"Esteemed holy man," the senior member of the lunatics demanded, "before any further chit-chat, please define sanity for us all."
First I dried my hair and put on my turban, all the while thinking of the simplest way of making the masseur, the lunatics, and the bath owner understand the definition involved.
"Sanity, my friends-may God provide you all with it," I said, "consists of a balance of light whereby mankind can distinguish truth from falsehood, good from bad, and beautiful from ugly. Some people claim it is centered on the head, others on the heart, and still others on a combination of the two."
The bath owner now addressed me in a tone that blended high esteem and complaint. "Dear Sir," he said, "these men possess no intelligence in any part of their bodies. They insist on using this bath without payment and playing havoc as though they were devils or troublesome teenagers. Once or twice I've overlooked their behavior, but this time the answer is no!"
"If God had provided us with some money," said a second lunatic, "we would certainly be willing to pay. And if someone were willing to heat some water for us in our residence, then we would wash ourselves there…"
"Here's what our minds tell us," said a third. "This bath belongs to God, so any of His servants may enter it…"
"Dear holy man of God," begged the bath owner, "rescue me from these accursed people! Use your logic to keep them away…"
"Let me handle these poor wretches," I replied, using the tone of a sage who never speaks on a whim. "They'll go into the bath one by one. Everyone will have his turn. That way, everyone can be satisfied, with no cause for distress or harm."
I got to my feet and paid generously for the entrance fee. Since the men's silence seemed to imply that they were satisfied, I said my farewells and departed, leaving it to everyone else to put my fatwa into practice. All the while people kept flocking into the bathhouse.
As soon as I got back to my house, I found a sealed letter under the door. I opened it eagerly and read my beloved's message in her clear handwriting. She sent me her greetings, in so doing addressing me as her dearest darling, and went on to let me know that, God willing, our engagement would take place on the evening of the first Friday in the current month of Rabi' al-Awwal; all the necessary arrangements were in place. She closed the letter with expressions of love and desire.
There were just three days or fewer left before the appointed day. Even if it had been less time, I was feeling so utterly thrilled and in love that I would have accepted it in any case. The sheer rapture I was experiencing afforded me an inner sense of the true meaning of life in all its wonder. I swiftly went about my daily tasks, then lay down on my bed to relax and think for a while, all in the hope of crafting a safe haven for my present life and a course of action for my anticipatable future. Right from the start, I realized that every limb in my body was pulsating with desire for the one whom I longed to hold as she did me. That desire was a reality, with no ifs, ands, or buts; it was a reality that now had total control over me, so much so that it was pointless to fake its impact by referring to the writings of ascetics and hermits-neither that nor indulging in negative thoughts about possible outcomes and the games that fate plays with human beings.
So then, my beloved is my other focus after the qibla in Mecca and my ultimate resort! So be it! By the Lord of the Ka`ba, she is not to be a mere plaything so I can pass the time of day in frivolities and indulge in an excess of passion.
She is the one with the sweet face to die for, with its subtle expressions and abundant coquetry, one that I would take in my hands, a devoted reader who would contemplate its beauty forever and make my way around its grace and elegance, finding within it a light to shine on my conduct toward humanity, as I praised the one God and sought to enhance my standing in the eyes of the Almighty.
That is the way things are, and there is nothing else to revive and invigorate me in Sabta, the place where I now reside, my secondary base and exile abode. Anyone who claims otherwise is trying to defame me and is totally mistaken.
I manage to control the inner turmoil I'm feeling by staying in my house and keeping as calm as possible. I'm afraid of losing my self-control, so I don't go out anywhere where I might show people how overjoyed I am. Over time that very joy has only increased; in so doing it has eliminated any number of dogged problems that have beset me. If I were to go outside, I am sure that idiots would say, "Aha, he's just like us in every way, and we don't care whether he agrees or not." On the other hand, poor people who are intelligent and devout would probably put it differently and say, "Dear holy man of God, your joy is increasing in intensity; it is at odds with the spirit of this era that saddens us and makes us bleed. So take your personal joy and move it far away from our broken spirits and never-ending grief. Away, far away…"
Such talk is incoherent, in that it lacks subtlety and precision, seeking instead to downplay the role of listening and understanding. I have never claimed total absolute control for my feelings of joy, nor do I seek to absolve it of a sense of grief over the fall of Al-Andalus or, for that matter, of any anxiety over current or future situations.
No, I regarded it as a sign, something to revive and embolden me in the face of so many trials and tribulations, a flag fluttering in the breeze to indicate my endurance, courage, initiative, and resolve. With lofty ambition and firm resolve I would be able to embellish my defiance and determination with a stolid sense of happiness in order to be able to confront any notion of defeat or perdition. A voice whispered in my ear, "Have you not read in the text of the Qur'an: `Rejoice not, for God does not love those who do so?"' [Sura 28, v. 76], to which I replied, "Yes, but I have read it in its context, not separated and in isolation. It refers to the people of Moses addressing their leader, Aaron, and involves someone who is joyous to the point of wonder and pride in their mighty treasures. My joy on the other hand comes from an entirely different source and motivation. So try to understand."
9
I WAS JOLTED OUT OF MY REVERIE by a gentle tap on my door, followed by a soft neigh. Opening the door I found myself face to face with my horse, almost as though he had come to inquire about my health and check up on me. I held his head close and nuzzled him, whispering words of affection and good cheer to the effect that he would soon be conveying me to my mistress and his. After indicating that he understood and concurred, he turned around and happily retraced his steps. It occurred to me that I might follow him to make sure he went back to his stable or pasture and then take the opportunity to meet and talk to some of the folk residing in the wing for those who could talk, but instead I decided to remain in isolation and allow my daydreams completely free rein.
I settled myself down to read chapters in the books I had used to frame my bed. Whenever an idea or an inspiration occurred to me, I would write it down in my notes before it disappeared and Satan erased it from my memory. I kept this up for a while, not bothering whenever my stomach demanded food or the muezzin called people to prayer, only interrupting things in order to contemplate what I was reading and writing for a while. When it was early morning, I again opened Al-Harith al-Muhasibi's* Book of Contemplation, specifically at the section that had originally worried me and made me reject the ideas of this Sunni mystic who was so well known for his piety and virtue. He is talking about the believer who is promised an afterlife in paradise, within it "houris with soft-skinned bodies, virgin and sweet," residing there for evermore, lovely companions who will provide glasses of wine and cups of honey, milk, and water.