Arabian Nights and Days (17 page)

Simple incidents occurred at which the eyes of the city did not blink, but which shook the hearts of those concerned. Ibrahim the water-carrier married Lady Rasmiya, the widow of Gamasa al-Bulti. The treasury put the house of Gamasa al-Bulti up for sale and Suleiman al-Zeini ordered that al-Bulti's head be buried in a pauper's grave. The madman made a point of witnessing the burying of his head, telling himself that he was the first human being to accompany himself on the way to the Hereafter. He was happy at the marriage of his widow to Ibrahim the water-carrier because her loneliness had begun to spoil his peace of mind. Al-Mu'in ibn Sawi found the feeling of rejection oppressive, so he began a new chapter of suspect cooperation with the merchants and the rich. Unusually, the skies rained that autumn.

Three ghostly figures were cutting through the darkness in silence. Under Qut al-Quloub's house the strings of a lute called to them and a melodious voice communed with the cool autumn dampness:

Their steps slowed until they came to a stop.

“This is the place we want, Dandan,” one of them whispered.

Shabeeb Rama the executioner knocked at the door. A slave-girl opened it and inquired who it was.

“Dervishes from the men of God,” said Shahriyar, “who are seeking honorable conviviality.”

The slave-girl disappeared for a while, then returned and led them to a reception room with soft cushions and rugs. A curtain had been let down in the main hall that separated them from the lady of the house.

“Would you like some food?” asked Qut al-Quloub.

“No, we would like to have more singing,” said Shahriyar.

The voice sang again in a new mode, sending the men into an ecstasy of delight.

“Are you a professional singer?” said Shahriyar.

“No, O man of God,” she whispered.

“Your voice has a buried sadness,” said the sultan.

“And what living creature is devoid of sadness?”

“And what saddens you when your house speaks of happiness?” he asked gently.

She took refuge in silence, so Shahriyar went on speaking. “Tell us your story, for our vocation in life is the curing of wounded hearts.”

She thanked him and then said, “My secret is not to be divulged, O men of God.”

She insisted on keeping silent and they asked permission to depart, with the sultan upset at her silence.

“Bring me the secret of this taciturn woman,” said the sultan, leaning over Dandan's ear.

The demands of the sultan were as heavy as mountains, not to be lifted from Dandan's shoulders until he had fulfilled them.

And Dandan knew best the sultan's ire if his demands were thwarted. The sultan was still veering between right guidance and error and his anger could not be trusted. So it was that Dandan summoned the governor of the quarter, Suleiman al-Zeini, and described to him the location of Qut al-Quloub's house.

“In the house,” he said, “is a mysterious woman with a melodious voice and a secret sorrow. His Majesty the Sultan wishes her heart to be like an open sheet of paper with nothing of it hidden.”

Al-Zeini was shaken, realizing that he was being led to confess. Dandan would search out the truth at the hands of anyone he sensed had an ability to expose the secrets of men; and at the head of these was al-Fadl ibn Khaqan. The truth would find its way to him sooner or later, so let him at least have the merit of confessing and thus getting close to the sultan. He was, after all, a moral man and his heart had not been at peace for a moment because of his behavior, which he preferred to repent in any fashion.

He told the vizier the hidden details of his secret.

When Shahriyar learned the truth from his vizier he was furious and exclaimed angrily, “Al-Mu'in and Gamila the wife of al-Zeini, must both be beheaded.”

However, his anger suddenly cooled off. Perhaps he remembered the way in which he had made his escape at night, naked, with his sin in
pursuit; perhaps he remembered that al-Zeini and al-Mu'in had both been among the best of men. Nevertheless, he dismissed the two from their posts and confiscated their property; he also ordered that Gamila and al-Mu'in be flogged. To Qut al-Quloub he made a grant of ten thousand dinars, while asking her kindly, “And what else would you like to have, young lady.”

“O Majesty, I would ask you to pardon al-Zeini,” said Qut al-Quloub.

“It seems that you still love him,” said the sultan, smiling.

She lowered her head shyly and he said firmly, “We have issued an order to the effect that the new men should be appointed and there is no going back on that. Thus al-Fadl ibn Khaqan will become governor, Haikal al-Zafarani private secretary, and Darwish Omran the chief of police.”

Her eyes revealed a tear about to burst forth, at which Shahriyar said, “It is in your hands to pardon him, and perhaps that would be better for him than any official appointment.”

She kissed the ground at his feet and was about to depart when he asked her, “What do you intend to do, young lady?”

“To pardon him, Your Majesty,” she answered simply, her eyes welling with tears.

I
n the quietness of the night Gamasa al-Bulti called out from under the date palm, “O God, free me from yesterday. O God, free me from tomorrow.”

Then Singam's voice was heard: “We love what you love, but between us and people is a barrier of destinies.”

The laughter of Zarmabaha rang out. “Why were honey and wine created?”

Shahriyar was going about his nightly peregrinations with his two men.

“Continuous whisperings pass through me, but my head spins in a state of bewilderment,” he said to Dandan.

He was sparely built, radiant of countenance, sleepy-eyed, and with a mole on each cheek, about to penetrate shyly the age of adolescence. Ugr the barber looked at him and said, “You have learned what you
need to, so take the tools of your trade and move off—God will provide for you.”

“May God spare you the evil of wicked men,” muttered Fattouha.

The young man went off, spirited and happy.

“He has the handsomeness of Nur al-Din,” said Ugr as though talking to himself, “so may God bestow His good fortune amply upon him.”

“The amulet of mine that he wears on his chest will deter him from the path his father took,” said Fattouha.

Ugr cast a poisonous look at her but said not a word.

He went on his way, working in the street and in shops, and everyone whose eyes alighted upon him would say, “May the Great Creator be praised!”

When the time came for a rest he chose the stairway of the public fountain, and a quick friendship grew up between him and Fadil Sanaan, the seller of sweetmeats. Once he invited him to where he was living in the rooming house, where he saw Fadil's wife Akraman, his mother Umm Saad, and his sister Husniya. His adolescent state stirred him secretly and clashed with his piety and the religious upbringing he had received at the Quranic school, so he began to make excuses whenever Fadil invited him to his home. Fadil perceived his piety and said to him, “You are a young man who is worthy of God's words that are concealed in your heart.”

“It is through my Lord's grace,” muttered Aladdin.

“What is your feeling,” he asked cautiously, “when you see sins carrying people away?”

“Sadness and sorrow,” he murmured.

“And what good does that do?”

“What more do you want?” he asked, bewilderment in his eyes.

“Anger!”

He repeated it, then said, “A lion deserves the best.”

The quarter was honoring the birth of the saint Sidi al-Warraq. Processions marched out, flags fluttered, drums and pipes answered one another. The good and the bad gathered round the bowls of sopped bread, meat, and broth. In the parties of the elite were Hasan al-Attar, Galil al-Bazzaz, Suleiman al-Zeini, al-Mu'in ibn Sawi, and Shamloul the hunchback. Fadil Sanaan, Ugr the barber, Ma'rouf the cobbler, Ibrahim the water-carrier, and Ragab the porter were also there. Alone, and for the first time, Aladdin of the Moles put in an appearance. Fadil had him sit alongside him.

“If al-Warraq were to be resurrected he would draw his sword!” said Fadil.

Aladdin gave the smile of someone who was gaining more experience in coming to know his friend. Then Fadil said in a significant tone, “Since the good do not draw their swords, then I shall do so.”

“They speak a lot about the repentance of His Majesty the Sultan,” said Aladdin innocently.

“Sometimes,” said Fadil sarcastically, “he repents of his repentance, and for sure he is not the most deserving of the Muslims to be in sovereign power.”

Aladdin's eyes were drawn toward the right and he detached himself, for a time, from what his companion was saying. Over there was a thin old man of joyous face and arresting appearance. Aladdin felt he had not looked toward him just by chance: he found the old man's eyes awaiting his own. There was a secret invitation from the man, an answering from Aladdin. He felt at ease, the delight of the sane at heart at the splendor of an opening rose. Fadil, noticing Aladdin's attention drawn to the old man, said, “Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi is the principal holy man.”

“Why does he look at me?” Aladdin inquired naively.

“Why do you look at him?” asked Fadil cryptically.

“The fact is that I love him,” he whispered.

Fadil frowned and found nothing to say.

Aladdin left the anniversary festivities with his heart overflowing with the echoes of the songs. He was floating in the darkness under the faint light of the stars, with the autumnal breeze playing against him, when a deep and resonant voice called to him: “Aladdin!”

He stopped and his heart told him that the voice was that of the sheikh. The sheikh caught up with him and said, “You are invited to be my friend.”

“What a wonderful invitation, sir!” he said shyly. “But how did you know my name?”

“My house is known,” said the old man, not replying to his question, “to those who want it.”

“My work takes up my whole day,” he said, as though excusing himself.

“You do not know what your work is.”

“But I am a barber, sir.”

Again, the old man did not concern himself with Aladdin's answer, but queried, “Why did you attend the festivities of al-Warraq?”

“I have loved such festivities since I was small.”

“What do you know about al-Warraq?”

“He was a godly saint.”

“Here is a story he used to relate. He said, ‘My sheikh gave me some small scraps of paper, with the instruction that I should throw them into the river. But my heart did not allow me to do this and I placed them in my house. I went to him and said, “I have undertaken what you ordered.” So he asked, “And what did you see?” I said, “I saw nothing.” He said, “You didn't do as I ordered. Return and throw them into the river.” So I returned, being in doubt about the sign he had promised me, and threw them into the river, and the water parted and a box appeared. Its lid opened so that the pieces of paper fell into it, at which it closed and the waters flowed over it. So I returned and
informed him of what had happened and he said, “Now you have truly thrown them.” So I asked him to explain the secret of this, and he said, “I wrote a book about Sufism which only the perfect could aspire to, and my brother the Khidr
*
asked it of me, and God ordered that the waters should take it to him.” ' ”

Aladdin was amazed and took refuge in silence. They went off together leisurely with the sheikh saying, “One of the Sayings of the Prophet that has been handed down is: ‘The corruption of scholars is through heedlessness, and the corruption of princes is through injustice, and the corruption of the Sufis is through hypocrisy.' ”

“How delightful are his words!” muttered Aladdin with joy.

The sheikh said in a voice that was slightly raised in the calm of the night, “So be not one of the associates of devils.”

Spurred on by a feverish yearning, Aladdin asked, “Who are the associates of devils?”

“A prince without learning, a scholar without virtue, a Sufi without trust in God, and the corruption of the world lies in their corruption.”

“I want to understand,” said Aladdin fervently.

“Patience, Aladdin. It is only the beginning of a mutual acquaintance under a starlit scene—and my house is known to those who want it.”

That night Aladdin dreamed that the madman had come to him in his gown, which hung down over his naked body, and said to him, “Let your beard grow.”

He was amazed at this request, and the madman said, “It is only a snare for hunting.”

“But I am a barber not a hunter,” said Aladdin.

“Man was created to be a hunter,” shouted the madman.

At the breakfast table Aladdin told his parents the story of Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi. Fattouha was delighted and said, “A blessing from our Lord.”

As for Ugr, he listened to it without interest, saying, “You're nothing but a barber and you are sufficiently religious, so be careful not to overdo it.”

With this difference of opinion the husband and wife quarreled and exchanged bitter words.

Above the stairway of the public fountain he went on listening to what Fadil had to say with astonishment.

“You are annoyed at our exalted men.”

“Have you known them well?” Fadil asked him.

“Sometimes my father takes me with him to their houses as his assistant and I see at close range al-Fadl ibn Khaqan the governor of our quarter, also Haikal al-Zafarani the private secretary, and Darwish Omran the chief of police.”

“This does not mean that you have known them.”

“Great men. With only one of them did my heart contract on seeing him—that was Habazlam Bazaza, the son of Darwish Omran. It seemed to me that he resembled the Devil.”

“Have you seen the Devil?”

“Don't make fun of me, it was only a feeling.”

Fadil Sanaan gave a deep sigh and said, as though talking to himself, “Scoundrels!”

“How is it that you have formed such a low opinion of them?”

“There is no smoke without fire.”

“God is present,” he said, after thinking a while.

“But we are among His instruments with which He brings goodness into effect or eradicates evil.”

“What do you mean, Fadil?” he asked, looking him in the eyes.

“I aspire to make you into a friend and a companion,” he said enigmatically.

Early in the evening he sat in the simple reception room at al-Balkhi's house waiting for him to come in. It was his first visit. He had heard his father, Ugr, relating a story about the sheikh that had distressed and saddened him. He had said that Darwish Omran the chief of police had asked for the hand of the sheikh's only daughter for his son Habazlam Bazaza. She was a pure and pious girl who had taken after her father and was of outstanding beauty. He remembered the devilish image of Habazlam Bazaza and what was said about his conduct and he had been upset and further saddened. His father had gone on with the story and said that the sheikh had thanked Darwish Omran and excused himself. But the chief of police was doubtless angry, and if the chief of police is angry then the person against whom his venom is directed is not safe from harm.

He had asked his father, “Does Sheikh al-Balkhi not realize this fact?”

“It is known of the sheikh,” answered Ugr, “that he fears no one but God. But does the chief of police fear God?”

He came to visit the sheikh with a heart heavy with sadness for him. But no sooner did he see him coming cheerfully toward him than he forgot his sadness and realized that he really did not fear anyone but God.

The sheikh sat down cross-legged on a cushion in front of him.

“What is your feeling,” he asked, “as you visit me for the first time?”

“I feel as though I have known you since I was born,” Aladdin said truthfully.

“Each of us has another father and the happy one among us is he who discovers Him,” he said smiling.

“And what you said on the night of the festivities captivated my heart.”

“We draw the blind who are astray to the Path. What did your father say?”

“He wants me to dedicate my heart to my work,” Aladdin said, perturbed.

“He is sleeping and refuses to wake up,” he said seriously. “But how do you assess yourself, Aladdin?”

Finding that he did not know how to answer, the sheikh asked him without formality, “What sort of a Muslim are you?”

“I'm a sincere Muslim.”

“Do you pray?” he asked.

“I do, thanks be to God.”

“I don't think you have ever prayed!”

He looked in amazement at the sheikh, who said, “With us prayer is performed in depth, and the person praying feels nothing if touched and burnt by fire.”

Aladdin, helpless, kept silent.

“You should accept Islam anew,” said the sheikh, “so as to become a true believer. When belief is effected in you, you start off on the Path from its beginning, if you so wish.”

Aladdin remained silent and the sheikh said, “I do not belittle the hardship of the Path with honeyed words, for the light of salvation is a fruit that is withheld from all but its followers. God accepts from you less than that—to each one in proportion to his zeal.”

Silence reigned until it was broken by Aladdin asking, “Does that require that I should give up my work?”

“Each sheikh has a Way of his own,” the other answered forcefully, “and as for me I accept only those who work.”

“I shall come quickly and eagerly.”

“Do not come,” he said, “unless you are driven by an irresistible desire.”

He came up to Fadil Sanaan at the public fountain as a new person. Fadil was dubious and muttered impatiently, “How long are you going to leave me in a state of hope?”

“I,” said Aladdin, “am in the state of confusion.”

“Did you find the way to the sheikh's house?”

“Yes—how did you know that?”

“I know his tracks.” Then he added, “I moved around with him for a long time.”

“You!”

“Yes.”

“He is a righteous sheikh.”

“That, and more,” he conceded, bending his head.

“Perhaps patience failed you and you discontinued?”

“I received at his hands an upbringing whose effects do not abate, yet I preferred permanence to the obliteration of self.”

“I do not understand, friend.”

“Be patient, understanding is not made possible except with time. I would like to see you as one of God's soldiers, not one of his dervishes.”

“I am truly confused.”

“The logic of faith is everlasting and eternal,” said Fadil. “The Path is one at first, then it splits inevitably into two. One of these leads to love and to obliteration of self, the other to holy war. As for the people of obliteration of self, they are dedicated to themselves, and as for the people of holy war, they dedicate themselves to God's servants.”