Bensalem Himmich - The Polymath

By the time of the Great Feast in this same blessed year, Umm al-Banin had entered the sixth month of her pregnancy and had thus passed the most difficult and risky period. We spent the feast day itself in the usual way. At noon we welcomed visitors from the sultan’s retinue and Maghribi folk resident in Cairo who offered us blessings on this sacred day. The next day I went to visit some of our neighbors and indigent folk, before heading to Ibn Tulun Hospital to check on Sa‘d and see if he needed anything. What a dire story I was to hear!

Everyone there informed me that my brother-in-law was in a terrible state. He had started refusing all food, having already refused to take his medicine or to say anything. I asked one of the doctors if there was anything he could do to cure Sa‘d’s condition. In reply he said that it was always difficult, and, when the symptoms were combined in certain ways, well nigh impossible, because everything was that much more complicated. I asked him what needed to be done. He told me that, till some kind of miraculous recovery might take place, what was needed was a program of forced feeding. Accompanied by two guards I went into Sa‘d’s room which was actually more like a prison cell or hermit’s room. He lay there spreadeagled on the bed like a rigid corpse, staring up at the ceiling which was marked with blotches of dampness and paint. I sat down beside him and tried to get his attention, but without success. I gently pulled back the blanket and was horrified to see his body so emaciated, with protruding bones and limbs tied to the bed, exuding the stench of disease and sweat. I asked the guards why he needed to be restrained and was told that it was to prevent him trying to commit suicide again.

Good God, is it conceivable for a man to die in such dreadful circumstances!

Holding back tears, I leaned over Sa‘d’s prostrate form and asked him if he knew my name, but without result. Then I launched into a call for help, a plea, something that seemed to emerge from every bone in my body: “I beg you by God, I beseech You by all that is precious and dear, to let me know Your wishes.”

I repeated this several times till I grew weary of it. Eventually the young man answered me in a quavering tone that sounded as if it was coming from the bottom of a well: “I want my share of light and open space, my portion of the sun’s abundance and wings of darkness.”

His reply sounded to me like Satan’s own whisper or the ravings of a madman, but for the moment I held such notions in abeyance.

“How can I bring you those shares, Sa‘d?” I asked.

He looked at me with eyes that were a picture of the profoundest despair. “Get me out of this prison!” he yelled with all the strength he could muster.

All questions and conditions become otiose in the face of someone who is on the very brink of collapse. Without even a moment’s pause for thought, I promised that next day I would take him out of the hospital. I said I would fulfill my promise provided that he ate some lunch and let people administer some first aid. How relieved and happy I felt when I glimpsed some signs of relief on his face!

I told the guards to take off his restraints, and they did so, albeit with a certain hesitation. They then prepared some good food for which I paid generously. Once the patient had eaten the food with considerable difficulty, I asked the guards to wash him with soap and hot water. With that I kissed him and promised to come back as soon as possible. I headed for the door and went to the director’s office.

“Is this supposed to be a hospital where people are cured,” I asked in an aggravated tone, “or a collection point for the dead?”

“Calm down, sir,” the man replied. “Wasn’t it you who put the patient in our hands?”

“Yes, but that was so you could cure him, not destroy him.”

“We have used every method at our disposal. What we’ve discovered is that he’s completely out of his mind. He’s a danger to himself and others.”

“So he’s sentenced to a life of total inactivity?”

“The public interest must come first. Keeping people who are liable to infringe it is an absolute obligation under law. Isn’t that your area of specialization, Judge?”

“In my opinion the preservation of delegated interests does not under any circumstance require the killing of a human soul. But enough talk. I’ll be back tomorrow to take my brother-in-law out of this hospital.”

“Leaving is not as easy as entering, good pilgrim.”

“What do you mean? I’ve paid the costs of his time here and more. Are you trying to stop me taking him away and saving him from an inexorable death here?”

“Steady on, sir! You can take him out, but only if you pay an indemnity in cash and sign a duly sworn statement.”

“A bribe to get him out! How much?”

“Three thousand dinars for the former, and a thousand for the latter.”

“Say: Nothing will ever beset us unless God has prescribed it for us . By the will of Him who tarries but never neglects, we can settle things tomorrow.”

Quashing my anger I set out for home. Bribery and corruption on the way in and out, everywhere you look! A pox on all forms of organization that have to rely on such venality!

Umm al-Banin asked me why I was in such a bad mood. I decided not to tell her the whole story, not wanting to give her a shock in case it led to highly undesirable consequences.

During the night just before I went to sleep, I thought of asking my friends in the palace to get the indemnity for releasing my brother-in-law cancelled, but I soon abandoned the idea so as not to make the whole thing even more complicated and risky. There might be a lot of chit-chat and awkward questions to deal with, all of which would reflect badly on me.

Next morning I found myself thinking again about the idea that had occurred to me last night, namely of asking Shaykh Abu ‘Abdallah Muhammad, the Sufi from Sale, and a follower of the Maliki rite, for advice; he and I together used to take care of legal issues for people from the Maghrib. In the early morning I made my way to his small convent, which was outside Cairo, close to the western canal. As soon as we had sat down together over a pot of bitter mint tea, I broached the topic without any preliminaries. In great distress I told him about the tragedy of Sa‘d’s life and let him know that in my view he was not acting of his own volition; any change in his condition could only come about through the will of God’s pious saints.

For a moment he remained silent, then kissed me with a gleaming smile on his face, the kind of smile that makes it possible for one to endure any hardship and suggests that there can be a way out of any difficulty.

“Take it easy, Wali al-Din,” he said, “take it easy. First of all, tell me about the government officials. How far have their personal cravings taken them up till now?”

I was surprised by the shaykh’s interest in the people he was asking about. After all, government officials and religious shaykhs are two different species who rarely have anything to do with each other.

“They all seem to be fine, Shaykh Abu ‘Abdallah,” I replied somewhat tersely and with as much confidence as I could muster. “The truce between them all is still working, and their swords remain in their scabbards.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard. I don’t know whether you actually don’t know or don’t want to tell me, but you should be aware that the atmosphere between Yalbugha al-Nasiri and Barquq is going from bad to worse; there’s bound to be conflict between the two of them. You should start thinking which one of them you’re going to back, which horse you want to win.”

“Umm al-Banin’s pregnancy had, it would appear, distracted my attention from other matters, with the result that this Sufi shaykh knew more about world affairs than I did. But for the fact that I am forced to wander my way along the corridors of power, I would be extremely happy with the ways things are. I asked the shaykh why he was so involved in current events.