"My name is Sara, daughter of Maymun," she replied, biting her finger. "I'm a descendant of Musa ibn Maymun. Have you heard of him?"
"You mean, 'Abdallah Musa ibn Ishaq ibn Maymun?* How could I not have heard of him? I've already been reading his Proofs for the Perplexed, and, God willing, I'll be doing some more."
"I too have read parts of that book, but I emerged from the process just the way I started: perplexed, indeed totally uncertain about anything. Do you think it's because I am one of those impatient people whom the author doesn't allow to read his text even with a tutor? But, in any case, let's forget about such aimless and useless matters. Tell me about yourself."
It occurred to me that I should probably inform this grumbler that her own ancestor and Ibn Rushd* were both of the same stripe, in that neither of them gives their readership the kind of detailed explanations that people really need, even specialists on dialectics and theology. However, I decided instead to answer her question.
"I'm a practicing Muslim, as you can see, a son of both East and West, and a permanent student of knowledge, though, as the prophetic tradition puts it, it be in China…"
"But what's your name, horse-rider?"
"Abd al-Haqq ibn Dara."
She seemed to find my lineage somewhat strange and guessed that it was either Sufi or military. Even so she asked for no further explanation.
"I'm a Spanish Jew," she continued, "inheritor of the Torah, originator of the great covenant of monotheism, a faith that has been corrupted by rabbis and radical pseudo-interpreters of doctrine who have travestied the covenant of the Promised Land and God's chosen people. It's as though Abraham-God's blessing be upon him! — acted in their exclusive interest, wandering in the wilderness only in order to encounter their God, and not desiring to see the face of the god in all people. You should know, Ibn Dara, that I had a younger brother who dared to argue with them. They subjected him to all kinds of intrigue and insult. They put him in prison, whipped him, and cut off half his beard, so much so that he died of anger and sorrow."
She sighed and fell silent. I seized the opportunity to cheer her up a bit.
"I belong to the religion of Muhammad," I said, "the seal and scented closure of the great monotheistic tradition. We maintain a firm linkage to the Abrahamic tradition of prophets and messengers. In Spain we too have our share of jurists who manage to cause dissent and lead believers astray."
A white cat emerged from a room close by, leapt into my lap, and curled up with a few purrs of amiable contentment.
"That cat has decided it likes my house," my hostess informed me. "I feed it when I'm here, and it looks for its own food when I'm away. I've called it Najma."
"Najma looks very intelligent and astute, quite apart from the fact that she's a beautiful cat. Aren't I blessed to be with such a cat and her owner?"
As I mouthed those words, I stroked the cat's back. Sara's eyes gleamed to show that she fully understood that in using such words I was actually referring to her, just as I had taken her words about my horse as referring to me. One good turn deserves another, as the saying goes, and, as yet another has it, the person who makes the first move is offering the most.
So that was my first encounter with Sara ibn Maymun. As was my custom with overtures such as this one, I struck a jovial tone and kept my inclinations and desires in check with a display of discretion and innocent amusement. When I asked her permission to leave, she gave me a neutral kind of look, then accompanied me with some pleasantries to the place where my horse was tethered. She told me the times when she was to be found at this cottage of hers by the sea and when she was in Murcia itself.
This then was the first of many other clandestine rendezvous; some of them involved conversations, others sex. Both of us managed to pluck a good deal of fruit from the experience; together we concentrated body and mind on direct access to the essence of things rather than the external shell and on the reconciliation of opposites and differences. In the end she would witness to my Qur'an while I would point to the veracity of her Torah. Our only quest and ambition was the sheer pleasure of enlightenment and attraction.
One day the anticipatable happened: a separation that lasted for six months or more. Sara was married to a Jewish man, who then proceeded to divorce her for reasons I was disinclined to find out. Her relationship with her family and the rabbis favored by her father deteriorated. When she responded to my invitation and came to see me one morning disguised as a Muslim woman, I realized how such cruel circumstances had dealt with her. No sooner had she removed her billowing veil than her wan, unhappy face was revealed along with her sickly frame.
"See what they've done to me!" she said as she sat opposite me at a table full of milk and sweetmeats. "The reconquistadors are tightening the circles around the Jews and Muslims of Murcia, and yet my own people are doing their very best to throttle me as well. Day and night, Ibn Dara, I keep thinking of escaping to the Maghrib or even farther away!"
"Sara, do not despair of God's mercy," I replied. "Don't be too hasty. Hardships like these are always followed by release. 'Abd al-'Ali along with your sister, Rachel, is not too well, and, as you may have noticed, I'm not well myself. I'm feeling unhappy partly because we're losing our beloved Spain bit by bit, fortress by fortress, and partly because I've lost a manuscript that I wrote in a very special language, the language of enticement, dream, and luminosity. I'm presuming that it's been stolen…"
For a moment she looked down, then gave me a fixed stare. "`Ali can divorce my sister if he wants," she said, "but, if you've any doubts about me, then you're wrong…
"No, no, heaven forfend! I've asked you to come to find out how you are and tell you about my own circumstances. It's your advice I want, that's all."
"So now all doubts about the Jewish woman have been removed for sure. You can continue your routine with your other girlfriends. And don't forget the polytheists among them either!"
She gave me that final piece of advice as she was standing up and adjusting her dress. Stretching out her hand, she touched my neck, then went ahead of me to the door and vanished, leaving me with the impression that I might never see her again.
5
"DON'T FORGET THE POLYTHEISTS AMONG THEM!" she had said.
I only got to know one of them; her name was Balgis. I lost track of her as well just before the manuscript went missing. Her house was on the southern outskirts of Murcia and was full of statues and icons. I visited her twice or more, and so did she to my residence. Then suddenly our relationship was broken off when she went away, I don't know where. Our contact never went beyond pithy, subtle conversation, a situation made necessary by the shortage of time, the need to be careful, and the avoidance of cocked ears and prying eyes. We spent most of our time talking about theological issues and major life questions.
I recall that on one occasion she invited me to attend the obsequies for the shaykh of a heretical sect known as "the earth-watchers," a group whom she served as amanuensis. First she vouched for me with the leaders of the sect, then I accepted the invitation on the premise that it is better to know things than to remain in ignorance, especially if the experience involves both listening and seeing. One of the most amazing things I saw and later confirmed through the medium of texts composed by my inviter was the following homily sent to the deceased caliph by his successor. Here are some of its most cogent paragraphs: