"Master," I heard him reply, "I'll not deny that your instructions to me in my dream reflected an inclination buried deep inside me. However, if it were not for my readings of your works and about you, that inclination would have remained hidden and inactive and I would not have come to the decision that I did, entrusted myself to God, and proceeded along that path. I'm older than you, but you're ahead of me in both learning and understanding. Your works have managed to rouse me from my slumber and ignorance. You're the one who's pushed me toward my dream and my ascent."
I tried to parry his praise, maybe for the last time. "The fact that I call on people to renounce worldly matters," I said, "does not mean that I need to claim the credit for it. It's true that, like you, I've renounced the world of pomp and authority, but, when I was a young man in Murcia, I lived a life of ribaldry and passion. In Sabta I've married a virtuous woman of high status and ambition, someone who's both influential and wellborn. Once I've completed the hajj, I wish for nothing so much as to return to her on the wings of affection and love."
I did not tell him about the purses of gold in my belt, nor about the splendid stallion quartered in the stables of my hotel. My companion remained silent for a moment, then stood up and indicated to me that it was time for the evening prayer. We both turned in humility toward the qibla, and, once we had performed the prayers, we read some verses from the Qur'an. That done, we both sat down again. A peculiar silence prevailed, and I would have assumed that it boded ill if Abu al-Hasan had not adopted his smiling visage as before.
"Lord of the Gnostics," he addressed me, "the course of renunciation is one of the fruits of struggle and aspiration. Only those who pursue the path of renunciation can achieve it. Don't regard me as an angel, for I'll never be one. Like you, I gained insight, albeit to the extent of your primary phase; I then moved beyond it to the second, operating on the basis of the noble Prophet's negative posture toward monastic life and bachelorhood. Yet I was to emerge from this phase with a bum's rap-widowed of a fine woman and divorced from another who was perverse and arrogant; nor did I have children with either of them. After that I did not try the marriage-market again; and thank God for what was written and decreed! So here I am; as you counsel in your Epistle of Light, I'm organizing my seclusion in such a way as to keep my soul far removed from evil forces that might destroy it, as distant as possible from family and other people. I use the lights of the faithful Prophet to guide me toward the absolute unity of existence. In my conduct I rely on two enlightened shaykhs: one from the previous century whose primary expression from the beginning till his very last breath was `God is the truth,' namely Shu'ayb Abu Madyan,* the Great Sufi. In the present era, my shaykh is the person who is now sitting here with me; I am overjoyed to be talking to him and beg him to accept me as a student and follower."
I was at a loss and stared at the floor, thinking about what he had said but avoiding any hint of rejection or refusal. Abu al-Hasan was delighted.
"This is what Shu'ayb has to say on the subject," he shouted. "`A shaykh is someone to guide you by his ethics, support you by his contemplation, and illumine your inner world with his brilliance."'
With that he embraced me and shed tears of gratitude and joy. I clasped his hand in order to calm his fervor, and in a moment he quieted down. He now invited me to share a modest hermit's meal with him, but I declined, noting that I had already eaten a lot of figs. I stood up to leave and asked my companion to direct me to the hotel whose address I gave him. Rubbing his hands together in sorrow, he jumped up and urged me to spend the night with him; he warned me that traveling back to the hotel on such a night was not safe. He promised to go early in the morning to bring my horse and belongings. By the light of a candle he accompanied me to another room and told me where to find blankets and a back door that led, as he told me, into a stable with a cow and other domestic animals and a variety of fruit trees and scented bushes. After praying for him, I withdrew so I could be on my own and get some of the sleep that I so badly needed.
3
NEXT MORNING I AWOKE to the cock's crow and the muezzin's call. I got up, did my ablutions, and prayed. There was no sign of my host inside the house. I sat there, thinking about a number of things, prime among them being the issue of my wife, whom I was longing to see, and of Al-Shushtari, this devout monotheist who aspired so fervently to attain the truth and could sing in a way that brought him close to God and that people appreciated so much. My whole being had become attracted to him, even though I had only met him a short while ago. What a wonderful holy figure he was, living in this era that was proving to be so parsimonious in its supply of figures who merited admiration and respect!
I stayed where I was until the morning sun was high in the sky. Emerging from the stable space I found myself in a field right at the bottom of a looming mountain. In it I found the animals that Abu al-Hasan had mentioned, creatures with which I was acquainted in some detail, a dog and cats that hissed at me. The explorer in me went behind a hovel and found a privy in the open air; after all the figs I had eaten the day before, I certainly needed it. I made my way up the mountain, following a marked path with various kinds of bushes and mulberry, olive, and carob trees on either side. Birds and cicadas were making a huge din. On my way up I met a man wearing a Jewish skullcap.
"Wayfarer," he said, "if it's Al-Shushtari's cell you are heading for, as I have done before you, then this path leads to it."
Al-Shushtari's cell! So here I was, standing in front of a stone hovel with this phrase painted on the door: "Only monotheists enter here!" Beneath it were the following words:
"`He is God only,' those are the words of my master, Ibn Sabin. I recite it ad libitum to devotees":
With the words "In the name of God" on my lips, I entered the hovel; half of it was shady, and in that part was a water jar and a rug; the sunny half was full of anemones and a plentiful supply of other plants. What was weird was that, once you were inside, you could not hear a single sound of any kind.
I sat down on the rug and leaned my back against the mud-brick wall, relishing the absolute silence and trying as best I could to melt into it and bask in its peace. In behaving that way, my goal was to probe the depths of language, ritual, and song concealed within it. Let the truth be told: all I found there was the sheer truth, the kind that cannot be comprehended by description, causation, or understanding, the same kind that devoted seekers aspire to achieve through love and struggle, in the process eradicating their earthly desires and appendages as they seek the essence of the beautiful names of God and the wafts of eternity. All others, the great mass of humanity, simply meander around in the desert wastes of frivolity and fancy, buffeted by the dark forces of neglect and ignorance. I think that I pursued the flow of this silence through various stations and circles that swung between drowsiness and sleep, but then I suddenly woke up again. My astrolabe told me that it was almost late afternoon. I rushed outside. There I found myself face to face with Abu al-Hasan, clasping the bridle of my horse that had been loaded up with my belongings. With him was another man who had about him the look of a priest. My host looked at me with his fresh countenance and gave me the same greeting as his companion.
"My master," he said, "this mountain and its fresh air have clearly appealed to you and provided you with the serenity of this hermit's cell."
I returned their greetings. "You're exactly right, 0 cell-owner!"
"This priest and I," he went on, "have been waiting here until you finished and woke up. We too have been having our fill of peace and quiet. Now, Lord, it's up to you: do you want to spend the night up here, or accompany me wherever you wish to go?"