Bensalem Himmich - A Muslim Suicide

"My mistress adores the saints of God," he said sweetly. "It is her devout hope that you visit her in her house, both you and your friend, so that she may seek your blessing."

The old man agreed immediately. The young man snatched my basket from my hands and with a happy stride walked ahead of us.

We made our way along streets both wide and narrow, sometimes uphill, at others down. The old man was holding my arm as he breathlessly told me about the main features of his city of birth and upbringing, Meknes. He gave me an account of its delightful terrain, water, and air and named all its holy men one by one, recounting their miraculous and generous deeds. I wanted to give him a breather, so I started telling him about aspects of his native city that he had not mentioned, but he soon cut me off by suggesting that I ask him about the reason for his leaving Meknes and coming to Sabta when his native city was bursting with both charity and blessing.

"I ask God," he said, "to open for me opportunities wherever it may be. When He comes, I shall return to my birthplace and never leave it again. Would you like to hear why I left now, or when we are back on the mountain?"

I was on the point of suggesting that he postpone his account, but I saw that our guide was opening the door of a house in a side alley and inviting us to accompany him inside. We followed him as he led us down corridors and through halls until we reached an absolutely exquisite inner garden, topped by a green dome and surrounded by lofty decorated and painted doors that opened in turn on to beautifully furnished apartments. The young man invited us into one of them where we could await the arrival of his mistress. Then he disappeared.

Once we were seated, my companion started looking at the furniture, benches, and plush carpets.

"A woman who owns a riyad* such as this," he said admiringly, "and who loves pious men is clearly a mystery, one that I will have to crack for myself."

I advised him to lower his voice, whereupon he leaned over and urged me to listen to the second reason. I was surprised until he reminded me that what he meant was the second reason for his leaving Meknes and coming to Sabta. I told him to keep the story for a more appropriate moment. By now the old man was emerging from his peculiar frame of mind and still seemed fascinated by his surroundings, as though he had never seen the like of them before and was anxious to talk about them or anything else.

We remained seated like this until the servant came back with two others carrying a table piled high with food and drink. They placed it in front of us and left. I refrained from grabbing anything off the table, but my companion launched into the food as though he were breaking a fast of some duration or using chewing and swallowing as a substitute for talk. The servant insisted that I have something as well, so I took a fig and a glass of milk. At this point the servant started plying between the two of us, whispering into the ear of each in turn. He did his dogged best, but eventually the old man let out a bellow.

"I'm only going to leave this riyad when my companion does," he yelled with his mouth full, "and that's it…"

The young man came over and spoke to me.

"I've been suggesting to the old man that he take as much food as he wants and leave, but you can see for yourself that he absolutely refuses to do so. I've tricked you into coming to the house without my mistress knowing about it, but this old gaffer is ruining the whole plan. My mistress is bathing and is anxious to see you by yourself. What do you advise me to do?"

What was I supposed to say? When I agreed to enter this house, this fellow from Meknes was serving as my chaperone. It would be quite wrong to throw him out or simply wash my hands of him. That is basically what I told the servant, and I went on to promise that I would come back to visit his mistress whenever it was convenient. He gave a deep sigh and went skipping away like a sprightly fawn.

"Young people today! They have no shame or sense of decency… Tell me, for heaven's sake, have you ever seen a cat scampering away from a bridal residence?"

The old man kept up his rant between bites of the food. I managed to calm him down and reassure him.

For a moment I was distracted from my surroundings. I let my consciousness float amid the various levels of memory and contemplation until I reached the firm conclusion that the anticipation I was sensing was something the like of which I had never experienced before: patience combined with relish and delight; a wakefulness full of visions and dreams; time flowing on its exuberant way, measured not by its usual subdivisions but in terms of heartbeats and bursts of emotion. I found myself beyond such ties, being drawn irrevocably toward an opening that brought me blessings and an ascent that I devoutly desired.

While I was thus endeavoring to assess my situation, I suddenly felt the Meknesi's hand touching my thigh.

"Dear holy man of God," he said, drawing my attention back to my surroundings, "do you see the things that I do? How can any human tongue convey the truth of it? Mere words are completely inadequate. Praise be to the Creator of all that is beautiful and perfect, the Lord of mankind! That is all I can say."

I took a look around me and shared the amazement that my companion was expressing; in fact, my own astonishment was even greater. Here was an extremely beautiful and graceful woman walking toward us in the garden, surrounded by servants, both men and women. When she drew close, I stood up, and so did my companion, wiping his mouth sheepishly on his sleeve as he did so. She greeted us both and invited us to sit with her.

Her ravishing beauty-O my God! — was yet another sign of the Creator's existence and a cue for paeans of praise to His beautiful names.

"I am so sorry for the delay," she said in a soft, melodious voice. "My home always relishes the sweet scents brought by holy men of God. I always greet such people with an inquisitive heart and uncovered visage. Does that bother you?"

The old man stepped on my foot under the table.

"No, no," I replied, "it doesn't bother us at all!"

He stepped on my foot again, urging me to go on talking.

"Dear lady," I said, "thanks to the particular situation, your wishes conform with God's desires."

She was quick to understand my meaning. "My late husband," she went on, "always went along with my wishes. No one has the right to stop me doing so. Sitting with virtuous men is a key to the acquisition of virtue; talking to paragons of piety is the best means of access to pious attributes."

"My lady, you are absolutely correct in your observations, even though there may be times when the quest falls short…"

"God has provided me with a special sense, one that guides me toward what is proper and away from what is wicked. It allows me to recognize virtue and piety through their very scent and qualities."

"May God grant you pleasure in what He has given you, and protect you in this world from all that is cheap and nasty."

With that the woman raised her hands in the air. "Dear God," she intoned, "accept the prayer of this holy man and do not frustrate his aspirations and hopes."

The old man sat there like someone who has swallowed his tongue. He was listening to my conversation with our hostess and sipping a glass of milk. Every so often he sent negative signals back to the servant who was still suggesting that he follow him outside the house. Once I noticed that the situation was getting bad, I asked the lady of the house's permission to depart. Astute as she undoubtedly was, she realized the situation and stood up to escort us to the door, having obtained our solemn promise to include her in our private prayers.

As we made our way through the halls and alcoves, I was walking alongside this stunning woman; we were both behind the old man from Meknes. He kept leaning heavily on the arm of the servant, who was constantly warning him to look straight ahead in case he stumbled. We meanwhile walked slowly, touching and moving toward each other. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her ample breasts pointing in my direction and could breathe in the scented breeze of her presence. My senses were completely bedazzled; they wanted nothing more than for this walk to go on forever. Once we reached the outside door, she placed her hand in mine to say farewell. "This house is your house, thou Lord of the people," she whispered in my ear.