“In that case,” ‘Abd al-Rahman continued, “conclude the record of this session by noting that I am not one to deny the essence of dreams and the miraculous. Far from it! In the right circumstances I fully approve of them. Nor do I reject strange and fanciful tales with both ancient and modern implications. As contributions to the world of imagination and fancy I welcome them warmly. They offer an opportunity to blend norms and yardsticks and to consider initiatives and problems on a different level, one that is rid of the Bedouin mentality so deeply rooted within us, the habits of those good old nomads with their addiction to subterfuge and mayhem. Our way of thinking can never be truly free unless we purge ourselves of such notions and the modalities that they impose. There is much more to say about this.”
At this point Hammu felt the urge to ask ‘Abd al-Rahman why he was so keen to explore things in such depth, but he stopped himself — or rather, he postponed the question. He was afraid that if he extended the session ‘Abd al-Rahman had already declared over, his hand would be aching even more.
‘Abd al-Rahman was now left on his own. He stretched out on the cushions and started reciting to himself his favorite muwashshah poem, by Lisan al-Din ibn al-Khatib. This is how part of it went:
On nights when, but for the dazzling suns,
Darkness would conceal love’s secrets,
When the star of the wine-cup inclined, then set,
Its path straight, its trace felicitious,
. . . .
When sleep brought us pleasure,
Or as morning light assailed us like nightwatchmen,
Then did meteors take us downward,
Or perhaps the eyes of the narcissus left a mark on us.
Footnote
Once al-Hihi had returned home and had something to eat and drink, he nestled in with his wife as he usually did. He described to her in great detail the traits of his new employer: his penetrating intelligence, his extraordinary ability to discriminate and to take a straightforward approach to things, and his resort to a wonderful sense of ambiguity that al-Hihi’s wife kept trying to get her husband to explain, but in vain. He tried to tell her that it lay in his willingness to wade into the arcane details of his own era but then to pull away whenever he felt the need to regroup and adopt a more detached perspective. When he noticed that his wife was not paying attention anymore but was busy delousing his head and rubbing his left hand (the one he used to take dictation), he told her that he might well continue in ‘Abd al-Rahman’s employ even without pay. She scoffed. “So what are we supposed to live on?” she asked. “On his blessings and emanations?”
When Hammu went to bed, he started thinking. “Why is the Master so intent on examining everything so closely?” he asked in an audible voice. His wife gave him a hug and blew out the candle. “You need to ask one of his most devoted lovers that question,” she replied.
The Night at the End of Rabi‘ al-Awwal
At the beginning of this session, the two men started talking. ‘Abd al-Rahman asked his scribe to write some of it down, but suggested that the rest of it should be left out, as they were mere passing thoughts with no enduring value.
It was al-Hihi who initiated the conversation. Putting aside any residual hesitancy, he plunged ahead with the question that he and his wife had failed to answer for themselves: Why was ‘Abd al-Rahman so bent on exploring things in such detail?
“My response to your question, Hammu — write it down if you like — is something I’ve thought about a good deal. The only answer I can come up with is that a desire to explore things in detail — in other words, the world of the intellect, of bases and principles — is what really attracts me the most. Without it, all that would remain are superficialities, mere froth, a veritable desert of banality and fancy.
“Just imagine for a moment that I was totally unaware of the profounder issues or chose to ignore them. Do you think I would be able to go beyond the realms of the superficial? I’d be spending my time on all sorts of leisure activities and binges. Were that the case — God forbid — I would be just like thousands of so-called ‘legal experts’ in this territory of mine, playing games with my particular school of law, stuffing my mind full of legal briefs and commentaries. Or perhaps I’d be writing accounts of the glorious exploits and deeds of the ruling elite; in which case, I’d be using gold ink to describe the lords of time and men, their official activities and leisure, and the way they fill their days and nights. Were that the case, I might well be a world traveler, collecting tales and marvelous exotic images on my way.”
“Master,” Hammu interrupted, “shall I refer the reader to Ibn Battuta’s Book of Travels at this point?”
“No,” Ibn Khaldun replied, “don’t bother about cross references. Watch your step with Ibn Battuta, and you’ll avoid making mistakes.”
“Tell me what you mean so that I can understand what your objections are.”
“The author of those Travels and I, Hammu, both have had good reason to bemoan the hardships of a grim era. Both of us have tried to depict it as best we can. Ibn Battuta did it by leaving his beloved family behind him and taking off on a long journey across the breadth of God’s world. For my part, I undertook a journey of a different sort, into the profundities that I’ve talked to you about. In other words, I’ve gone on a tour of a very particular and specific region, something totally human without at the same time being merely ordinary, something that is utterly different without being barbaric. Thus, each of us carries our own walking stick, which offers us support as we pursue faint glimmers of hope or imagine a life of ease along with all the difficulty and escape after hardship. I suggest that you come to terms with these facts and take note.”
“Master,” Hammu responded, “God creates what He wishes. In any case, I find myself more inclined to your kind of journey and recitation, even though I have to admit that when I was out of work I did consult the tales of the traveler from Tangier. Some of them made me laugh, they were so peculiar. I’d tell them to my wife, and she would keep saying ‘heaven help us!’ over and over again or else hurry away in distress. The one about Sudanese tribes, for example, who roll in the dirt as a sign of respect for their ruler — amazing; or another tribe using salt as currency; yet another that eats dog and donkey corpses and even human flesh — all of it amazing!”
“For sure, Hammu, mankind is a creature of habit and even perhaps a product of his environment. I wonder how many of the things we do would seem extraordinary to black- and yellow-skinned peoples!”
“The details provided by Ibn Battuta about those regions are certainly unforgettable: things such as the view among certain tribes that eating white people is harmful because the flesh is not ripe, while eating black people is fine because their flesh is.”
“In that case, Hammu, you have nothing to fear if you fall into their hands.”
“Then there’s the statement that the tastiest part of human flesh are breasts and hands. He goes on to record that during the month of Ramadan he saw with his own eyes servants, slave women, and girls stark naked with their pudenda showing. There are two reasons why that is amazing: firstly that they are naked; secondly that an inquisitive visitor is able to observe it. Wouldn’t it have been more appropriate for this Maliki legal scholar to avert his gaze, particularly in the month associated with personal abstinence?”