Between the sunset and evening prayers, we menfolk spent some deeply spiritual moments reciting passages from the Qur’an and chanting prophetic eulogies and Sufi litanies. I played a major part in all that and was sometimes the only one singing. During a pause, the jurist who was so responsible for my good fortune in all this leaned over and asked me where I had acquired such talents.
“God gave me such talents while I was studying,” I whispered in his ear, “but such things were my spiritual sustenance and the primary source of my endurance during the long years I spent in prison.”
It seems that the two witnesses and the local official were somewhat put out by their inability to participate in such religious celebrations, so, as soon as they had eaten, they rose to their feet and left, offering their thanks and good wishes to my wife and myself.
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Oh yes, my gracious Na‘ima, may God be gracious to you and comfort you!
When it came time for my bride and me to be alone, we headed for the room that had been prepared for us, each of us dressed in a pure white garment. The women who accompanied us were praising God and intoning prayers and blessings on our behalf. Once they had closed the door behind us, they all went back to start preparing the celebratory breakfast for the next day.
So here I am face to face with Zaynab, my wife. In her company I can learn again the alphabet of life. I will now start teaching her to read and write so that one day she can take my book and understand its contents.
This amazing night is the new point of beginning, the essence of a fresh outlook on life. I beg God Almighty, as far as possible, to keep it free, now and in the future, from all kinds of violence, frivolity, and sorrow.
The tears shed by my beloved wife are tears of joy as she discovers the sheer magic of married life. My tears are also those of joy, but they are also tempered by joy of another kind — the joy at being rid of the threat of death and destruction. All this is through God’s good grace and yours as well, Na‘ima, guardian angel over my happiness!
And it’s all due to your knowledge as well, you intermediary of God the Creator in my rescue from death! Now here I am in the countryside, reading a book at times and plowing the fields at others along with my wife and mother-in-law. I am filling my lungs to their capacity with the sweet breath of my regained freedom and relishing it all in the company of Zaynab, as we use our mule to ride through valleys, streams, the Bani Sanasin hills, and the Camel’s Cave. Sometimes we dismount and run races into the cave or across low-lying areas. To tell the truth, I find it easier to race a rabbit than to try to keep up with Zaynab. When the woman whom I’ve come to call “my gazelle” stops out of pity for me, I can assess the damage that the years in prison have wrought on my breathing and lungs. But I give praises to God that I am still alive and well and that there are many things I can still enjoy: sitting on the grass with my wife, for example, after we have been running, shading ourselves under the leafy trees and alongside a coursing brook. As we chatter, she kisses my hand and I kiss hers as we tease and touch each other and listen together to the sound of the fetus growing inside her womb.
With each passing day my period of convalescence becomes progressively shorter — what a blessing! — and all signs of my asthma disappear as though it had never really happened. My nightmarish visions gradually vanish as well, and little by little my complete recovery draws ever closer, all due to God’s bounty and generosity.
My devout and generous sponsor, the jurist al-Mizati, now makes me the sole owner of the farm, with the written agreement of his surviving son. He leaves me as owner also of the bookstore in the hope that one day I’ll be able to open it to my own students of religious learning, few though they may be.
I am delighted by my mother-in-law, who I hereby testify is the very best of her kind, and so is she with me. Barely a single day passed before we were sharing jokes and funny stories with each other. For example, I thought it was odd that there was no bull in her paddock. In reply she told me that it’s the cow that is the more profitable by giving birth to calves and producing milk and its byproducts, so it deserves more fodder and close attention. The bull, on the other hand, she borrows without charge at particular times of the year. It impregnates her cows, and then she returns it to its owner. One of her other stories tells how one night she invited a married couple from Fez. Before breakfast the next morning, the couple were both staring in amazement at the number of chickens, cocks, and hens she had. The husband asked how that came about, and she told him that the cock has a large number of wives. “Did you hear that?” the wife whispered in her husband’s ear. The husband asked my mother-in-law to explain: “Does the cock do it with just one hen and no more?” That made her laugh. “Oh no,” she replied, “he not only does it with all the hens here, but even with the neighbors’ hens as well.” “Did you hear that?” the husband whispered in his wife’s ear.
I have not yet found anyone to publish my prison narrative, except for one stupid idiot. He demanded that I pay a significant subvention, the excuse being that the book market was bad. He also asked me to remove many paragraphs and expressions because they had some savage things to say about politics and politicians and included some obscene sections that offended against public morality. I saw no point in reminding the man of the popular expression: “The person who imitates heresy is not a heretic,” and applying the same principle to matters of obscenity. My mother-in-law became involved in the matter and suggested that I offer him a cow in exchange for publication. The wretched man agreed on condition that I add two rams and a hen. Even so, I refused point blank to leave out or rewrite any detail about my suffering and torture. The man turned his back on me, furious and empty-handed.
It is not in my nature or vocation to give up. Something unforeseen may come up with regard to my manuscript, including measures that I need to pursue in the capital city of Rabat and such legal foundations as are prepared to be receptive. I wonder: would I ever have escaped from my trials and tribulations if it were not for my Job-like patience and my pretense at being sick and crazy, just as you advised me to do, Na‘ima? Did I ever imagine that I would be married in this locality and see Zaynab carrying my baby if it had not been for the generous help of a truly pious man? Or could I ever have used my adherence to the counsel of the Lord of all Messengers: “When you come to your womenfolk, then make love to them,” to ask for the gift of a child? The whole thing is connected, Na‘ima. Only time can tell. .!