the most high gifted with benevolence, the friend gifted with knowledge, the ever-providing, the only generous one, the forbearing who commands the armies of the heavens and the earth, the most perfect, the loving one…”
Yet the feeble, distant voice touched every man, every woman as if on the inside of their bodies, and it was also as if it were coming from their own throats, as if it were mingling with their thoughts and their words to make its music.
“Glory, praise be to the ever-living, glory, praise be to the one who does not perish, to the one whose existence is supreme, for it is he who hears and knows…”
The air entered Ma al-Ainine’s chest, then he breathed out forcefully almost without moving his lips, eyes closed, the top part of his body swaying like the trunk of a tree.
“Our God the lord, our God the highest good, our God the light of light, the night sun, the dark of dark, our God the sole truth, the sole word, glory and praise be to the one who holds battle in our battle, glory and praise be to the one whose name overthrows our enemies, the lord of God’s land…”
Then, without even realizing it, the men and the women began reciting the words of the dzikr; their voice rose each time the voice of the old man came to a trembling halt.
“He is great, the all powerful, the most perfect, he who is our lord and our God, he whose name is written in our flesh, he the revered, the most holy, the manifest, he who knows no master, he who said: I was a hidden treasure, I wished to be found, and to that end, I created the living creatures…
“He is great, he knows no equal nor rival, he who preceded all existence, he who created existence, he who is everlasting, who owns all, who sees, who hears, and who knows, he who is perfect, he who is without equal…
“He is great, he is magnificent in the hearts of the faithful, he is pure in the hearts of those who recognize him, he is without equal in the souls of those who have reached him, he is our lord, the highest of all lords…
“He knows no equal nor rival, he is the one who dwells at the pinnacle of the highest mountain, the one who is in the desert sands, who is in the ocean, in the sky, in the water, the one who is the path, who is the night and the stars…”
Then without even realizing it, the musicians began to play, and their airy music spoke with the voice of Ma al-Ainine, murmuring with the faint, sharp notes of the mandolins, with the fluttering beat of the small drums, then suddenly bursting forth like the cry of birds to accompany the pure melody of the reed flutes.
The voice of the old man and the pipe music were now answering each other, as if they were saying the same thing, over and above the voices of the men and the sound of feet thudding on the hardened earth.
“He knows no equal nor rival, for he is the all powerful, he who was not created, the light which gave life to candles, the fire which lit other fires, the first sun, the first star in the night, he who is born before all births, he who brings life and death to all earthly things, he
who fashions and breaks down the forms of creatures…”
Then the crowd was dancing and shouting, making a rending sound — “Houwa! Him!” — and shaking their heads and turning their uplifted palms toward the dark sky.
“He who brought the truth to all the saints, who blessed the Lord Mohammed, he who gave the power and the word to our Lord the Prophet, God’s messenger on earth…”
“Ah! Him!”
“Glory be to God, praise be to God, the infinite, the most perfect, the heart of the secret, the one who is written in the heart, the all high, the infinite…”
“Houwa! Him!”
“Glory be to God for we are his creatures, we are poor, we are ignorant, we are blind, deaf, we are imperfect…”
“Ah! Houwa!”
“O he who knows, give us the truth! O you, the gentle, the loving one, the patient, the generous, you who needed no one in order to exist!”
“Ah! Him!”
“Glory be to God who is the king, the holy one, the powerful, the victorious, the magnificent, who exists before all life, the divine, the infinite, the one, victorious over all enemies, the one who knows, who sees, who hears, the divine, the wise, the infinite, the witness, the creator, the only one, the infinite, all-seeing, all-hearing, the magnificent, the generous, the strong, the most perfect, the most high, the infinite…”
Ma al-Ainine’s voice was shouting. Then it suddenly stopped, like a cricket singing in the night. Then the rumor of voices and drums stopped too, the guitar and flute music ceased, and again there was nothing but the long awful silence, tightening around the temples, making the heart beat faster. Eyes filled with tears, Nour looked at the old man bowing toward the earth with his hands over his face, and deep inside, quick as a stab, he felt the uncharted threshold of anguish. Then Larhdaf, Ma al-Ainine’s third son, began to sing also. His strong voice rang out in the square, no longer with the pure clarity of Ma al-Ainine’s, but like a sound of anger, and the musicians immediately began playing again.
“O God, our God! Welcome the witnesses of faith and truth, the companions of Moulay bou Azza, of Bekkaia, the companions of the Goudfia, listen to the words of remembrance as our lord Sheik Ma al-Ainine has dictated them to us!”
The muttering of the crowd suddenly changed to shouts: “Glory be to our sheik, Ma al-Ainine, glory be to the messenger of God!”
“Glory be to Ma al-Ainine! Glory be to the companions of the Goudfia!”
“O God, listen to the remembrance of his son, Sheik Ahmed, he who is called al-Shems, the Sun, listen to the remembrance of his son Ahmed al-Dehiba, he who is called Particle of Gold, Moulay Hiba, our true king!”
“Glory be to them! Glory be to Moulay Hiba, our king!”
Now the feeling of exhilaration had once again taken hold of the crowd, and the hoarse voice of the young man seemed to awaken their anger and dispel their fatigue.
“O God, our God, may you be pleased with your companions and your followers! The men of glory and greatness, may God be pleased with them! The men of love and truth, may God be pleased with them! The men of faith and purity, may God be pleased with them! The lords, the nobles, the warriors, may God be pleased with them! The saints, the blessed, the servants of the poor, the homeless, the suffering, may God be pleased with them! May God grant us his great blessing!”
The din of the crowd rose, and the names being called out were echoing off the walls of the houses, were being indelibly inscribed in memory, in the cold bare earth and in the star-filled sky.
“May the great blessing of the Lord, Messenger of God, be bestowed upon us, O God, and that of the Messenger Ilias, the blessing of al-Khadir, who drank at the very source of life, O God, and the blessing of Ouways Qarni, O God, and that of the Great Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani, the saint of Baghdad, the Messenger of God on earth, O God…”
The names burst forth in the silence of the night, over the music that murmured and swayed as imperceptibly as a soft breath. “All of the people of the earth, and the people of the sea, O God, the people of the North, the people of the South, O God, the people of the East, the people of the West, O God, the people of the sky, the people of the earth, O God…”
The words of remembrance were more and more beautiful, words that came from the farthest corners of the desert and had at last found their way back into the hearts of each man, each woman, like an old dream starting over again.
“Bestow upon us, O God, the great blessing of the lords Abou Yaza, Yalannour, Abou Madian, Maarouf, al- Jounaid, al-Hallaj, al-Chibli, the great holy lords of the city of Baghdad…”
The light of the moon appeared slowly above the rocky hills to the east of the Saguiet, and Nour watched it, swaying his body, keeping his eyes rooted deep in the black sky. In the center of the square, Sheik Ma al-Ainine was still bowed forward, very white, almost ghostlike. Only his thin fingers were moving, flicking his ebony beads.
“Bestow upon us, O God, the blessing of the lords, al-Halwi, he who danced for the children, Ibn Haouari, Tsaouri, Younous ibn Obaid, Basri, Abou Yazrd, Mohammed al-Saghir al-Souhaili whose teachings revealed the words of the great God, Abdesselaam, Ghazali, Abou Chouhaib, Abou Mahdi, Malik, Abou Mohammed Abdelazziz al-Thobba, the saint of the city of Marrakech, O God!”
The names were the exaltation of remembrance itself, as if they were the eyes of the constellations, and
