“I’m off to a good start,” the youngster said.
“Wonderful!” said Abu.
“Yet I wonder, doesn’t everyone have their own guide?”
“Naturally,” said Abu.
“Then why does everyone just give up?”
“How wrong you are,” Abu abjured. “You were born in the age of revolutions!”
At that moment, a green bird the size of an apple landed on Abu’s shoulder. It brought its rose-colored beak close to Abu’s ear. Abu seemed to be listening, when the bird suddenly flew off into space until it was hidden behind a white cloud.
Abu looked meaningfully into Raouf’s eyes. “That was the messenger from the Second Heaven,” he explained, “bringing word of the acquittal and right to ascend for one called Sha‘ban al-Minufi.”
“Who’s he?” asked Raouf.
“An Egyptian soldier who was martyred at Morea in the age of Muhammad Ali. He was mentor to a hard-currency smuggler named Marwan al-Ahmadi — and finally succeeded in his campaign to drive him to suicide.”
Sha‘ban al-Minufi approached, wrapped in his vaporous robe. “May you ascend gloriously and with grace to the Second Heaven,” Abu told him.
All the spiritual guides flocked toward them in the shape of white doves until the verdant place was packed, Sha‘ban al-Minufi’s face beaming in their midst. As celestial music sounded, Abu declaimed, “Rise, O rose of our green city, to carry on your sacred struggle.”
In a pleasing voice, Sha‘ban replied, “Blessings upon whoever renders service to the suffering world.”
At this he began to go up with the lightness of an ephemeral fragrance to the strains of the happy anthem of farewell.
5
Anous Qadri, the butcher’s son, stood facing the police detective who asked him, “When was the last time you saw Raouf Abd-Rabbuh?”
“The afternoon of the day he disappeared,” said Anous. “He came to see me at my house. No sooner had he showed up than he left to do some business. He promised to meet me that evening at the café.”
“Did he tell you anything about this business he had to do?”
“No,” said Anous.
“Did you ask him about it?” the officer pressed him.
“No, I thought it must be something to do with his family.”
“Some people saw the two of you walking together in the alley after he came to you,” the detective informed him.
Don’t be upset. The best thing is to confess. This is your golden opportunity, if you know what’s good for you.
“I walked with him till he left the gate,” said Anous. “You mean he simply disappeared in the desert outside?”
This is doubletalk, Anous — even worse than doubletalk. Only the truth can save you.
“Yes, he did,” answered Anous.
“What did you do after that?”
“I went to the coffeehouse to wait for him.”
“How long did you stay there?” the detective continued.
“Until midnight, then I went home.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Shakir al-Durzi, shaykh of the hara, was sitting next to me the whole time,” said Anous. “Early the next morning, I went to Raouf’s place to ask his mother about him. She told me that he hadn’t come back.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked all our friends and acquaintances in the alley about him.”
“Do you have any personal insight into his prolonged disappearance?” the policeman asked.
“Not at all! It’s truly baffling,” insisted Anous.
Here you are leaving the station, Anous. You prepare in advance every word you speak. You rue the mention of the gate, and wonder who saw you walking there with me. It’s as though you are contemplating more evil. You repeat the details of your conversations to your father. He is strident — the money, the law, and the witnesses are all in his pocket. I counsel you again to confront your crime with courage and to clear your account. But what’s this? Does Rashida’s image still trace itself in your imagination? This is the very essence of madness. Then you see that the inquiries about you will continue like a flood. The shaykh of the alley has come to the same conclusion. The Unseen warns of unknown surprises. You are thinking of all this, and at the same time you’re obsessed with Rashida, you fool!
Reflecting on this, Raouf remarked to Abu, “Fear of death is the greatest curse to afflict humankind.”
“Was it not created to prevent them from doing wrong?” Abu replied.
Raouf was silent as Abu added, “You were appointed as a guide, not a philosopher — remember that.”
6
You’re asking yourself, Anous, why did the detective summon you a second time? Things are not turning out as simply as you thought.
Here is the officer questioning you:
“What do you know about Raouf’s private life?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
“Really?” the detective challenged him. “What about his love for Rashida, the student in the school of fashion design?”
“Every young man has a relationship like that!” Anous said dismissively.
“Do you have one like it?”
“These are personal things that have no place in an investigation.”
“Is that what you think?” the officer shot back. “Even when you love the same girl yourself?”
“The issue needs clarification,” protested Anous.
“Good!” exclaimed the policeman. “What could that be?”
“I revealed to Raouf once that I wanted to get engaged to Rashida, and he confided in me that the two of them were in love with each other,” Anous asserted. “At that I excused myself, and considered the subject closed.”
“But love doesn’t end with a word,” scoffed the detective.
“It was nothing but a fleeting feeling…. I don’t know what you mean!”
“I’m gathering information, and I’m wondering if your feelings for your friend haven’t changed, if only just a little?”
“Absolutely not,” answered Anous. “My emotions for Rashida were nothing special — but my friendship with Raouf was the kind that lasts a lifetime.”
“You said, was—has it ended?”
“I meant,” Anous said nervously, “that our friendship is for life.”
You’re wondering, how is the investigation proceeding with Rashida? What has she admitted? Fine. Let me tell you that the inquiry is ongoing. She has told them of your attempt to rip her from your friend’s heart. Just as she told them of your father’s omnipotence, and her fear for her own and her mother’s safety. I guarantee you, things really are now going against you.
“You sound as though you’ve given up on seeing your friend again,” the detective taunted, laughing.
“I’m sure he’s coming back,” sputtered Anous. “That’s what my heart tells me.”
“A believer’s heart is his guide,” said the officer. “I, too, want him to come back.”
You’re leaving the police station, even more disturbed than you were the last time. I think you sensed that this clever little gumshoe suspects you completely, and you don’t believe your father is able to control everything. Did not Hitler himself suffer final defeat — and even kill himself in the end?
7