“It also contained Muslims,” he said, smiling.
“They are no doubt penalized by their coreligionists.”
The sheikh removed his turban and rubbed his hand across his head, then put it back and said, “Freedom is the sacred value accepted by everyone.”
I protested. “This freedom has overstepped the boundaries of Islam.”
“But it is also sacred in the Islam of Halba.”
Frustrated, I said, “If our Prophet were to be resurrected today he would reject this side of your Islam.”
“And were he, may the blessings and peace of God be upon him, to be resurrected,” he in turn inquired, “would he not reject the whole of your Islam?”
Ah, the man had spoken the truth and had humbled me by his question.
“I have traveled much through the lands of Islam,” the imam said.
“It was for this purpose,” I said sadly, “that I undertook my journey, Sheikh Hamada. I wanted to see my homeland from afar, and to see it in the light of other lands, that I might perhaps be able to say something of benefit to it.”
“You have done well,” said Sheikh Hamada approvingly. “May God grant you success. You will be taking from our land more than one lesson.”
“If you will permit, we shall have other opportunities of exchanging views,” I said, taken up again by a traveler’s curiosity. “But for now, could you tell me about the system of government in this extraordinary land?”
“It’s a unique system,” said Sheikh Hamada. “You have not met it in anything you’ve seen, and you will not meet it in what you will yet see.”
“Not even in the land of Gebel?”
“I know nothing about the land of Gebel to be able to make the comparison. What you should know is that the head of our state is elected in accordance with political, moral, and scientific specifications. He rules for a period of ten years, after which he retires and is replaced by the chief judge. New elections are then held between the retired head of state and the new nominees.”
“A good system,” I exclaimed enthusiastically.
“It would have been more appropriate for the Muslims to have propagated it before others. The head of state has an assembly of experts in all fields, whose opinion is of assistance to him.”
“And is this opinion binding?”
“If there is some difference of opinion they all are retired and elections are held again.”
“What an excellent system!” I exclaimed.
“As for agriculture, industry, and trade,” continued the sheikh, “they are carried out by those citizens most capable.”
“And so it is that there are both rich and poor,” I said, remembering some of the scenes I had seen.
“There are also unemployed people, robbers, and murderers,” said the sheikh.
“Perfection is with God alone,” I said meaningfully with a smile.
“But we have made great headway on that path,” he said seriously.
“If only you were to apply the canonical law of Islam!”
“But you apply it!”
“The fact is that it is not applied,” I insisted.
“Here commitment is to the Authority, applied both in the letter and in the spirit.”
“But the state is committed solely to maintaining order and to defense, so it seems to me.”
“And public projects which individuals are unable to undertake, such as parks, bridges, and museums. It runs schools which are free to outstanding students who are poor, as well as free hospitals, but most activities are carried on by individuals.”
I thought for a while, then asked, “Perhaps you consider yourselves the happiest of people?”
He nodded his head seriously. “It’s a relative judgment, Sheikh Qindil, but one cannot generalize with complete confidence so long as there are rich and poor and criminals. Apart from which our life is not devoid of anxiety: there are conflicting interests between us and Haira in the north and Aman in the south. Thus this unique civilization is threatened and could be wiped out in a single battle; even with victory we could go into a decline if we were to suffer great losses. Also, the religious differences are not always resolved peacefully.”
He asked me about my journey and I summarized for him what I had encountered since leaving my homeland. The man was saddened for me and wished me success. “I would advise you,” he said, “to hire a sedan chair because the sights of the capital are too numerous for you to see by yourself. We also have many other cities that are worth seeing. As for finding Arousa in our land, it would be easier to reach the land of Gebel.”
“I know that perfectly well,” I said sorrowfully, “but I have another request: I wish to visit the sage of Halba.”
“What do you mean?” he said in astonishment. “Mashriq has its sage and Haira its sage, but here the centers of learning are teeming with sages. With any one of them you will find the knowledge you wish to have, and more.”
Thanking him for his conversation and his friendship, I rose to my feet saying, “The time has come for me to go.”
“But you will lunch with us at my house,” he said, taking hold of me.
I welcomed the invitation as an opportunity to immerse myself in the life of Halba. We walked together for about a quarter of an hour to a quiet street bordered by acacia trees on both sides. We made our way to a handsome building, on the second floor of which lived the imam. I did not doubt that the imam was from the middle class, but the beauty of the reception room gave an indication of the high standard of living in Halba.
I was faced by strange traditions which in my homeland would have been considered inconsistent with Islam, for I was welcomed by both the imam’s wife and his daughter, as well as by his two sons. We all sat down at the one table. Even glasses of wine were served. It was a new world and a new Islam. I was disconcerted by the presence of his wife and daughter, for since attaining adolescence I had not shared a dining table with any woman, not even with my own mother. I was uncomfortable and overcome by shyness, and I did not touch the glass of wine.
“Let him do as suits him,” the imam said, smiling.
“I see that you follow Abu Hanifa’s opinion,” I said.
“With us there is no necessity for that,” he said, “as individual judgments continue to be made, and we drink according to the weather and traditions, but we do not become drunk.”
His wife ran the household, but Samia, his daughter, was a pediatrician at a large hospital, while the two sons were preparing themselves to be teachers. Even more than at the nudity I had encountered in Mashriq, I was amazed at the unrestrained way in which the mother and her daughter took part in the conversation. They talked with a bold and spontaneous frankness just like men. Samia asked me about life in the land of Islam and about the role of women there, and when I had explained the situation she was extremely critical. She made comparisons with women at the time of the Prophet, and the role that they had played then. Then she said, “Islam is wilting away at your hands and you are just standing back and contemplating.”
I was also much impressed by her youthful beauty, my admiration the greater for the long time I had been deprived of female company and for my advancing years. The imam related to them something of my life, as well as of my journey and of what I sought to achieve from it.
“He is not, in any event,” he said, “one of those who give up.”
“You deserve acclaim,” said Samia to me.
I was greatly touched by this. Then, in the afternoon, we all performed the prayers behind the imam, and this caused me yet more thoughtful consideration.
The imam’s family occupied the depths of my soul even after I had physically left them. On the way back I was overtaken by a yearning for stability and for the warmth of love. Where was Arousa? Where the land of Gebel? Youth had been lost under the ground, so when would I settle down and forge a family and have children? Until when would I remain torn between two conflicting calls?
On the following d
ay I hired a sedan chair, in which I was taken around the important sites of the capital, the centers of teaching, the citadels, the largest factories, the museums, the old quarters. The guide informed me that the people of the different religions acted out the lives of their prophets in the mosques, churches, and temples. I announced my desire to witness the life of our Prophet, may the blessings and peace of God be upon him, so he took me to the biggest of the capital’s mosques. I seated myself among the audience and his life was acted out from beginning to end in the courtyard of the mosque. I saw the Prophet, his Companions, and the polytheists: a boldness that approached blasphemy, but I felt I should see everything that deserved to be recorded. The person who performed the role of the Prophet so impressed me that I believed in him, and he affected me more than any vision I had had in my dreams. “What truly astonishes me,” I thought, “is that the faith of these people is so sincere and genuine.”
I invited the imam and his family to lunch at the inn, thus consolidating my attachment to them still further.
“I shall arrange a meeting for you with a sage of stature named Marham al-Halabi,” said the sheikh. I thanked him for his solicitude and we spent a pleasant time together, my heart beating all the while with joy and delight.
On the morning of the following day I left my room at the inn to visit the sage. However, I found many of the guests gathered at the entrance, engaged in animated conversations.
“There is news that one of Haira’s leaders has revolted against the king, but that he has failed and has fled to Halba.”
“Do you mean that he’s now living in Halba?”
“It is said that he is living in one of the oases of Halba.”
“The important thing is that the king of Haira is demanding that he be arrested and handed over.”
“But that is contrary to the principles of the Authority.”
“And his request has been turned down.”
“Will the matter end there?”
“There are whispers of war.”
“What if the land of Aman seizes the opportunity and attacks Halba?”
“That is the real problem.”
Anxiety crept deep into me, feeling I was being chased from one land to another by wars. I wanted to go to the sage but I was frightened when I found the square filled with various demonstrations, meeting up there as though it had been prearranged. I was forced to stay on in the entrance to the inn, looking and listening in a state of extreme astonishment: one demonstration was demanding the handing over of the commander who had fled, another giving dire warning to anyone who handed him over, another demanding that war be declared on Haira, and yet another demanding that peace be maintained at any price. I was overwhelmed by confusion and wondered what a ruler could do faced with such contradictory opinions. I waited until the square had cleared and then hurried to the house of the sage Marham, reaching it an hour late for my appointment. He met me in an elegant room that contained couches and chairs as well as cushions arranged on the floor. I found him to be a tall, thin man in his sixties, with white hair and beard, wrapped round in a lightweight blue cloak. Accepting my apologies for being late, he welcomed me, then inquired, “Would you prefer to sit on chairs or cushions?”
“I like cushions better,” I said, smiling.
“That’s the way with Arabs: I know you, I visited your countries and studied your cultural background.”
“I am not one of the scholars or philosophers of my country,” I said shyly, “but I like to acquire knowledge and it is for this that I undertook this journey.”
“That alone is sufficient,” he said with encouraging quietness. “And what is the goal of your journey?”
I thought for a time, then said, “To visit the land of Gebel.”
“I have not known anyone who has visited it or written about it.”
“Have you not thought of visiting it one day?”
“He who believes with his mind can dispense with everything.”
“The land of Gebel is not my final goal,” I added. “I would hope to return from there to my homeland with something that might benefit it.”
“I wish you success.”
“The fact is that I came here to listen, not to talk,” I said apologetically.
“Is there some question that worries you?”
“The life of every people is generally revealed through some basic idea,” I said with interest.
Sitting up straight, he said, “Thus lovers of knowledge such as yourself ask us how it is that we have fashioned our life.”
“And your life is worthy of provoking such a question.”
“The answer is very simple: we have fashioned it ourselves.” In concentrated silence I followed what he was saying. “There is no credit for this to any god. Our first thinker believed that the aim of life is freedom, and so from him there issued the first call for freedom, and this has continued generation after generation.” He smiled and was silent until his words became firmly embedded in my soul. Then he went on, “Thus I regard everything that liberates as good and everything that fetters as evil. We have set up a system of government that has freed us from despotism. We have dedicated our work to freeing ourselves from poverty. We have achieved outstanding advances in knowledge so that it may free us from ignorance. And so on and so on. It is a long road without an end.”
I very carefully committed to memory every word he said.
“The road to freedom was not an easy one,” he continued, “and we have paid the price for it in sweat and blood. We were prisoners of superstition and despotism. Pioneers came to the fore, heads fell, revolutions flared, civil wars broke out, until freedom and knowledge triumphed.”
I inclined my head in a gesture of admiration for what he was saying. He went on to criticize and make fun of the systems of government in Mashriq and Haira. He also made fun of the system in the land of Aman, which I had not yet visited. Even the land of Islam did not escape censure from his tongue. He must have seen a change on my face, for he grew silent, then said in an apologetic tone, “You are not used to freedom of opinion?”
“Within defined limits,” I said gently.
“Excuse me, but one should reconsider everything.”
“Your land is not without its poor people and deviants,” I said defensively.
“Freedom,” he said fervently, “is a responsibility which only the competent can be conversant with. Not everyone who belongs to Halba is equal to it. There is no place for the weak amongst us.”
“Does not mercy have a value in the same way as freedom?” I inquired hotly.
“This is what the people of the various religions are always saying, and it is they who encourage the weak to remain so. As for me, I find no meaning for such words as mercy or justice—we must first of all agree as to who deserves mercy and who deserves justice.”
“I disagree with you completely.”
“I know.”
“Perhaps you welcome war.”
“Yes, if you promise an increase in freedom,” he said clearly. “I have not the slightest doubt that a victory by us over Haira and Aman would be the best guarantee for the happiness of their two peoples. Speaking of which, I am for the principle of holy war in Islam.”
He went on to give an aggressive interpretation of it, so I applied myself to correcting his theory, but he gave a contemptuous wave of his hand and said, “You have a splendid principle, but you do not possess sufficient courage to acknowledge it.”
“To what religion do you belong, sage Marham?” I asked him.
“To a religion whose god is reason and whose prophet is freedom,” he answered, smiling.
“And all sages are like you?”
“I wish I were able to state that,” he said, laughing.
He brought me two books: the first was The Authority, or the principal law in Halba, while the second had been written by him and was entitled Storming the Impossible. “Read these two books,” he said, “and you will know Halba as it re
ally is.”
I thanked him for his generosity and for his kind hospitality, then I bade him farewell and left. I had my lunch at the inn, where all tongues were eagerly speaking of the war. In the afternoon I went to the mosque and prayed behind Sheikh Hamada al-Sabki. He then invited me to sit with him and I accepted with pleasure. Then, smiling, he asked me, “Have you found Arousa?”
“Continuing to be attached to Arousa is a meaningless self-delusion,” I said seriously.
“That’s the truth,” he said, confirming my words. Then, after a short silence, he asked, “Will you continue on your journey with the first caravan?”
Feeling slightly embarrassed, I answered, “No, I want to stay on a while longer.”
“A good decision. And right in the circumstances, for the king of Haira has prohibited the passage of caravans between Haira and Halba in response to our refusal to hand over the escaped commander.”
I was astonished and perturbed.
“The big landowners and the men of industry and business are angry and held an important meeting with the ruler at which they demanded that war be declared,” said the sheikh.
“And what is the position of the land of Aman?” I inquired uneasily.
“It’s as though you had become an inhabitant of Halba!” said the sheikh, smiling. “The quarrel between Halba and Aman revolves round the ownership of certain wells in the desert between our two lands. The dispute will be settled in favor of Aman right away so that they will not think of treachery.”
“I am a stranger,” I said uneasily, “and warnings of war are flying all around me.”
“The best thing you can do is to remain in Halba. If your stay is extended, you have sufficient funds to allow you to engage in some lucrative business.”
I gave up the idea of joining the caravan despite my worry that it could be the last caravan for Aman. I was strongly drawn to Halba by the cleanliness of its atmosphere and by hopes of enjoying myself in the company of some of its inhabitants. I divided my time between sightseeing and the family of Sheikh Hamada al-Sabki. As for Arousa, she hovered as distantly from me as the stars of the night.
Novels by Naguib Mahfouz Page 7