As night fell, we could hear the evening call to prayer, so we both prayed the obligatory prayers and added to them some other liturgies and intercessions. Once we had finished, my companion asked me a question, as to whether it was permissible to perform prayers some time after the time appointed or indeed to perform them all together at day's end.
"Dear brother," I said, justifying the practice and offering some explanation for it, "if prayer is the twin of thought and contemplation and the equivalent of good deeds and kindly words-be they recited or chanted, then each of us is involved in a continuous and constant process of prayer. Thus there can be no objection to performing the obligation whenever it is convenient to do so."
"My friend in all things," he replied enthusiastically, "you have spoken the truth so well! It's midnight now, so please provide me with some of your spiritual sustenance so that I can devote as much time as possible to perusing it."
I gave my companion a copy of my Escape of the Gnostic. I in turn asked him for some of his literary and popular poetry. He told me that some of it was in his memory, but there were other poems in his notebooks. I took some of the notebooks and said farewell, in the hope of meeting him again at dawn the next day.
When I lay down, I was not able to get any sleep because I kept thinking about my family and especially my wife, not to mention my students and this compulsory journey in which I was involved. It seemed to me that my sleeplessness was considerably alleviated by the fact that I had started reading some of the poetry composed by my wonderful, generous, and noble host. Sometimes I read strophic poems in the Spanish style, and at others I looked at more traditional Arabic poetry. Among the features that I noted were his sense of proportion in imagination, his sheer brilliance in embellishment, and the rare and wonderful gifts he offered in revelation. I found that I still needed to question this inspired poet about his references to drunkenness in some of his verses, specifically the particular and frank terminology he used. By the Arabic word khamr was he implying that kind of liquid "unpressed" or "not pressed by human agency," as used frequently by itinerant Sufis, or was it rather that-without resort to double-entendre or simile-he was going back to an earlier period of ribaldry in his life, the time when Abu alHasan would have drunk wine neat as the son of Spanish amirs?
4
NEXT MORNING I was awoken by the sun's rays shining on me, showing that it had to be almost midday. My host's notebooks were scattered all over the bedcovers and my own face; it may well have been their magic that managed to imbue me with a kind of figurative drunkenness that had allowed me to sleep so deeply. I collected them all and got up so I could check on things and cleanse myself before performing my prayers. All around me the cats, dogs, and chickens were now getting used to my presence. I washed my clothes and body, and then went out to look at a back garden where there were lemon trees and fresh-growing vegetables. I picked enough of each to satisfy my hunger, then left the hut in order to head for the city, where I planned to acquaint myself with its monuments, shops, and people.
Crossing the wasteland that separated my host's cell from the closest buildings that connected to the city center, I made my way across a market that seemed to belong to wool merchants, and then the main market known as the Qaysariyya, till I reached yet another market teeming with people, animals, and goods, which I was informed was the Bab al-Bahr market. There I bumped into the copyist-bookseller to whom Abu al-Hasan had introduced me earlier. I returned his greetings and asked him where the copyists' market was. He told me there was no such thing, explaining that people were far more concerned about what they would eat and wear and where they could live; they were totally uninterested in learning and those who practiced it. He then said a prayer of thanks to AlShushtari, who was providing him with some assistance so that he did not have to close his shop or fill it up with vegetables and ironware.
This brought to mind what my ascetic host had told me about taking money from the rich and donating it to people who were weak and poor. I could well understand his doing such a thing for this bankrupt copyist. I asked him where Abu al-Hasan was at this moment.
"Every Monday, Sir," he told me, much to my amazement, "you can see him at the head of a group of lunatics and people possessed. He does the rounds with them from Bab al-Bunud to Bab al-Marsa by the port. They all shout out, `Ho, come with me, and you'll see!"'
And that is exactly what I did. It was only a few moments of walking and waiting later before Al-Shushtari appeared, just as my copyist companion had told me. He was striding along at the head of a group of people walking, some of whom were waving multicolored flags. I caught the following lines from the song they were chanting:
Along with my companion, I hurried over to another place where they were heading. This was their chant:
What a sight all this was! Men of all ages, some of them bare-chested and without shoes, all singing at the top of their voices, as they competed to repeat the chant of their leader or to accompany his own singing. For his part, once in a while he would beat or rap on his drum.
I felt a shiver of excitement coursing through me. Had I not been so worried about carrying my money-belt around with me, I would certainly have joined them and walked in the footsteps of the imam of the ascetics. Then I could have molded myself with their perambulation through the town, using their progress as a way of searching for a release from my own concerns and troubles and opening my heart to streaks of light and relief.
At this point I became aware once again of my copyist companion, who was amazed at the way I had succumbed to the experience of the moment. I advised him to go back to his home and place of work.
"What's the point of that?" he complained. "It's my fate to sit at home or in my copyist's store. My master, Al-Shushtari, has already put the notion into verse:
I now took off and wandered around the port area. From there I made my way up and down, through alleys and across squares, repeating to myself AlShushtari's poetry that the group of madmen had sung during their tour of the town. I told myself how wonderful this new friend of mine was, seeing him as a remarkable talent and brilliant luminary. I kept wandering around like this till I found myself in front of a mosque door (it may well have been the major mosque in the town). I went inside and performed the afternoon prayer with the assembled congregation. That done, I went over to a shady corner where I could find some peace and quiet, recite some of my own prayers, and think for a bit. But, just as I was about to benefit from such activities, two men came up to me, leaned over, and spoke as though in unison.
"If I were you, Ibn Sab'in," they said, "I wouldn't stay too long in Bijaya. The best thing by far would be for you to speed on your way to the Hijaz."
The nasty, threatening tone that they both used and the fact that the whole thing happened so suddenly prevented me from responding or even trying to catch up with them after they had left. I just sat there for a while thinking the whole thing over and trying to link it to everything that had happened to me so far. Once I had made up my mind that there was indeed a link, I left the mosque with my head bowed and headed for the place where I was staying. Once there, I diverted myself by attending to my horse, gave him some more fodder and water, and fondled his head and mane, whispering words of comfort and reassurance as I did so.
Just as I was in the process of using this as a way of convincing myself to take things as they come, there was Al-Shushtari himself standing in front of me with a radiant smile. Kissing my shoulder, he gave me a warm embrace and then apologized for not waking me at dawn because I was so deeply asleep.