Before this vault the specter halted, petrified, like a boulder. He did not stir, breathe, or speak and could easily have been a scarecrow from the fields or a demon jinni who had decided to terrify the hearts of passersby.
His prayer lasted for a long time before he made a sound to announce his presence. He emitted a weird panting noise that was not a cough, hawking, guffaw, or shout. Another specter popped from the mouth of the vault, took two steps toward the visitor, and then also went rigid. He held himself erect, faced the visitor, and did not stir. He stood motionless for a long time. There reigned between them the silence of eternal deserts that are devoid of mortals, grazing beasts, and birds. As the confrontation continued, the stillness grew ever more magical, profound, and mysterious. The two evidently enjoyed the stillness. Their meeting seemed to have been ordained before the dawn of recorded time. They appeared to communicate through their silence, as if silence were their language, as if they were more eloquent when speaking with silence’s tongue than with a physical tongue. They might well have been two incognito gods rather than the progeny of terrestrial creatures enchanted by the tongue’s babbling. The offspring of the Unknown scorn the tongue and consider its chattering base defilement that cannot be effaced even by the grandest oblations.
Their silence could have lasted forever, since their silent communication was apparently quite effective, but a nearby owl hooted, rocking the desert’s stillness and reminding them that an ignoble organ called the tongue rested between both their sets of jaws. So the visitor thought he would visit that arena first: “Since prophecy has not descended to the low-lying world of people, people have no choice but to knock on the door of prophecy.”
The vault’s master answered him allusively: “Great is the man who lauds prophecy to the people. Great, great is the man who does not wait for prophecy to knock on his door but goes to knock on prophecy’s portal, even when this forces him to compromise a nobleman’s gravity and to slink by night to the burying grounds.”
The visitor released a moan of longing. “To be guided to one with whom communications have been ruptured for years and years is also a prophecy.”
The vault’s master approached his guest, took his hand, and guided him to a seat on a mat by the tomb’s entrance. Then he sat down beside him. Once more the two specters confronted each other, but then the host substituted for the tongue of the jinn that of human beings: “It’s hardly conceivable that a veil could conceal what time once disclosed.” “You’re right. When the days have stripped a heart naked, not even a thousand veils can hide it.”
“The heart’s a treasure that no secret can conceal.”
“Tell me the truth: Did you try to hide the evidence with the tip of your veil, diligently seeking to conceal your identity?”
“The evidence?”
“Of smallpox. Have you forgotten the scars from the epidemic?”
“Would a son of the desert forget the traces of an epidemic?”
“Just as the son of the desert would not forget the scars of the epidemic, the victim of the epidemic would not forget a hand that pulled him from the mires of that affliction.”
“No payment for the benefactor exceeds gratitude in an age that knows neither gratitude nor loyalty.”
“We must never allow people’s shortcomings to rob us of our trust in people.”
“Should we insist on this out of compassion for ourselves or out of compassion for other people?”
“Both.”
They fell silent and stillness returned to guard them with an even greater authority, for once the pillars of the tongue’s stammering wobbled, silence determined to reassert its sovereignty over the world. As it grew deeper, more cryptic, and more seductive, the two men seated there sensed an indefinable awkwardness. They sensed an awkwardness a creature discerns only after it has hardened into an offense. To free himself — refusing to cling to the coattails of silence — he hastened to use his tongue: “It’s easy to hide a distinguishing feature on your two cheeks; it’s hard to hide one that cannot be hidden.”
“Are you referring to the jenny?”
The jenny master did not reply, and so the guest added, “I didn’t need to see the jenny; nor did I need any other distinguishing characteristic to be guided to the true identity of someone with whom the fates once united me.”
“The day we met in the market you left the impression that you didn’t recognize me and had never seen me before. Was that a snub or a rejection?”
“Neither. The vassals had mentioned other identifying characteristics unlike the distinctive mark any fool could spot on the body, and so I felt perplexed. When the elders met and the messengers related their conversations with the stranger, I grasped the secret and no longer had any need for proof. I did not reveal the stranger’s identity, however, hopeful I could spare the oasis anxiety and fearful the rabble might harm him.”
“You did the right thing.”
“Everyone knows it’s a serious matter when a man leaves home, but a stranger’s success is held hostage by our ignorance of the secret intent he harbors. A secret that has been disclosed is a prophecy that dissipates before it can be fulfilled, and the dissipation of a prophecy means the destruction of the prophet.”
“I’m pleased to hear the Law’s wisdom from the tongue of a person who enjoys wallowing in the mires of oases.” “I’m sorry you still think ill of oases.”
“What does the stranger do when the disciple and friend has given verbal expressions of gratitude but betrayed a solemn promise?”
“Not so fast! Take it easy!”
“We should obey maxims, not memories.”
The guest emitted a hurt groan and raised his head toward the stars in the sky as if searching for inspiration among their twinkling lights. Then the vault’s master said, “The day I rescued you from death, I had only one piece of advice for you: to keep traveling. Have you forgotten?”
“How could I forget?”
“How can I believe that you haven’t forgotten when I see you relishing languor. You don’t even stop there but have agreed to lead other languid folks as well.”
“The problem with rules is that there’s always a good reason to break them.”
“When has deliverance been easy?”
“I admit it has never been easy. The commandments of the lost Law testify to that.”
“Hardship that brings deliverance is easier to bear than ease that brings ruin.”
The visitor sighed with disappointment and remarked ruefully, “Easy for us to say; hard for us to do. You don’t know what it means for a man to put down roots.”
“I know; roots are the greatest evil of all.”
“We absorb a root’s moisture and grow roots without even knowing it.”
“Cursed be the root that serves to destroy us, even if it provides us refreshing draughts.”
“Oh, woe, alack.”
“The noblest element of the rambling man’s heart is his longing. No one fails while longing persists in his heart.” “Longing is what endures.”
“It was longing that permitted our ancestors to perform heroic deeds. It was longing that enabled our ancestors to compose poetry. It was longing that made it possible for our ancestors to etch the Law’s maxims onto the hearts of subsequent generations.”