who longed to have her for dinner. He drove them off and said, ‘Get up, dear cousin, you have had a narrow escape.’
Dschemila stood up and answered, ‘Bravo, my friend. You persuaded me to fly with you, and then left me helplessly to my fate.’
‘Shall I tell you the truth?’ asked he.
‘Tell it.’
‘I thought you were a witch, and I was afraid of you.’
‘Did you not see me before my transformation? and did you not watch it happen under your very eyes, when the ogre bewitched me?’
‘What shall I do?’ said Dschemil. ‘If I take you into the town, everyone will laugh, and say, “Is that a new kind of toy you have got? It has hands like a woman, feet like a woman, the body of a woman; but its head is the head of an ass, and its hair is fur.” ’
‘Well, what do you mean to do with me?’ asked Dschemila. ‘Better take me home to my mother by night, and tell no one anything about it.’
‘So I will,’ said he.
They waited where they were till it was nearly dark, then Dschemil brought his cousin home.
‘Is that Dschemil?’ asked the mother when he knocked softly.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘And have you found her?’
‘Yes, and I have brought her to you.’
‘Oh, where is she? let me see her!’ cried the mother.
‘Here, behind me,’ answered Dschemil.
But when the poor woman caught sight of her daughter, she shrieked, and exclaimed, ‘Are you making fun of me? When did I ever give birth to an ass?’
‘Hush!’ said Dschemil, ‘it is not necessary to let the whole world know! And if you look at her body, you will see two scars on it.’
‘Mother,’ sobbed Dschemila, ‘do you really not know your own daughter?’
‘Yes, of course I know her.’
‘What are her two scars then?’
‘On her thigh is a scar from the bite of a dog, and on her breast is the mark of a burn, where she pulled a lamp over her when she was little.’
‘Then look at me, and see if I am not your daughter,’ said Dschemila, throwing off her clothes and showing her two scars.
And at the sight her mother embraced her, weeping.
‘Dear daughter,’ she cried, ‘what evil fate has befallen you?’
‘It was the ogre who carried me off first, and then bewitched me,’ answered Dschemila.
‘But what is to be done with you?’ asked her mother.
‘Hide me away, and tell no one anything about me. And you, dear cousin, say nothing to the neighbours, and if they should put questions, you can make answer that I have not yet been found.’
‘So I will,’ replied he.
Then he and her mother took her upstairs and hid her in a cupboard, where she stayed for a whole month, only going out to walk when all the world was asleep.
Meanwhile Dschemil had returned to his own home, where his father and mother, his brothers and neighbours, greeted him joyfully.
‘When did you come back?’ said they, ‘and have you found Dschemila?’
‘No, I searched the whole world after her, and could hear nothing of her.’