Bensalem Himmich - The Polymath

As I finished, I raised my hands in prayer, whereupon the sultan and the entire assembly followed suit. All the while, I kept saying to myself, “O Lord, You know full well that throughout my pilgrimage I was only praying for Umm al-Banin. I beg You to pardon this lie of mine and to take everything into account when the account is to be reckoned.”

Barquq now sat on the ground in front of his throne and made me sit beside him on his rugs and cushions. “Everyone’s straining to listen to us,” he whispered in my ear, “and everyone’s eyes are watching carefully.”

“Fine, blessed pilgrim,” he went on out loud. “You prayed for me in various ways, but it’s still the case that dark clouds have gathered. Strife and unrest are raising their ugly heads again!”

“O God,” I replied in a whisper, “Creator of Punishment and Preserver of Order, please grant that Our lord may be protected against covert plots and terror; expose to the clear light of Your day all agents of intrigue and revolt. O God, grant Our lord protection against those who are sick at heart and bent on trouble, against the deeds of all wolves, dogs, and accursed bastards. O God, bring down Your wrath on all who harbor hateful thoughts, agents with seditious tendencies. O Lord, let their guile be their downfall and grant us victory over their demons. Amen!”

The sultan duly thanked me and charged me with praying a great deal on his behalf during my own devotions. He also thanked me for giving him advice as to how to tame the Maghrib — such a recalcitrant horse — and then bring it firmly within his fold. That said, he leaned over toward me.

“Before you left on the pilgrimage,” he said, his eyes half-closed, “you had an amanuensis who sat with you during your retreats and took dictation based on your erudite comments.”

Taking advantage of his sudden silence, I answered his comment with its implicit question by saying that indeed I had used al-Hihi as my amanuensis. I went on to extol his qualities and his complete lack of guile or suspicion.

“Well,” the sultan interrupted with words that came as a shattering blow, “he’s dead. May you live long!”

“Out of regard for the respect we have for you,” he continued as he made to stand up, “we have given orders that he is to be buried in the Mamluk graveyard. ‘Verily we belong to God, and unto Him do we return!’”

With that I stood and received some further pats from his sleeve in gratitude. The ustadhdar was told to take care of me, while the muezzin announced the call to afternoon prayers.

The sultan now left the arcade surrounded by his retinue and followed by various officials as he made his way to the mosque. I joined this throng, making full use of it to protect me from the pain in my joints that would afflict me every time I heard some terrible news or witnessed a distressing scene. The pain I felt this time lingered much longer because it was especially severe: that Hammu al-Hihi was dead and thus Umm al-Banin, his wife, was now a widow. O God, we beg You to show us Your mercy!

Once the afternoon prayer was over, the ustadhdar , chief yeoman, and some of his guards escorted me to the gate of the Citadel where two servants were waiting, watching over a splendid gray mule equipped with saddle blanket, mantle, heavy bridle, and polished saddle. Handing me a document to sign, the ustadhdar told me that the mule was a gift from the sultan. I asked him to express my profound thanks to the sultan, and then he left. With that, the yeoman came over and congratulated me on completing the pilgrimage and on the gift I had received. He then proceeded to astonish me even further by telling me something that made my pain and sense of disorientation even worse. “My dear judge,” he said, “our police has learned that the house of your late amanuensis, Hammu al-Hihi, is currently being occupied by a young man with no papers. He claims to be the widow’s brother. Were it not for the fact that the lady has testified to that effect and for the esteem in which you yourself are held, we would have expelled him a few days after his arrival on Egyptian soil. The reason for that is that on more than one occasion our agents have encountered him in suspicious circumstances, consorting with all sorts of undesirable elements. We know for sure that he’s a hard-core transvestite, a genuine scoundrel who shows signs of an unstable mind. So I’d suggest making sure that he behaves properly, or else we’re going to send him back where he came from.”

I nodded my head in agreement. What was I supposed to say now that I had just received yet another piece of shattering information? Helped by the two servants I got on the mule. Giving it a tap, I muttered, “It won’t be with you that I find any consolation or comfort.” With that I headed for my house, preceded by two horsemen and my own worries and fears. At the door of the house there was Sha‘ban waiting. He hugged and blessed me. Once he had stabled the mule for the night, he followed me into the lounge.

“The baggage from your blessed pilgrimage is in your bedroom, Master,” he said. “Every package is still sealed, just as you sent it.”

I responded to the old man in a tone replete with affection and sorrow. “And I shall show you your share of it, Sha‘ban, a gift from Mecca the hallowed. But first tell me, when and how did Hammu al-Hihi die?”

“The anguish on your face told me you’d already heard the terrible news. Hammu — God have mercy on him — died on the morning of the last Great Feast. He had suffered a stroke and was confined to chair and bed.”

“And how is Umm al-Banin?”

“Not doing well, sir, and that’s the truth, not well at all! Because of her husband’s death, of course, but also because of one of her brothers who’s causing her nothing but grief.”

“Tell me about this disastrous youth. After sunset prayers you’ll accompany me to al-Hihi’s house so that I can offer my condolences.”

“Not then, if you’ll forgive me. Let’s go after the evening prayers. At that point the young vagrant will be out till dawn spending time in dens of iniquity and vice.”

I decided to follow Sha‘ban’s plan. When the moment was right, I planned to question Umm al-Banin about her brother. I spent some time in my bedroom checking on my baggage, then sat there waiting till it was prayer time and darkness would afford me the cover I needed. I was hoping to unclog my brain and lighten the oppressive load that all this new information had placed on me.

Ever since Hammu al-Hihi and his wife had come to Egypt, they had lived together in a tiny house in the Masmuda quarter. It was there that he had died of a stroke, leaving a wife with no means of support as far as I was aware. Once Sha‘ban had announced my arrival, I entered through the doorway to be warmly greeted by Umm al-Banin and congratulated on completing the pilgrimage. Her words of welcome managed to drown out my own expressions of condolence and sympathy. She insisted that I sit in an empty reception room. I did as she asked, but took Sha‘ban with me. When I asked about Hammu’s illness, she sat on the carpeted floor close by my knees. With tears in her eyes she told me in fits and starts how Hammu had sensed the onset of death even before its actual arrival; she had had to endure bitter feelings of impotence and rage in the face of the inevitable.

“Doctors, amulets, sorcerers, we tried them all,” she said, “but it was no use.”

“The believer is tried, Umm al-Banin,” I said, “the believer is always being tested. Better than weeping is a belief in God. He who created death and life so that He might test you as to who is the best in deeds .

“But let me ask you, sir, what is my sin that I should be left alone and destitute in a strange land?”