“I must tell you that this letter made me realize that I had not paid enough attention to the practice of the occult and magic. Had I given it any thought at the time, I could have begun by asking myself about the function of these practices in the context of society and humanity in general. Which of mankind’s expectations and concerns were expressed and answered by them? With more thought, I might have realized that in this quest for precious metals lay a desperate effort to force the earth to surrender its treasures to people who spend their entire lives dreaming of copious, inconceivable riches. With more thought, I would have seen that the entire thing provides us with a yardstick for the genuine poverty that exists, not to mention the scarcity of precious metals; and that is exactly what makes them the target of both dreams and plunder. Even so, I did record that this social phenomenon was spreading during a period when the regime was in decline and had decided to go after these treasure-seekers so that they could be taxed.”
‘Abd al-Rahman looked over at al-Hihi and caught him surreptitiously making notes.
“I told you not to write anything down, Hammu,” he scolded him with a smile, “and yet I see you’re still writing. Are you so keen to record every single thing I say, digressions and all?”
“Indeed, Master, they are all pearls. I have to note them all down in rough form so that I can make a complete version at home.”
“Stop that for now. Bring over that stew so that I can taste some. By God, I haven’t eaten for a few days, so I need some food.”
“Here’s Umm al-Banin’s stew. She makes it for you with all her affection and respect.”
“God preserve her handiwork and lead her to what pleases His will.”
‘Abd al-Rahman tasted some of the stew, scooping up a piece of meat covered in beans and artichoke, all of it garnished with olives. He took a piece of bread, dipped it in the stew, and took it out slowly and carefully. With each mouthful he extolled the woman who had made it and blessed the way in which this wonderful dish was settling so well in his stomach. He recalled previous meals that Umm al-Banin had cooked for him. All of which led him to ask her husband a question.
“How is it, Hammu, that your wife’s stews, filled as they are with fat, still manage to settle in my hypersensitive stomach without the slightest problem? For example, the stew we had before this was sinfully rich in eggs, all of which led me to expect the very worst consequences, and yet I had no bad aftereffects. What’s the secret?”
“That’s a good question, but the only answer I can give is that Umm al-Banin is a wonderful cook; all her relatives in Fez admit as much. She always uses the right amount of oil and spices, and absolutely refuses to use anything but the freshest and best produce. However, as far as I am concerned, the real secret lies in the oregano oil she uses. It’s known to have beneficial properties, and I get my relatives in Ighilinghighil to bring it with them when they pass through on their pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina.”
“The oregano of the al-Hihis, not to mention their honey, their pride, and their intelligence, these are all things that, God willing, I’ll talk about some time, not to mention Ighilinghighil and its famous tableware.”
At this point ‘Abd al-Rahman wished his amanuensis and his wife health and happiness. That was the cue for the session to come to an end.
The Night at the End of Sha‘ban
When al-Hihi entered ‘Abd al-Rahman’s house, he took up his usual position and waited for the master to finish his prayers and intercessions. It was only when al-Hihi greeted his master that the latter was even aware of al-Hihi’s presence. With that he went over, sat beside him, and returned his greetings, rewinding his turban as he did so.
“Prayer is a cure for the weary soul, Hammu,” he said, “so never stint on it or cut it short.”
“Sometimes I pray with the congregation, Master, at others with my wife. I will not hide from you the fact that my very greatest delight is when I can persuade my wife to perform the prayers behind me.”
“But for books, I would spend the majority of my time in prayer, in the hope of relieving my distress and erasing sad memories. At my great age and in the current circumstances, prayer becomes sheer pleasure. I can forget earthly matters and focus instead on a universe where one is made aware of the atoms of the eternal, repeating along with the poet:
May God never bless me should I not focus my soul on what matters most,
And may He multiply my concerns if my goal should be other than salvation.
“As I confront my immense sorrow, my consolation lies in the fact that I am about to embark on a journey to the Holy Places. I express my hope to God that He may come to my aid in ridding my mind of its spotted vermin and my soul of its melancholy apprehensions. My greatest wish is that those holy sites in Mecca and Medina will manage to expel all the foul humors that have possessed me and heal the wounds of my memory. I am so anticipating the advent of the middle of the fasting month and the opportunity to undertake a striving for God. I can barely stand the wait till the time comes to grab the pilgrim’s staff and be on my way. But, for the time being, let’s go up to the roof so we can look out on the Nile and reminisce as much as we can.”
Once up on the roof, the two men sat on a padded bench with a large candle in the middle. The weather was dry and warm, and the Nile waters reflected the heavens above with their brightly shining stars.
“If it weren’t for the availability of this roof, Hammu,” ‘Abd al-Rahman said, “I would certainly not have been able to stand living in this house for the past three years. Spending an hour or two up here in the evening or at night always provides me with a quiet atmosphere, and how much I have needed that! It gives me access to the whole of creation, one whereby I can direct my thoughts to a consideration of the four elements and the Creator of All Things. No sooner do I go back downstairs than my traumatized memory starts functioning again. The only way I can lighten the heavy load it imposes on me is to block it off with a barrage of books. So now start noting down some of my memory’s red-hot irons so that I may soon be released from them and feel the welcoming arms of my Lord.
“When my entire family was drowned at sea, the impact on me was, needless to say, so severe that the sheer misery of it drove me to a silence more eloquent than any words could express. Something I’ve never told you before, something that has haunted me throughout my various travels and journeys, is that I am desperately afraid of being murdered or attacked. The feeling has stayed with me throughout my time in the Maghrib. Actually, it still affects me here in Egypt, although not so strongly since at this stage of life, my own instinct for self-preservation is of minimal importance. On the other hand, in earlier days I stared death straight in the face in so many Maghribi countries with their petty regimes. I have sensed the sword of death hovering threateningly over me. The occasion when it all came closest to execution was when I was imprisoned by the Marini sultan, Abu ‘Inan, something I referred to earlier. My dear Hammu, I really felt I was inevitably going to die that time. In a vain attempt to overcome my despair, I composed a hundred-verse poem that I sent to the furious sultan as a plea for mercy. All I can remember of it today are two verses that certainly confirm my mood at the time: ‘For what circumstance should I blame the nights, in what adversity wrestle with time? That I am far distant brings sorrow enough, removed as I am from the claims of my witnesses.’