On the day of the ram sacrifice, I decided that I wanted an occasion that was simple and unassuming; in other words, without lots of guests, a band, or elaborate spread. I was not prepared to listen to people gossiping about my having a child at such an age or anything else connected with my personal life. The question of women invitees did not involve me, although I did suggest to my wife that she make do with just a few of them.
I thought about Sa‘d, Umm al-Banin’s brother, and sent Sha‘ban to fetch him so he could share in our joy and I could check on his condition. A little before noon the slaughterer arrived. I slit the throat myself, intoned the phrase “God is great!” and named our child amid a female chorus of trills and cheers. Sha‘ban outdid himself in offering a helping hand, spraying perfumes, and negotiating between slaughterer and cook. Sa‘d, who looked fine to me, went around the house offering his help, seemingly unconcerned about sharing space with women.
So, everything went exactly as I had wanted. When everyone had eaten their fill and the poor had been given their share. I went to a room whose window looked out on the guest quarters. From late afternoon onward the house began to fill up with throngs of women visitors; I had no idea who they were or where they came from. And, of course, as with any occasion like this where a lot of women gather together, the devil made his appearance in the form of singing and dancing. However, my curiosity was such that I could not stop myself lending both ear and eye to what has going on. Women from the Maghrib and Egypt vied with each other to light up the scene with all kinds of dance and song and the various instruments of pleasure as well, in the form of drinking cups and food trays.
In the midst of them sat Umm al-Banin, smiling happily, showing off her new clothes and revealing the henna on her hands and feet.
I am aware, of course, that on such joyful occasions, women will frequently take some small amount of opium along with their tisane and sweetmeats. It gives them energy and inspires them to laugh and dance even more. Faced with such a custom, all a Maliki jurist like me can do is to entrust the entire matter to God Almighty and ask Him for mercy and forgiveness.
Just as I was closing the window in order to block out the sound of voices, I noticed Sa‘d amid all the women; he was letting out trills of joy and dancing a solo in the middle of their circle with extraordinary skill. Rubbing my hands in despair, I told myself that this was one mistake I could not overlook. I instructed Sha‘ban to ask the young man to come up at once and talk to me.
“So, are you a man or a woman?” I yelled.
Sa‘d was taken aback by my question and paused a moment to recover his breath.
“Oh, Master,” he said with very effeminate gestures, “what a question! If only you knew. You should leave it to Him who created and leveled.”
“Now listen, you,” I said, “beg God’s forgiveness for saying such a thing!”
“Did God consult me about how I should be? He is the one who created me and put me together. Neither male, nor female; that’s what He called me and left me somewhere in between. Can there be any worse hell than this?”
As the young man spoke, he kept crying and sobbing, as though trying to put his natural self and utter weakness into words. Feeling sympathy for his plight, I hugged him to me and told him to stop crying on such a joyful day. I asked him to go back and keep doing what he’d been doing, if he so desired. He went off happily, promising to go back to the mosque the following morning.
So here’s something else I am consigning to You, O God!
For me, civilization involves either Bedouin in the desert or else the urban environment of cities. The ruler is either just or unjust. Flaws are either passing or endemic. In general terms, things are either possible or not. However, when it comes to the bits in between or even coexistence of opposites, as in the make-up of my brother-in-law, Sa‘d, I have neither experience nor competence in such domains.
God granted me and my blessed little al-Batul yet another beneficence at the end of her third month: I was made controller of the Baybars Convent. I received the sultan’s appointment just before the end of Rabi al-Akhir following the death of the late Imam Sharaf al-Din al-Ashqar.
This college was situated inside Bab al-Nasr not too far from Mahmudiya where I lived. What made this appointment that much more advantageous was that my enhanced monetary position enabled me to expand my collection of rare books and to buy essentials and even luxuries for the house. The salary I got as controller now afforded us a life of wealth, ease, and space. However, I was well aware that it was, almost inevitably, a short-term situation, one that could be terminated without warning at any moment, day or night, and in the twinkling of an eye.
And that is exactly how it turned out. Just a few short months after I had taken the position, warning signs of my imminent dismissal began to hover over my head. Faced with Umm al-Banin’s delight with our daughter, I had to force myself to show a happy face rather than look miserable — all smiles instead of frowns. It would have been the worst of all crimes to erase the smiles from the faces I adored or to sully our family home with all my worries and gloomy predictions. However, my clever wife managed to guess what was going on in my mind. One day I was feeling particularly pessimistic because of the bad news I had heard concerning the mounting disagreement between Sultan Barquq and his viceroys in Aleppo and Malatya, the two amirs, Yalbugha al-Nasiri and Mintash.
“You look very worried, ‘Abd al-Rahman,” she asked me out of the blue. “What’s it all about?”
I could think of no way to avoid telling her a bit about the current situation. But, in any case, discussing the situation with the most beloved person in the world might serve to lessen the tension I was feeling.
“It’s the sultan, my dear,” I said. “This time he’s really in danger.”
“What’s that got to do with us? If one goes, there’ll be another.”
“It’s more complicated than that. If Barquq goes, my positions in the school and college go with him.”
“That’s not certain. But even if it did — God forbid that it should — I could sell my trousseau and gold, along with all the extra pots and pans we have. With God’s good help, dear husband, we would not die.”
Trays and plates all inlaid with gold and silver, silk fabrics, superb furnishings, all of them luxuries that had come my way after assuming the controllership of the Baybars Convent. To be sure, selling it all might bring us enough income for at least a few months, in addition to which there would be my cash savings. Umm al-Batul’s simple, yet eloquent words convinced me about food necessities.
“God preserve you,” I said, “times of rebellion often bring with them all kinds of disturbances and mayhem. I can’t guarantee that I myself will remain safe and sound.”
“If things get very bad,” she said, “we’ll go back to Fez and live among our beloved relatives there. In any case, I long to see Fez again, with its gates, baths, fountains, and gardens.”
We would be running away from a ditch all the way to a well. That’s what I told myself but did not say as much to my companion, a woman who was forever thinking of my interests, showing me love and affection, and intervening whenever I felt desperately sad.
“The city has a wise ruler,” I said. “The baby’s crying, Umm al-Batul. Go to her.”
There are in life certain situations when one has no choice but to turn to God. So, my good man, use your brain and turn things over to Him. Or, as Shaykh al-Rikraki once advised me: “Think carefully which horse you’re betting on.”