When Karim heard the story of the crusader language, he too was sucked in and found himself inside the imaginary world fashioned by Abu Ahmad’s words, for it had never before entered his mind that the crusaders spoke a language all their own, different from those of the countries from which they came.
He asked about the language and got an answer from Muna that obviated the question. “It’s called lingua franca, uncle, not ‘the language of the crusaders,’ and it wasn’t a language, it was a mixture of numerous dialects, including Arabic.”
“All languages are mixtures,” said Ahmad.
“Fine, so why did you become Muslims?” asked Karim.
“The story of our forefathers is a truly strange one,” said Abd el-Malek.
“Everyone around them were Muslims. You’ve heard of the terrible massacre committed by the Mamluke Baybars when he occupied the Fragrant City?”
“I have,” said Karim, “but I know too about the savage massacre committed by the crusaders when they occupied the city.”
“History is nothing but massacres,” said Abu Ahmad, “but that’s not the point. Our forefathers became Muslims because they had no other option. If you come to the house with me I’ll show you the family tree and how we started mixing with Muslims a long time ago and intermarried with them long before the Mamluke conquest of the city. I deduce that our forefathers became Muslims in order to fit in with their environment. Not me, though. I’m a Muslim by conviction. I studied philosophy at the university and worked as a philosophy teacher at the Mar Elias School and I’ve studied the matter in depth and thought about becoming a Christian again like my forefathers, especially as I love the Byzantine hymns. When you listen to Dimitri Coutya chanting you’d think it was a voice to open the Gates of Heaven. But I discovered that Muhammad was the true prophet.”
The man then expounded his theory on religions. He said Muhammad was the only prophet in the three divinely revealed religions who had died a member of his own religion because he had personally supervised it. Moses wasn’t a Jew and Jesus wasn’t a Christian because the Jewish and Christian religions took shape long after them and it wasn’t certain they would recognize themselves in them. Only Muhammad had died a Muslim and in accordance with the religion that was the vehicle of his message. In this way God had rendered Islam superior to all other religions. This was why Abu Ahmad Dakiz had chosen Islam as a religion; however, he had also adopted the theory of the Sufi Ibn Arabi and become a Muslim “following in the path of Jesus, son of Mary.”
The clock said five. Ahmad looked at his wife and said, “We have to go.”
“Stay the night at my place,” said Abu Ahmad.
“I wish we could,” said Ahmad, “but things aren’t looking good. The atmosphere in the country’s bad and everyone’s afraid the fighting will start up again.”
Karim asked if he’d be able to find a taxi at seven or seven thirty. He estimated that the meeting with Imm Yahya would take a while and so he’d make use of his visit to her to go in Radwan’s car and visit Khaled’s grave.
Ahmad said he doubted he would be able to, given that the clouds of war were gathering.
“I’ll work it out,” said Karim.
“Why? Aren’t you going back with us?” asked Muna.
He told them his friend would be sending him a car at five thirty so that they could go together and visit the mother of a friend who had died.
“We’ll wait for you at Uncle Abd el-Malek’s,” said Muna.
Karim noticed Ahmad’s doubtful glances and said they didn’t have to wait because he could manage on his own.
“At my place. You’ll sleep at my place,” said Abu Ahmad. “My house is opposite the mosque. In any case, you’ll find me there, at the Ash’ash Café, smoking a narghile and waiting for you.”
“It’s an idea,” said Ahmad, apologizing that they had to go back because the Filipino maid couldn’t stay with the children after seven.
“Why not?” said Karim, thinking that to stay the night at Abu Ahmad’s would give him more time to think of a way of getting around Sheikh Radwan’s request.
There followed a strange Tripolitanian night during which Karim discovered the relationship between the dissolution of memory and the disintegration of the present: two women, an elderly man who had found a second youth in the past, and a city dominated by a concrete arch whose significance and reason for being no one could recall.
Karim got into the car sent for him by Sheikh Radwan at five thirty. A young man in jeans and a black shirt, his eyes covered by thick sunglasses, arrived and made a sign to Karim from a distance. The doctor rose, said goodbye to his hosts, and confirmed to Abu Ahmad that he’d meet him at the Ash’ash Café.
The black Mercedes reached the Exhibition district. The young man looked back and said apologetically, “One moment. I just have to go up and get Mawlana.” Karim deduced that “Mawlana” had moved from Qubbeh to live in the Exhibition neighborhood, a new residential district built opposite the land that had been set aside for the Tripoli International Exhibition grounds. At its center stood a concrete arch built by the Brazilian architect Oscar Niemeyer to provide the city — dominated by the crusader castle of Saint-Gilles — with a modern symbol to clash with its old one.
Sheikh Radwan sat next to the driver and the car set off enveloped in the silence of the two men who had nothing more to say to one another. The journey from Exhibition to Qubbeh took about forty minutes because of the traffic. Karim would think of it later as “the thirsty journey.” His mouth felt dry and his thirst was so desperate that he asked the driver to stop so he could buy a bottle of mineral water. But it seemed the driver didn’t hear him, or the sheikh’s security requirements prevented him.
The script of what would happen at Imm Yahya’s house ought to have been a foregone conclusion for all. The sheikh would clear his throat before knocking on the door. Imm Yahya, swathed in black, would open the door to find before her Karim, bent over to kiss her hand, his eyes flooded with tears. The woman would pull her hand away with an exclamation of “I seek refuge with God!” Sheikh Radwan would say Karim was an old friend who had kept the late Yahya’s papers safe and in trust, for which he was to be thanked. The woman would nod her head and say, “May God be pleased with you! You are like my sons.” And in the end Karim would say that the papers would be sent to Sheikh Radwan in accordance with Imm Yahya’s request. Probably Imm Yahya would make them tea and offer them her famous almond-and-sugar flaky pastry rounds, which were one of the notable secrets to the success of the bakery she ran.
In the event, an unexpected element would enter the script, overturn the set piece, and mess up the precisely calibrated formula that Sheikh Radwan had drawn up for this meeting, which he had planned to be very short, “because the woman is not well, is very old, passes all her time in prayer, and does not receive visitors.”
They got out of the car into the crowded street, the sheikh looking right and left and greeting people, his escort sticking close by him. They found themselves in front of an apartment located on the ground floor of an old four-story building. The young man hung back, the sheikh gestured to Karim to go ahead, and they stood in front of the door. The sheikh cleared his throat and then knocked, saying in a loud voice, “Open the door, Imm Yahya. It’s Sheikh Radwan.” No one opened the door. Karim heard what might have been footsteps. “The woman’s got very old,” said the sheikh, “and she doesn’t hear well.” He knocked again and when no one opened he pushed on the door using his shoulder and, saying, “With your permission!” entered, signaling to Karim to follow. Immediately, however, he recoiled, knocking into Karim.