The fact that my lady and her lover, too, faced death if I failed helped me define the antagonists better. Ferhad was not the real enemy. The impossible requirements of form were the culprits, and I was like a skilled swordsman defending two babes from these invaders, defending those who could not defend themselves.
XXXVIII
That year the month of Ramadhan began in the depths of winter. It seemed no hardship to fast then; one was lethargic and given to long spells of sitting cozily anyway. But by the end of the month the snows had begun to carve out rocky creeks for themselves in the back streets of Konya, and wild grape hyacinths splattered protected crannies like highly glazed tile work.
By the time the holy month neared its end, all spirits were stirring and it seemed harder and harder to fast those last few days. It would be equally difficult, I felt, for my lady and her lover to endure this time of new life without closer contact than the harem walls had so far allowed them.
Fortunately for us all, I thought, the snow was turning to mud, and the mud to dirt once more. It would only be a matter of weeks until the roads were passable and our year’s pilgrimage would come to an end. I can easily keep them apart—those two lodestones—for so long.
I had proven myself. I had proven myself in a trial more difficult than facing the physical threat of brigands, the kidnappers of Chios. I exalted and thought, only a man who has slain his first enemy can appreciate how I felt.
So great was my relief and triumph that I celebrated in the best way I knew how. I escaped the harem and attended the Thursday evening services of Husayn’s brotherhood again, which my winter-long tension had rarely given me commitment of spirit to do. The two or three times I did attend that season, I could never allow myself to be drawn into the dance again, but sat watching and brooding in the gallery.
But now, so great was my relief that I might have even abandoned myself to the total Sufi Union with the Divine had not a sudden image of the sword that awaited me if I should neglect my duties cut the vision at the last moment. Again I was obliged to break away from the circle, again I escaped into myself in the quiet chill of the courtyard.
And again, near dawn, Husayn came out to me alone. The moon was but a wisp, nearing the end of the holy month. We took the cloud of the Milky Way as other men may take tobacco or opium, and smoked it together silently in a pipe invisible between us.
I do not know if he read my mind. They say some dervishes cultivate that capability, and at the time it certainly seemed as if he did. But perhaps he only sensed the atmosphere with insight our shared joys and sorrows had honed keen. He spoke to it in parables.
“Elias,” Husayn began, like the very voice of that sharp night, “is the wisest of all the creatures of Allah. It is said he inspired the saint of Konya, Sufi Rumi, and that he also instructed the Prophet Moses. At first Elias was skeptical that he should teach Moses anything, but Moses insisted and Elias in his wisdom also knew what a great prophet this man might become if properly instructed.
“‘Very well,’ Elias said to him, ‘you may come with me on my travels through the world of men. But you must not question anything I do, for the undertaking of Allah is far beyond that of men.’”
“Moses replied that he would certainly comply with this request, for gaining knowledge in the Way of Allah was his only desire. So the two men went about the world and soon they came to the sea. They had no coin to pay to be ferried across, but eventually they met two poor but pious sailors who were content to have them on board for nothing.
“When they reached the other shore, Elias promptly put a great hole in the hull of this boat so it began to sink, and then he went on his way. Moses, following after, was shocked. ‘These poor sailors were kind to us, and this boat is their only means of livelihood,’ he thought angrily. But he didn’t say anything for he had sworn not to question the deeds of this, the wisest of creatures.
“Soon the two men of Allah came to a tree and beneath the tree was a young child asleep. The child was so beautiful and peaceful and so well favored that Moses could not help but wonder. But just as he was about to form a word of praise to the Creator, Elias came and struck off the child’s head in one blow.
“Now Moses was so appalled that he could not speak, even if he had wished to, and by the time he had gained his tongue again, they were far from the city, in an abandoned field. In the field was an old stone wall which was crumbling through neglect, but for this Elias stopped and had Moses spend the heat of the afternoon repairing the breach.
“At last Moses could hold his tongue no longer. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘I do not understand. This is useless work. The wall and the field are clearly abandoned and why should we stop to do something that will benefit no one? Why, indeed, when our day has already been filled with senseless destruction and violence. To destroy those poor sailors’ boat and to kill that fair-faced child surely go against all the laws of Allah. I wonder if you are Elias at all and not some satanic impostor.’
“‘How much you have to learn of the ways of Allah!’ Elias sighed wearily at this breach of faith on the part of his disciple
