Bensalem Himmich - My Torturess

The shaykh gave me an affectionate look.

“Hamuda,” he replied, “patience comes from God the Merciful, haste from the devil. All in good time! You’ll get the piece of land you want, but not now. Your manuscript can be published with God’s assistance, but not now. On the other hand, your marriage is a boon, and, as the proverb puts it, ‘The best boons come the quickest.’ On Friday afternoon we’ll go to the farm with two witnesses, you’ll be wed to Zaynab, and we’ll have a reception to celebrate the happy occasion. After that, God will decide. .”

For a moment, the shaykh fell silent and ate a little food. He then produced a sealed envelope from his pocket.

“Here’s a sum of money,” he said. “I’m loaning it to you with no interest, and you can return it whenever you can. Use it to buy things for yourself, but don’t forget to purchase some clothes for both the bride and groom. The night before Friday you should visit the bathhouse closest to my home, and until it’s time to leave, you’ll be staying here with me. Now go to the room you see in front of you and get what you need most: some rest and undisturbed sleep.”

The only way I could see of expressing my heartfelt thanks to the shaykh was to kiss his head and hands many times before leaving him and going to the room he had indicated.

On Thursday evening I purchased various pieces of clothing and other things. I put my new set of teeth in and had the kind of wash in the bathhouse that I had not enjoyed for years. With the shaykh I prayed the evening prayer in the quarter’s mosque, and we each offered our own fervent prayers. On Friday morning I brought the box of books that I had managed to save, and immediately after the noon prayer the shaykh took me and my belongings out to the farm in his truck, along with his wife and two witnesses.

Khaduj and Zaynab both welcomed us all with broad smiles, then set about preparing food and drink. No sooner had everyone gathered than the shaykh broached with Khaduj the possibility of my marrying her daughter, all in accordance with the custom of God and His Prophet. Her positive response first took the form of copious prayers and blessings on God’s Prophet, immediately followed by a whole chain of ululations that undoubtedly could be heard by the neighbors as well. Her daughter was overcome by emotions of utter joy and happiness, and she went rushing off into the fields, running and leaping into the air. She came back eventually, with tears in her eyes and flushed cheeks and responded to the two witnesses’ question with a resounding ‘Yes.’ The wedding contract was now drawn up, and, once it was complete, the opening chapter of the Qur’an was recited and everyone prayed the afternoon prayer. The shaykh sacrificed a ram and prepared it for cooking, while the bride and her mother set about preparing an elaborate wedding banquet with the help of neighbors who contributed their own share of ululations. With God’s assistance, the entire wedding went off well, and the district official and other neighbors came to join in the celebration. The women competed with each other to fill the entire neighborhood with ululations and celebratory poems, all to the accompaniment of rhythmic clapping, beating tambourines and drums, and clicking spoons and glasses on the tables and trays. All the while, other women — as far as I can tell — started washing, perfuming, and dressing the bride with appropriate clothes and expensive jewelry.

Between the sunset and evening prayers, we menfolk spent some deeply spiritual moments reciting passages from the Qur’an and chanting prophetic eulogies and Sufi litanies. I played a major part in all that and was sometimes the only one singing. During a pause, the jurist who was so responsible for my good fortune in all this leaned over and asked me where I had acquired such talents.

“God gave me such talents while I was studying,” I whispered in his ear, “but such things were my spiritual sustenance and the primary source of my endurance during the long years I spent in prison.”

It seems that the two witnesses and the local official were somewhat put out by their inability to participate in such religious celebrations, so, as soon as they had eaten, they rose to their feet and left, offering their thanks and good wishes to my wife and myself.

2

Oh yes, my gracious Na‘ima, may God be gracious to you and comfort you!

When it came time for my bride and me to be alone, we headed for the room that had been prepared for us, each of us dressed in a pure white garment. The women who accompanied us were praising God and intoning prayers and blessings on our behalf. Once they had closed the door behind us, they all went back to start preparing the celebratory breakfast for the next day.

So here I am face to face with Zaynab, my wife. In her company I can learn again the alphabet of life. I will now start teaching her to read and write so that one day she can take my book and understand its contents.

This amazing night is the new point of beginning, the essence of a fresh outlook on life. I beg God Almighty, as far as possible, to keep it free, now and in the future, from all kinds of violence, frivolity, and sorrow.

The tears shed by my beloved wife are tears of joy as she discovers the sheer magic of married life. My tears are also those of joy, but they are also tempered by joy of another kind — the joy at being rid of the threat of death and destruction. All this is through God’s good grace and yours as well, Na‘ima, guardian angel over my happiness!

And it’s all due to your knowledge as well, you intermediary of God the Creator in my rescue from death! Now here I am in the countryside, reading a book at times and plowing the fields at others along with my wife and mother-in-law. I am filling my lungs to their capacity with the sweet breath of my regained freedom and relishing it all in the company of Zaynab, as we use our mule to ride through valleys, streams, the Bani Sanasin hills, and the Camel’s Cave. Sometimes we dismount and run races into the cave or across low-lying areas. To tell the truth, I find it easier to race a rabbit than to try to keep up with Zaynab. When the woman whom I’ve come to call “my gazelle” stops out of pity for me, I can assess the damage that the years in prison have wrought on my breathing and lungs. But I give praises to God that I am still alive and well and that there are many things I can still enjoy: sitting on the grass with my wife, for example, after we have been running, shading ourselves under the leafy trees and alongside a coursing brook. As we chatter, she kisses my hand and I kiss hers as we tease and touch each other and listen together to the sound of the fetus growing inside her womb.

With each passing day my period of convalescence becomes progressively shorter — what a blessing! — and all signs of my asthma disappear as though it had never really happened. My nightmarish visions gradually vanish as well, and little by little my complete recovery draws ever closer, all due to God’s bounty and generosity.

My devout and generous sponsor, the jurist al-Mizati, now makes me the sole owner of the farm, with the written agreement of his surviving son. He leaves me as owner also of the bookstore in the hope that one day I’ll be able to open it to my own students of religious learning, few though they may be.

I am delighted by my mother-in-law, who I hereby testify is the very best of her kind, and so is she with me. Barely a single day passed before we were sharing jokes and funny stories with each other. For example, I thought it was odd that there was no bull in her paddock. In reply she told me that it’s the cow that is the more profitable by giving birth to calves and producing milk and its byproducts, so it deserves more fodder and close attention. The bull, on the other hand, she borrows without charge at particular times of the year. It impregnates her cows, and then she returns it to its owner. One of her other stories tells how one night she invited a married couple from Fez. Before breakfast the next morning, the couple were both staring in amazement at the number of chickens, cocks, and hens she had. The husband asked how that came about, and she told him that the cock has a large number of wives. “Did you hear that?” the wife whispered in her husband’s ear. The husband asked my mother-in-law to explain: “Does the cock do it with just one hen and no more?” That made her laugh. “Oh no,” she replied, “he not only does it with all the hens here, but even with the neighbors’ hens as well.” “Did you hear that?” the husband whispered in his wife’s ear.