It was getting increasingly hot as the morning wore on, but Muhammad and
Hassan went on walking and talking until they reached the place where Hassan
had left his mule on Saturday. The mule was tied up to a shrub. As Hassan squatted
down to untie it, he said, pointing to the dry pebbles to his right:
“You know what? Three years
ago, I remember, I was coming by here and I found the wadi swollen by rain, and
I had to wait a solid month on the other bank before I could cross over to this
side and continue on my way back home.”
“Yes, that happens sometimes,”
said Muhammad, looking about.
“So you may have to move soon!”
said Hassan, rising to his feet.
“It depends. Anyway, this is
just the beginning of Autumn. The sun is still painful on the body, you see. In
the afternoon it will be even hotter, and, by the way, you’ll have to be
patient with the boy.”
“I’ll try! Now, let’s
move!”
They went back to the shack,
and there they stayed, talking about everything and nothing, until they heard
the muezzin’s call. Then Muhammad took his mule and waved to Hassan to walk at
his side up to the mosque.
The Imam met them on the
northern side of the mosque.
“Will you do me a favour,
Sheïkh?” said Muhammad to the Imam.
“I’ll do it provided you give
me another chicken! By the way, the chicken you gave me last time was
good!”
“You’ll have what you want,
Sheïkh, but not now,” replied Muhammad with a smile.
“I was just joking,” said the
Imam. “What’s the problem?”
“Well, you know my shack. I
can’t entertain guests in it. Would you please give Hassan a home for
tonight?”
“Gladly!” said the Imam.
“Thank you, Sheïkh!” said
Hassan. “But I will either spend the night in your shack, Muhammad, or
go.”
“Alright!” said Muhammad. “But
you know when I come back from Tushki!”
“Don’t worry!” said the Imam.
“Hassan will dine with me and then go and wait for you in the shack. Now, let’s
pray!”
After the prayers, Muhammad
went along with Hassan to the pasture where Issa was waiting in the shade of a
tree. Hassan stayed there with the boy, and Muhammad mounted his mule and rode
on. He stopped at Dami’s door. Dami came out and said she had no problem with
Hassan staying with her son for that afternoon. Then she handed Muhammad a
bunch of grapes and wished him good day.
Muhammad thanked her and moved
off. He cast his eyes up to thank God as he put the first grape in his mouth.
And then his heart jumped when he saw Yetto’s father standing in the doorway of
his home. And as Muhammad rode past that home, Yetto’s father hailed him.
Muhammad turned pink when Yetto’s father stood in front of him.
“Why do you always come this
way, Muhammad?” Yetto’s father asked in a grave tone.
“That’s because I have
something to do in Tushki,” Muhammad replied in a shaky voice. “And I sometimes
come to Dami’s; and, as you know, this is the shortest way to Tushki.”
“Alright!” said Yetto’s father
with a sly smile. “I feared you took this path for another reason. I’ll see
what happens next! Have a nice day!”
Muhammad tapped the mule and
slipped the remainder of the grapes into his jellaba’s hood, and laid his hand
on his heart.
“What’s the matter with you?”
said the Tushki man as Muhammad alighted from the mule. “Why is your face so
dark? Are you ill?”
“A little bit, yes,” Muhammad
panted.
And in the course of the
lesson, Muhammad hesitated and floundered and sighed and gasped for breath. And
he left as soon as the lesson was over.
“You have always dined with
us,” said the Tushki man. “What happened to you today?”
“Thanks! I’ll dine at home,”
Muhammad replied, mounting the mule.
The sky was dark––no moon, no
stars.
But there was light in the
shack. Muhammad looked in and saw Hassan lying face downwards, sound asleep. A
small lantern lay a little way from his feet. Muhammad turned round and looked
down, thinking. Then he sat down just beside the door. Soon he dozed off. But
only for a short while. His eyes opened and fell on a very dark space between
the reeds. He kept gazing vacantly into space. Then he heard a light noise.
Hassan rose and came up to the door. He looked down at Muhammad and said in a
somnolent voice:
“You look sad tonight!”
Muhammad sighed, and said:
“Did you dine with the Imam?”
“Yes, I did,” said Hassan,
taking a step forward to sit beside Muhammad.
Muhammad sighed and held his
head in his hands and sighed again.
“What’s the matter?” said
Hassan with a worried frown.
Muhammad sighed once more, and
said:
“The Tushki man invited me to
dinner and I said I would dine at home.”
“Are you sad because you didn’t
dine or because you lied to the Tushki man?”
“I dined on grapes on my way
back.”
“So you are sad because of the
lie.”
“That’s absolutely it! I have
become a liar!”
“You lied because you couldn’t
stay in Tushki.”
“That’s right.”
“You couldn’t stay there
because you wanted to come back as early as possible.”
“No. I came early because I
couldn’t eat. Even the grapes I couldn’t finish them off.”
Hassan laughed, and said:
“I’m sorry I can’t help
laughing, but what happened?”
This is what happened: the
young woman’s father warned me against taking any path close to their home.”
“Now, I see! You are sad
because of love, then!”
“Yes, I am sad, but I am
happy.”
“What! Sad and happy? Explain!”
“I am sad because I can’t get
what I want. I am happy because I can cope with my sadness.”
“Excuse me, but you’re talking
like a philosopher. Would you please clarify that in my mind?”
Muhammad himself laughed now,
then said:
“Well, it’s quite simple. I am
sad because I can’t marry the woman I love. But despite my sadness I can laugh,
I can walk, I can talk, and I can think. And when I think, I feel ashamed of
myself, because I would then realize that I am thinking of someone who hasn’t
given me anything. I think of the girl night and day, but she doesn’t give me
anything. What about God, Who gave me life, Who gave me eyesight, Who gave me
speech, Who gave me all the means to learn and think, etc, etc? The truth is
that I am now thinking more of the girl than of God! Isn’t this reason enough
for me to be ashamed of myself? And when I realize this and try as best I can
to think of God –again– I just can’t do it. I would only find myself torn
between the girl and God. I can’t help it. I wish I could forget all about the
girl and think of God only, but I can’t. Every single day now I am becoming
more and more aware of my contradictions. Every single day now I am learning
more and more about myself. I’m becoming more and more aware of the world
around me. Now, I not only see the world or hear it– I feel it. Now, I am more
sensitive to beauty. Now, more than ever before, I would love to see the bright
moon in the heart of a starry sky; I would love to see and hear birds
twittering over my head; I would love to see water flowing in a river, with the
green trees swaying gently in the wind on the banks; I would love to see trees
in full blossom; I would love to see kids playing merrily on the ground around
their homes; I would love to see late-roosting birds fluttering away to their
nests.
“And again, I realize that
those things are just what God wants me to pay attention to. You’ve read the
Quran, haven’t you, and you know that God speaks about the earth and the skies,
about the rivers and the seas, about palm-trees and grapes and olives and figs
and birds and beasts, and all sorts of things. God wants us to think of those
things. He wants us to think about them as a means to remind ourselves of Him.
And so I find myself thinking once again of Him, although for a short while.
Now, I think of God in a different way– say, in a better way. Still, I’m
ashamed of myself. I know that my thoughts should go to God first. But what can
I do? I am torn between God and my love.”
“You didn’t answer my question,
though,” said Hassan in a tremulous voice.” How can you be sad and happy at the
same time?”
“It seems you haven’t got my
meaning,” Muhammad replied with a smile. “Let me put it this way. What’s my
problem? My problem is that I can’t marry the one I love. Is that correct? I
then ask myself: why? Well, when I think about it over and over again, I say to
myself, ‘You can’t marry her because you don’t deserve her!’ But then I ask:
‘But she, does she deserve me?’” Muhammad laughed as he went on, “I know why I
don’t deserve her; it’s because I think of her more than of God. And that’s
what I shouldn’t be doing as a good Muslim. It’s God Who gave me everything.
The girl hasn’t given me anything at all. And immediately, I start saying
within myself:
‘Khalaqany, razaqany,
âllammany, hadany.’ ((God) made me; (God) provided me with the means of
subsistence; (God) taught me; (God) showed me the right path.)
And as I say this again and again, my sighs cease, my heartbeat abates,
and my whole body relaxes. And then I feel happy. I move from sadness to
happiness. Is that now clear?”
Hassan, who was listening
closely, lost in silent wonder, now let out a laugh and said:
“Yours is a really funny
story!”
“And let me add one thing,”
said Muhammad zealously. “I am not in a hurry to get married. I would suffer a
great deal more if someone else came overnight and took my love away from me.
As long as she is unmarried, I will do everything I possibly can to reach her.
But I would never win her and lose myself. I heard people say that lovers
sometimes do crazy things and some go crazy altogether. And that is scaring me.
I fear I may make a crazy mistake. But then there’s something I always hold in
mind. I want to live for myself, but also for others. Meanness is the worst
feature of human character, and selfishness is the worst form of meanness. Mean
people don’t want to suffer for others. I am just as willing to suffer for
others as for my own sake. That’s why I’ll try not to make a crazy mistake!”
“Oh!” Hassan burst out. “I
thought I had become something of a scholar; I thought I was learned enough to
start teaching others. But now that I have met you, I think I should go back
north to learn more.”
“And what about marriage?”
Muhammad joked.
“I’ll wait like you waited!”
In the morning, Hassan was
about to mount his mule and go when he said:
"Before I go, tell me,
Muhammad, I've heard that someone called you 'The Philosopher'. Can you tell me
why?"
Muhammad laughed heartily and
said:
"It was such a long time
ago! I was fourteen years old then. A man in his sixties used to go from
village to village telling people what they should and what they shouldn't do
according to the Quran and the Haddith, he said. He sort of issued fatwas, you
know. And one day, I stood among the crowd who were asking him questions. And
suddenly I waved to him and said I had a question.
"What's your
question?" he said.
"What do you do with the
money you collect from our village?" I asked.
"Well," he said,
"I add it to the money I collect from other villages!"
"And what do you do with
the money you collect from all the villages?" I asked.
"Well," he said,
"I buy the things I need to live."
"And why do you
live?" I asked.
"That's enough!" he
said. "You are a philosopher. May God curse all philosophers!"
Everybody answered,
"Amen!"
"And that's all the
story!"
Hassan burst out laughing as he
mounted his mule, and moved off. Muhammad kept watching him ride across the
riverbed, then up the other bank. Soon Hassan went out of sight. Muhammad
sighed. He stayed standing up there, wondering what to do. Should he go to Issa
and risk a "scandal", now that Yetto's father had warned him? Or
should he go back to his shack and sleep?
He went to his shack. He lay on
his side. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. But then he opened his eyes. Yetto
was too big for his eyes to contain. Yetto had filled his eyes to bursting
point. That's why he opened his eyes. But Yetto was not only inside his eyes.
She was before his eyes, everywhere he looked. The shack was full of her. So
full of her that he could not stay there any longer. He picked himself up and
put on his scandals and shuffled up to the pasture where he would meet up with
Issa.
Issa was there, waiting
patiently. Muhammad sat by his side and joked with him before he began a new
lesson. He talked and Issa listened, while the animals shuffled around, until
someone stood just behind them. Muhammad flung up his head and saw two eyes
full of hate.
"What are you doing
here?" Yetto's father said.
"I am teaching the
boy," Muhammad replied in a broken voice.
"Teaching him?" Yetto's
father snorted. "Is this a school?"
Muhammad turned back to Issa
and said in a low voice:
"Issa, please tell your
mother I can't meet up with you here any longer."
Issa just watched in silence as
Muhammad struggled to his feet and trudged away back to his shack.
At siesta-time, Muhammad
mounted his mule and set out for Tushki, taking the farthest path possible from
Yetto's home.
He dined with the Tushki man,
and joined him in prayer, then took his mule and rode back to Azlu. And he
smiled as he rode on. He smiled because there was a full moon that night, and
the moon was hanging motionless in the sky, just over Yetto's home, in the
northeast. It looked as if the moon was standing there on the watch lest anyone
should come and take Yetto away from him, Muhammad.
But Muhammad sighed. He knew he
was only dreaming.
And on he rode. He went past
the vineyard, and took a path from which he could see Yetto's home. He peered
at the home; he looked up at the moon, and smiled again, and rode on. And as he
was halfway between the mosque and the graveyard, the smile faded at the sight
of a fire just on the spot where stood his shack. The shack that once stood
there was now in flames. Muhammad cursed Satan and jumped off and hastened to
put out the flames.
The flames were put out, and
the shack was now reduced to a heap of rubble.
Muhammad took his mule and rode
away from the place, looking for a sandy spot to spend the night.
At dawn he went to mosque. He
greeted the Imam, who returned the greeting coldly. As soon as the prayers were
over, the Imam sprang to his feet and left, saying his wife was ill.
Muhammad went from place to
place along the reed edge, thinking. "Why don't I go back to Ighmizen and
marry my friend's daughter?" he thought ruefully. "Go!" Yetto's
eyes challenged him. "What's stopping you?" But go he could not. He
was now glued to this land. It looked as if someone had cast a spell on him.
At midday he went back to where
his shack once stood. He sighed twice: firstly because he thought that Yetto's
father might have been behind this; secondly, because he saw his saddle lying
beside the rubble. That meant that his family too were not willing to see him
again.
After midday prayers, he fitted
the saddle on the mule and set out for Tushki, taking a path from which he
could not see Yetto's home.
Three days later, he said
farewell to the Turkish man and took his money and the chicken and rode back to
Azlu. He glanced at Yetto's home and rode on towards the heap of rubble, then
rode away to where he could find a safe place to sleep.
At dawn he went to mosque
again. He greeted the Imam and handed him the chicken. "No, I don't want
it!" muttered the Imam, rising to go into the mosque. Muhammad put the
cackling chicken down by the door and hastened to join the Imam in prayer. The
Imam left as soon as he had said his prayers. "Alright!" Muhammad
thought. "You are all against me. I will turn God against you! I'm not
going to leave because you want me to!" And he burst into prayer till his
beard was wet with tears.
