The shaykh struck his hands together and shouted, 'An excuse is worse than a sin'. Pointing his index finger in a threatening way, he continued: 'If you persist in disobeying me, I'll be unable to accept your gift'.
The proprietor sealed his lips and spread out his hands in submission, constraining himself to be quiet this time. Shaykh Mutawalli waited to be sure of his obedience. After clearing his throat he said, 'I commence with a prayer in honor of Muhammad, the beloved master of creation'.
The proprietor responded from his depths, 'God’s blessing and peace on him'.
'I praise your father as he deserves; may God have plentiful compassion for him and grant him a spacious abode in His paradise. I can almost see him sitting where you are. The difference between the two of you being that your late father retained the turban and you have traded it in for this fez'.
The proprietor murmured with a smile, 'May God forgive us'.
The shaykh yawned till tears came to his eyes. Then he spoke again: 'I pray to God that He may grant your children prosperity and piety: Yasin, Khadija, Fahmy, Aisha, and Kamal and their mother. Amen'.
Hearing the shaykh pronounce the names Khadija and Aisha sounded odd to al-Sayyid Ahmad, even though he was the one who had told him their names a long time ago, so he could write amulet inscriptions for them. It was not the first time the shaykh had pronounced their names, nor would it be the last, but never would the name of any of his women be mentioned outside their chambers, even on the tongue of Shaykh Mutawalli, without its having a strange and unpleasant impact on him, even if only for a short time. All the same, he muttered, 'Amen, O Lord of the universe'.
The shaykh said with a sigh, 'Then I ask God the Benefactor to return to us our leader Abbas, backed by one of the caliph’s armies, which are without beginning or end'.
'We so ask Him and it would not be difficult for Him'.
The shaykh’s voice rose as he said angrily, 'And that He afflict the English and their allies with a shocking defeat, leaving them without a leg to stand on'.
'May our Lord carry them all off'.
The shaykh shook his head sorrowfully. He said with anguish, 'Yesterday I was walking in the Muski when two Australian soldiers blocked my way. They told me to hand over everything I had. So I emptied my pockets for them and brought out the one thing I had, an ear of corn. One of them took it and kicked it like a ball. The other snatched my turban. He unwound the cloth from it, ripped it, and flung it in my face'.
The proprietor listened closely, fighting off the temptation to smile. He quickly disguised it by an exaggerated display of disapproval. He shouted in condemnation, 'May God destroy and annihilate them'.
The other man concluded his account: 'I raised my hand to the sky and called out, 'Almighty God, rip their nation to shreds the way they ripped my turban cloth.''
'Your prayer will be answered, God willing'.
The shaykh leaned back and closed his eyes to rest a little. Meanwhile the proprietor scrutinized his face and smiled. Then the religious guide opened his eyes and addressed him in a calm voice and a new tone, giving warning of a new subject. He said, 'What an astute and gallant man you are, Ahmad, you son of Abd al-Jawad'.
The proprietor smiled with pleasure. He responded in a low voice, 'I ask God’s forgiveness, Shaykh Abd al- Samad…'
The shaykh interrupted him, saying, 'Not so fast. I'm the sort of person who praises only to clear the way to speak the truth, for the sake of encouragement, son of Abd al-Jawad'.
A wary circumspection was evident in the eyes of the proprietor. He muttered, 'May our Lord be gracious to us'.
The shaykh gestured at him with his gnarled forefinger and asked him threateningly, 'What do you have to say as a devout Muslim concerning your lust for women?'
The proprietor was accustomed to his candor. Thus he was not troubled by his assault. After a brief laugh he replied, 'How can you fault me for that? Didn't the Messenger of God (the blessing and peace of God upon him) speak of his love for perfume and women?'
The shaykh frowned and looked even grimmer in protest against the proprietor’s logic, which he did not like. He countered, 'Licit are not the same as forbidden ones, you son of Abd al-Jawad, marriage is not the same as chasing after hussies'.
The proprietor stared at nothing in particular and said in a serious tone, 'I have never allowed myself to offend against honor or dignity at all. Praise God for that'.
The shaykh struck his hands on his knees and exclaimed with astonishment and disgust, 'A weak excuse fit only for a weak person. Immorality is damnable even if it is with a debauched woman. Your father, may God have mercy on him, was crazy about women. He married twenty times. Why don't you follow his path and shun the sinner's?'
The proprietor laughed out loud. He asked, 'Are you one of God’s saints or a nuptial official? My father was almost sterile; so he married many times. Even though I was his only child, his property was split up between me and his last four wives, not to mention what he lost during his lifetime in divorce settlements. Now I'm the father of three males and two females. It wouldn't be proper for me to slip into more marriages and have to divide the wealth that God has bestowed on us. Don't forget, Shaykh Mutawalli, that the professional women entertainers of today are the slave girls of yesterday, whose purchase and sale God made legal. More than anything else, God is forgiving and merciful'.
The shaykh moaned. Shaking his torso right and left, he said, 'How adept you are, you sons of Adam, in embellishing evil. By God, you son of Abd al-Jawad, were it not for my love of you, I would not suffer you to speak to me, you fornicator'.
The proprietor spread out his hands and said with a smile, 'God grant…'
The shaykh snorted in annoyance and yelled, 'If it weren't for your jokes, you'd be the most perfect of men'.
'Perfection is God’s alone'.
The shaykh turned toward him and motioned with his hand as if to say, 'Let’s put this aside'. Then he asked in the tone of an interrogator tightening his grip around his victim’s throat, 'And wine? What do you say about that?'
Suddenly the proprietor’s spirits flagged. His discomfort was apparent in his eyes. He remained silent for some time. The shaykh sensed submission in his silence. He shouted in triumph, 'Isn't it forbidden? No one would succumb to it who strives to obey and love God'.
The proprietor interrupted with the zeal of a man fending off a veritable disaster: 'I certainly strive to obey and love Him'.
'By word or deed?'
Although he had an answer ready, he took some time to think about it before replying. He was not accustomed to busying himself with introspection or self-analysis. In this way he was like most people who are rarely alone. His mind did not swing into action until some external force required it: a man or woman or some element of his material life. He had surrendered himself to the busy current of his life, submerging himself totally in it. All he saw of himself was his reflection on the surface of the stream. Moreover, his zest for life had not diminished as he grew older. He was forty-five and still enjoyed an ardent and exuberant vigor like that of an adolescent youth. His life was composed of a diversity of mutually contradictory elements, wavering between piety and depravity. Contradictory though they were, they all met with his satisfaction, without needing to be propped up by any pillar of personal philosophy or hypocritical rationalization. His conduct issued directly from his special nature. Having a clear conscience, he was good-hearted and sincere in everything he did. His breast was not shaken by storms of doubt, and he passed his nights peacefully. His faith was deep. It was true that he had inherited it and that there was no room for innovation in it. All the same, his sensitivity, discernment, and sincerity had added an elevated, refined feeling to it, which prevented it from being a blind traditionalism or a ritualism inspired by nothing but desire or fear. The most striking characteristic of his faith as a whole was its pure, fertile love. Using it, he set about performing all his duties to God, like prayer, fasting, or almsgiving, with love, ease, and happiness; not to mention a clear conscience, a heart abounding in love for people, and a soul that was generous in its gallantry and help for others. These qualities made him a dear friend. People vied to enjoy the pleasures of his friendship.
With the same ardent, overflowing vitality, he opened his breast to the joys and pleasures of life. He delighted in fancy food. He was enchanted by vintage wine. He was crazy about a pretty face. He pursued each of these pleasures with gaiety, joy, and passion. His conscience was not weighed down by guilty feelings or anxious
