Heart of the Night

5

I was walking with Muhammad Shakroun at the edge of al-Darrasa when we encountered a herd of sheep led by two women. When we stepped aside to let them pass, I was able to see the women up close, most probably a mother and a daughter, very much alike. The daughter wore a long belted black dress, was draped in a black shawl, and had on a loose burqa that revealed her eyes. She was barefoot and held a spindle.”

Jaafar fell silent for a long time.

“What happened?” I asked.

He turned toward me and said, “I, too, wonder what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

He went on: “To sum it up, I looked at the girl’s eyes and was struck by a state of total madness. But let’s leave this for the time being and discuss it later. I will tell you now what happened. I felt I had died and that a new person was born through me. You will even agree with me that it was a new person in the full meaning of the word, a person with no connection to the one who had just died, a drunkard whose heart overflowed with passion and who had an extraordinary capacity for defiance and struggle. I heard Muhammad Shakroun say, ‘When will you resume walking?’ He then examined me closely and smiling, said, ‘It must be the shepherdess!’

“‘It’s fate,’ I replied.

“‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

“‘We must find out where she lives.’

“‘Fine,’ said Shakroun, ‘but remember that you are wearing a turban.’

“A force of another kind guided me. We walked behind the herd, crossing al-Nahhasin district, then al-Husseiniya, and then I saw al-Abbasiya and al-Wayliya. I did not feel any fatigue and I had no pity for my friend’s limp, but walked extremely fast, like a crazy, intoxicated man. The springs of adventure overwhelmed my heart, though Muhammad Shakroun uttered a litany of complaints.

“‘May God forgive you,’ he said.

“‘What’s wrong with you?’ I asked.

“‘The girl is aware that you are following her.’

“‘These are gypsies; they’re worse than devils,’ I said.

“‘Tell me, I beg you, what exactly do you want?’ asked Shakroun.

“We finally saw the herd enter the campground of Eshash al-Turguman, as the sun’s rays were withdrawing from that eerie open space and disappearing at the horizon. The rays were bidding good-bye to the metal-roofed huts and their wild inhabitants, with their nomadic life so different from that of city dwellers. Muhammad Shakroun stopped and grabbed my arm.

“‘Not a single step farther,’ he said. ‘There is no place for a stranger here.’ He added, ‘You have bloodied our feet.’

“I was floating in a distant sphere, the world of emotions, as I said to Shakroun, ‘She bid me good-bye with a fiery look before disappearing.’

“‘Congratulations!’

“He begged me to hire a carriage for the return trip.

“Shakroun did not leave me that evening, staying till midnight and watching me in disbelief. ‘What happened to you?’

“I said in distress, ‘You see with your own eyes.’

“‘I don’t understand.’

“‘I am crazy about the girl,’ I said.

“‘So fast?’

“‘It happened.’

“‘But she is a shepherdess and belongs to an evil group of people!’ he exclaimed.

“‘It is destiny and there is no escaping it,’ I replied.

“He went on, wondering, ‘How can she be seduced? Would she be inclined to that? How can we arrange matters without causing a scandal? What can you do if none of that is possible?’

“I insisted, saying, ‘No matter what, I must have her.’

“From that day on I spent sunsets at the edge of al-Darrasa, with my friend or alone, sitting on a rock and surrounded by grazing sheep and goats, with the book of logic open on my lap. I caught glimpses of her as she sat close to her mother, weaving. The place was practically empty, frequented only by vagrants returning to the Muqattam neighborhood. When the sun set, the herd and its herders went on their daily return journey, leaving me with a gloomy and empty heart. I would leave and go to the mosque for the evening prayer, and then attend my lesson on the subject of logic.

“One day I hid a glass in my caftan pocket, and as they reached the place where I sat, I walked to the mother and gave her the glass, asking for some milk. Marwana, as I heard her mother call her, jumped immediately to her feet, went to a goat, and milked it. She handed me the glass full of foaming milk. I took it and thanked her, saying, ‘May your hands be safe, Marwana.’ She smiled with her eyes. Her mother looked at me suspiciously as I drank the milk and said, ‘To your health.’ When I thanked her, she replied in a tone that carried a specific message, ‘You sheikhs are God’s people.’ I said, grateful, ‘Thanks be to God.’

“I was delighted to have established this contact and struck up a conversation with them. I was overcome with a tremendous feeling of happiness that lasted until the moment of separation.

“Shakroun, who was investigating possible solutions, reached the following conclusion: ‘I inquired enough to know that this group commits every kind of evil except the one that you are drooling about.’

“I said scornfully, ‘A giant will come out of the lamp one day and you will not recognize him no matter how strongly you claim to have been his friend.’

“Shakroun was not aware of the revolutionary nature of my words. He didn’t know that I had become the king of kings and could do whatever I wanted. I was intoxicated with an outpouring of red madness.

“The glass of milk established a silken but fatal link between Marwana and me. When I again asked for milk, I accidentally touched her fingertips as I took the glass from her and said, ‘You are generous, Marwana!’

“She gathered her veil around her head and glanced at me mischievously. I said to her very softly, ‘Your eyes are so beautiful!’ As she was turning away, I added, ‘I come here for you only.’

“The mother stopped weaving and stood up. Taking a pebble from the ground, she threw it far away, in the direction of the mountain. As I watched her, surprised, she explained, ‘It is a good way to scare away reptiles and insects.’

“I said, distrustfully, ‘God is the best protector.’ She replied forcefully, ‘It is incumbent upon us to fight evil with the language it understands.’”

Jaafar laughed and said to me, “Believe everything I am telling you without hesitation. Do not be fooled by my present appearance. Whoever sees me now thinks that I was born in a dumpster and my only actions have been those connected to vomiting. Tell me, what do you think of love?”

I was taken aback by the difficult nature of the question and said, “Love is what it is. I believe everything people say about it.”

“Do you also believe that it is a miracle maker and produces wonders?” he asked.

“I do. I am not a greenhorn, but tell me about your love, Jaafar. How was it? A barefoot shepherdess is bound to make one’s blood boil!”

Jaafar confirmed my words. “That is how it was: a call for blood, a loud call that led to action, to madness and destruction. It invaded one’s life through doors and windows and led to crimes and suicide.”

Surprised, I said, “But you were one of God’s holy men.”

“In order to understand my experience, imagine that you suddenly lost your memory and became a new person.”

“I thought that a person changes gradually.”

“Not me. I change from one extreme to another, suddenly!”

I offered an explanation. “Many things can, undoubtedly, happen in the obscure regions of your subconscious.”

He had his own explanation. “Man invents logic, but surpasses it in his life. Nature, my dear man, makes use of impetuosity as well as evolution!”

“Go on. Let me hear what you have to say, Jaafar.”

He continued: “One day, my grandfather invited me to sit with him, then inquired about my studies. I understood immediately that he had asked me to join him for another reason, since my teachers were informing him about my exceptional progress. I reassured him about my earnestness and my aim to always please him. ‘But the road is long and full of hardships,’ he said. I replied with affected enthusiasm, ‘A believer is not deterred by the road ahead.’

“‘Fine words, but good deeds are more important than fine words.’

“‘This is true.’

“He hesitated for a few seconds then said, ‘There are things that call for some consideration. I had a dream, and when I woke I made up my mind to do something about it.’

“‘What is that dream, Grandfather?’ I asked.

“‘It is of no importance, and dreams are easily forgotten, but what counts is the decision I made.’

“I asked if it concerned me. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘and you will be happy with it. I decided to marry you to an honorable girl.’

“I was shocked and dumbfounded. I told myself that the man knew everything. How had I ever thought that an unusual evening stroll by al-Rawi’s grandson wouldn’t attract attention and provoke comments? Many would volunteer to inform my grandfather. He definitely knew everything and was trying to salvage what he could.

“‘Anything wrong, my son?’ he asked.

“‘The idea had not crossed my mind,’ I replied.

“‘Think about it then.’ And he added, ‘A number of young men do not marry, for reasons beyond their control, but God has given you the means to marry. So what is the point of delaying what is considered half your religious duty?’

“‘Give me time to think about the matter.’

“‘I will choose an exceptional bride and will let you decide.’

“I went back to my room in a state of extreme anger, unable to sleep. I heard the dawn call to prayer and felt a surge of enormous energy, with a strong desire to attack the walls and destroy them. The giant inside me was released and eager for confrontation, determined to get his girl at the expense of the whole neighborhood, not just the palace. I invoked my mother and my father, and my anger against my grandfather was limitless as I considered his continual tendency to control and repress others. In my state of perplexity, as conflicting thoughts fought for control, a dialogue began between me and my grandfather. I can’t be sure whether it was in a dream, a delusional condition of the night, or a state between sleep and awakening. I said to him, ‘Grandfather, I refuse.’

“‘You turn down my generosity?’

“‘I am against repression.’

“‘Even coming from me?’

“‘Even from you.’

“‘You are ungrateful. You turn down beauty and purity in exchange for what?’

“‘Freedom!’

“‘The shepherdess,’ he said.

“‘I follow the call of blood, the life of a vagabond, and fresh air.’

“‘It is rather the madness that leads the crazy individuals out of my old house.’

“‘True felicity is in a state of madness,’ I told him.

“‘You are your parents’ child.’

“‘I will take pride in that forever.’

“‘Part of you wants to take revenge on me.’

“‘I do not want to think, so let me act.’

“‘What about your clothing, the gibba and the quftan?’

“‘I will get rid of them immediately.’

“‘You are reneging, then!’

“‘I do not want religion to be a profession.’

“‘What do you want to do then?’

“‘I want to practice love, madness, and murder!’

“I believe that through this dialogue I clearly expressed my feelings. When I shared my secrets with Muhammad Shakroun, he was shocked, and could not believe his ears. When he understood that I was serious, he asked me, ‘Do you truly turn down your grandfather’s offer for Marwana’s sake?’

“I replied affirmatively. But he went on, ‘Would you leave the house for the sake of a shepherdess?’

“‘I would.’

“He asked again, ‘What does this all mean?’

“I told him, ‘Consider me crazy if you want.’

“He was concerned: ‘Don’t you fear that he’ll deprive you of your inheritance and you’ll end up a pauper?’

“‘It’s possible,’ I said.

“‘No woman deserves such a huge sacrifice,’ said Shakroun. I took his words lightly, making fun of them. ‘I do not understand you,’ he said.

“‘There is nothing to understand,’ I said. ‘It is reality.’

“‘How do you explain it? Is there a secret?’

“‘It is a splendid madness, and I am mesmerized by it.’

“He advised me to be patient, in hopes of finding a compromise, but I objected, saying that I disliked compromise. He offered another solution: ‘You can remain in your grandfather’s care. Pursue your education and experience your mad love.’

“‘No. No. These are very contradictory matters and I have made my choice.’

“‘What have you chosen?’

“I informed him of my decision to leave my grandfather’s house as well as al-Azhar. He said it was not necessary, so I explained my position. ‘It is imperative. I will lead a new life. Otherwise, I will be expelled from both places.’ Shakroun was convinced I had been hit by the evil eye, so I explained further: ‘Only a divine person can live in my grandfather’s house. As for al-Azhar, I never wanted to turn it into a profession. Faith does not require all these complications.’

“Saddened, Shakroun commented, ‘I wish you were abandoning all that for something better.’

“I told him, ‘Adventure is much better, and so is madness.’ He said he would never understand me, and I said, sarcastically, ‘Despite your follies, Shakroun, you have not known madness yet.’

“He asked, ‘Does that mean that you are abandoning your past because of love?’

“‘It is because of love that I have known madness in adventure!’

“Muhammad Shakroun finally gave in to reality. I sensed that he truly believed the tragedy did not lack real madness. He felt obligated to promise to help me determine Marwana’s and her mother’s inclination, saying that a lover needed support from a singer. His investigations confirmed for him that a person like Marwana would rather be killed than accept an illegitimate relationship. He asked me, annoyed, ‘What about your future? Even free adventurers need to eat.’

“Strangely, I had not given the matter the attention it deserved. For a moment I considered teaching Arabic and religion in a public school, but soon abandoned the idea. It clashed with the magical nature of my adventure. I replaced it with another idea — forming a singing group to interpret tawashih praising the Prophet. Shakroun gave me an honest assessment of my chances in that field.

“‘A long time would pass before you could hold such an evening, and your success is not guaranteed and requires hard work. The traditional way is to begin as a member in a group — something that does not suit you.’

“I thought about the matter and said, ‘I prefer to work in your band.’

“‘My band!’ he said, surprised.

“‘Why not? My voice is better than any of your support singers.’

“He said, ‘I owe you a lot, but …’

“I did not give him a chance to finish his sentence. ‘No buts, please. You entertain at parties at least one-third of the month, and are becoming better known every day.’

“Muhammad Shakroun fell silent, which encouraged me to tell him with great enthusiasm, ‘My desire to form a religious band will not wane. I will do it at the same time.’

“‘This is important,’ said Shakroun. ‘And you can count on my friendship with the agents of the religious ceremonies. I can’t believe what we are planning; it is like living a dream. But I still say that it would be possible to deal with the matter in a different way.’

“‘I will not go back even one step,’ I insisted. ‘I will have two outfits: a costume for your ceremonies and the gibba and the quftan for the religious band. Isn’t this amazing!’”

Jaafar looked at me in the quiet of the night and asked, “How much do you believe me?”

“I am old enough to believe anything,” I said.

“I want a stronger commitment,” he said. “Many are those who did not believe me, which both hurt and gratified me. I was hurt because innovative work requires witnesses, and I was happy to see my enterprising spirit acknowledged. I demand that people recognize me as an exceptional human being. It is my right to demand that. Few are capable of abandoning the lavish life I enjoyed, as swiftly as I did.”

“Was all this for love alone?” I asked.

He replied, disapprovingly, “Isn’t love sufficient? Love is creative madness!”

“Was Marwana so beautiful?”

“What is beauty?” he wondered. “The matter is a call that activates an electric key.”

“Didn’t you also want to deprive your grandfather of his only heir?”

“I never forgot my father’s tragedy, but my decision was pure, free of any hidden or declared desire for revenge.”

I ventured a second explanation: “Was it a reaction to the severe restrictions you imposed on yourself as a divine human being?”

He objected. “I refuse this explanation as well. I told you that it was an angelic move, like a song at dawn. Love ignited the spark, and its light revealed a dream that was taking shape, ready to raze the walls of the palace. It was getting ready to live, to confront wealth and restrictions and wallow in the dust of the eternal mother, like Buddha, who left his palace one day for a reason no one around him understood. These things happen suddenly and are not the result of a process of evolution, as you seem to think. It is a practical confirmation of a sudden creativity. I will give you a live example that took place at this exact instant: I have just decided against writing the petition.”

“What do you mean?”

He explained that he was referring to the petition concerning the monthly financial support from his grandfather’s waqf.

“Is this a return to a futile court case?” I asked.

“There will be neither a case nor a petition,” he replied.

I objected, and asked him to postpone discussing this question and carry on with his story. He laughed loudly as usual, and continued to narrate his story.

“One evening Muhammad Shakroun, limping, and I behind him, approached the old Bedouin woman sitting in her tent. When she saw Shakroun, she put aside her weaving tool and stood up, fearful. He said to her, ‘My friend would like to marry your daughter according to God’s laws.’

“The woman was shocked. Marwana ran far from the tent while Muhammad Shakroun was saying, ‘We are at your service.’ When she regained control of herself, she told him, ‘We have people we need to consult.’

“They had a distant relative we had to meet. It was a strange day. We were the first two strangers to enter Eshashal-Turguman in plain daylight without being killed. Some evil eyes stared at us, mockingly inquisitive and defiant. All activities stopped for a short while: the training of the monkeys, the herding of sheep, the weighing of drugs, the polishing of stolen goods, and the beating of drums. A group of children surrounded us and greeted us, chanting,

‘Pull the turban, pull.

Under the turban is a monkey.’

“We proceeded to meet a man sitting in front of his hut, while Marwana’s mother stood beside him. We greeted the very old man, who seemed on the verge of death, and Marwana’s mother talked on his behalf. ‘He welcomes you,’ she said.

“The old man hit her on the back and said, ‘You are damned because you consent to this.’

“Muhammad Shakroun said to him, ‘My friend is from a respectable family.’

“‘Tuzz,’ said the old man after he spat. “Embarrassed, Muhammad Shakroun added, ‘He has also a job.’ “The old man interrupted him, saying, ‘We do not care about a job either!’

“‘His conduct—’ began Shakroun, only to be interrupted again by the old man, saying, ‘Neither do we care about conduct.’

“Showing a great deal of patience, Shakroun said, ‘In a few words, we would like to ask for your girl’s hand according to the laws of God and the Prophet.’

“The old man laughed, revealing a toothless mouth. ‘Good riddance, but talk about her dowry.’

“Shakroun invited him to indicate the amount out of respect for his old age. Feeling important, the old man declared, ‘I want ten pounds placed in my hand.’ He stretched his hand out as he talked, provoking an angry reaction from Marwana’s mother, but the old man frowned and said, ‘Let’s read the Fatiha.’ Joyful ululations erupted everywhere around us.

“Sensitive to my feelings, Muhammad Shakroun did not make a single comment, and I decided to inform my grandfather of the truth, like any young man who has come of age and has completed an important part of his education. I sat close to his couch in the salamlik as he held a rosary in his hand, glorifying God, and his Siamese cat purring by his side. I felt an air of expectation and apprehension settle between us, provoked by my hidden intentions and his ability to discern people’s thinking. He asked his usual question: ‘How are you doing?’

“I replied absentmindedly, ‘I am fine, thanks be to God.’

“He went on, ‘The engagement will be made public in three months, after Ramadan.’

“I decided to try my newfound strength without delay, and said, ‘Sorry, Grandfather, but I have chosen another wife.’

“‘Really?’ he said, without betraying any reaction.

“‘It is God’s will, anyhow,’ I explained.

“‘What I heard then is true?’ he said.

“When I did not reply, he added, ‘A shepherdess?’

“I said simply, ‘Yes, Grandfather.’

“His only comment was: ‘You have reached the age of reason and you know where your interest lies.’

“I asked if he would bless my choice, but he went on praising God on his rosary. I asked if this meant I had to leave the house. Without turning to me, he said, ‘Forever.’

“I immediately kissed his hand and left.

“Saying good-bye to Bahga was tearful and painful. She suggested asking my grandfather for money, but I told her that I had saved more than a hundred pounds. She cried, saying, ‘Sorrows in this house begin with marriage.’ She then whispered in my ear, ‘Believe me, your grandfather is a very unfortunate man. He rarely sleeps more than one hour at night.’

“I told her sincerely, ‘I love him and I reject him.’

“I then left the house where I had lived for fourteen chaste years.

“I moved into a new two-bedroom apartment located in al-Khurunfish with my bride. Muhammad Shakroun helped me rent it and furnish it. Marwana was stunning in her wedding dress. I saw her true skin color for the first time, after the intensive cleaning she had undergone in the special bridal bath. I can’t say that I was thrilled with the change, as I had gotten used to her metallic skin color, which was such an integral part of the image that had turned my life upside down. Nevertheless, I was strongly attracted to her, and totally enthralled by her. I felt I was a prisoner, at the mercy of a brutal power that knew no pity or clemency. She was instinctively seductive, like a tongue of fire. She was proud and she exalted her people, enrobing them with holiness, enriching the modest environment where she grew up like a wildflower. Even her feminine shyness was like a transparent veil, and not at all a sign of innate weakness or natural indolence. I immediately became aware that I was in the company of a strong, ageless woman, a source of fascination, charm, and defiance. I surrendered to her, clearly revealing my own weakness. I acted like a hunted man, or a crazy man who had thrown his senses and his caution to the wind. My new companions nicknamed me ‘the happy man’ and ‘the weak happy man.’ I was overwhelmed with warnings and advice.

“I did not forget my new work during my honeymoon, and I approached it with great energy and some apprehension. I was moving into new surroundings and mixing with people whose serious activities in life were fun and games. They would greet me, saying, ‘Welcome to al-Rawi’s grandson.’

“That greeting followed me like my shadow everywhere I went. I heard it in al-Khurunfish, in Muhammad Shakroun’s band, and among the members of the choir that had agreed to work with me when needed. I applied myself to studying and training, quickly getting ready for the music band and the choir. Even during my honeymoon, I performed with the band to celebrate a wedding in al-Darb al-Ahmar, and I had to wear a suit and a fez for the first time in my life. When Muhammad Shakroun saw me, he said admiringly, ‘May God be praised for his creation.’

“I was nervous as I walked into the midst of the guests and onlookers. I was one of only two members of the band who relied solely on his voice, without a musical instrument in my hand. Muhammad Shakroun offered me a glass of wine. ‘A must,’ he explained, ‘if you do not want your voice to fail.’

“I became acquainted with wine and narcotics in the same week, and I sang forcefully and accurately, as I was the second-best voice in the choir. I infused new life into the band, and boosted its enthusiasm as I sang, ‘I miss you so much, you’re my life.’

“Our singing was well received. A drunk guest made an allusion to my condition and shouted, ‘A scholar can produce a dissolute man,’ provoking loud laughter among the guests. Muhammad Shakroun turned to me and whispered, ‘Laugh with them.’

“Afterward, I thought about the man’s words, and realized that people believed I was a good sheikh who’d gone astray, becoming a singer in a band, drinking wine and taking drugs. This was not the case. All I did was change my profession; instead of teaching and preaching, I sang. As for my soul, it rose a few degrees higher. My heart was not corrupt and my faith was not shaken. My grandfather himself had said that even a garbage collector could be a divine creature.

“I might have been transported at that time by the raging flood of my feelings, because I was not aware of the significance of my experience then as I was later, or as I am today. Despite that, I was upset by the drunk’s comment, and saw in it an unfair and boisterous joke. In any case, I began my new work with confidence and success, but I waited a long time before I began chanting tawashih in praise of the Prophet at the head of a respectable group. My happiness in my marriage was the most important thing in my life, and had priority over success in my work. I was proud of my marriage, praised it, and shared the secrets of a happily married life and its benefits with others. I became an example to emulate.

“At the height of my happiness, I failed to look at my family critically, or even with a neutral probing eye. I welcomed the first signs of motherhood with a feeling close to religious ecstasy. There are, in all honesty, moments of betrayal even during a time of pure happiness; moments when you detach yourself from the flow of your life, when you stand on a hill overlooking a beach and observe it in total ecstasy. During those moments I felt as if someone had fooled me and I wondered what had happened. I would look at Marwana baffled, desiring strongly to take revenge on her. I couldn’t explain that feeling. It was as if I hated her suddenly, for no reason. It generally lasted but a fleeting moment, like the sudden contraction of a muscle, after which life regained its happy course, surrounded by fiery passion.

“I was surprised by my ability to live in a messy house. I did not complain about Marwana’s inability to cook or keep a tidy, clean house; how she went about the house half-naked and disheveled, defiant and ready to quarrel with the wind. She would frequently take my hand and drag me to visit her mother and her aging relative, living in the devils’ camp.

“The senile old man would either laugh at me, saying, ‘Wouldn’t it have been better for you to be an imam in a mosque?’ Or he would bless my wife’s belly, telling the unborn child, ‘Honor us by becoming a killer. We are fed up with thieves and smugglers.’ He made fun of my noble origins on occasion, saying, ‘Your grandfather is not al-Rawi. I am your true grandfather. I donated this beautiful woman to you, the woman who sucks up your devilish instincts.’

“‘My grandfather is a man of God,’ I would say in defense, but he would laugh at me, saying, ‘We are the true men of God, the vengeful, powerful God, creator of hell and earthquakes. Look at these wastrels. They are the men of God, an image of God in His might and vengefulness.’

“One day I met my mother’s neighbor in Bayn al-Surayn. She did not recognize me, but I introduced myself to her. She was surprised and wished me well. I remembered then that I did not know my mother’s name, and neither did Bahga. I used to call my mother ‘Amma,’ and that was the name she answered to until the day she died. I asked the neighbor if she knew her name. ‘May her soul rest in peace, she was called Sakina,’ she said. I was tempted to ask more questions about my mother’s origin and her life, but I repressed my desire, out of respect for her memory. I shook hands with the neighbor and went on my way. Thus I learned my mother’s name by pure accident.

“Marwana and I had four sons, but the flame of passion faded away. I liked it when people said that I had abandoned a life of comfort for love and freedom. I appreciated Marwana’s love for the short, lively songs Muhammad Shakroun’s group sang and I forgave her dislike for the tawashih I prepared for my own group. I struggled against poverty with hard work, wine, and narcotics, a fight that kept me busy from dawn to dawn. It was a life of slavery!

“Then came the days of drought, aversion, and cruelty. Marwana became confrontational, verbally and physically abusive, as if she was born to fight. I told her once, ‘A man has to be respected.’

“‘And so does the woman!’ She then added cruelly, ‘There are no men outside Eshashal-Turguman.’

“Saddened, I asked, ‘Is this how you reward the man who provided you with a beautifully furnished home?’

“‘I hate the smell of houses!’ she shouted.

“We dived deeper into the days of drought and cruelty. Muhammad Shakroun watched my condition with sorrow. He said to me, ‘I dread mad love and prefer moderation.’

“I replied, feeling sadder than he could ever have guessed, ‘I am the victim of blind desire.’

“‘Married life necessarily goes through periods of trouble that require the wisdom of experts,’ he said.

“‘I have entered the zone of desperation!’ I said, despondent.

“I realized that this partnership had turned into a battle that was fought covertly at times and overtly at other times. I became aware that once Marwana was stripped of her madly provocative inclinations, she was reduced to nothing, nothing at all. She became like a she-wolf. Whenever she was furious she destroyed everything she could reach, tore my clothes, threw my songbook out the window, and attacked me physically. During those moments I told her that I hated her more than I hated death, and she told me that she hated me more than an oozing sore.

“Those periods of deep hatred often lasted a long time, and peace was usually reestablished by the intervention of the children. Then desire would revive for brief moments, recalling the memory of our dreams, but only from a very distant past.”

I asked him with great interest, “What really destroyed your marriage?”

“Haven’t I made that clear?” he said.

“No, not as far as I’m concerned,” I replied. “I still need specific reasons.”

He said, “It was a state of madness that attached me to her. Once I passed this condition, I found myself with a woman I did not know and had no reason to be with. My general attitude must have betrayed my hidden feelings and upset her.”

“The state of madness ends, but the children remain,” I said. “The children prolonged the life of my marriage but did not protect it from devastation. Marwana was only a sexual provocation; not a housewife, a mother, or a woman in the true sense of the word. Her genuine qualities would better suit a man and even a highway robber.”

“What about her — didn’t she love you?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. It might have been a mad, passing emotion or a curious adventure to her. I did not represent the man she dreamed of. Our marriage brought together two adventurers, and it was doomed to fail the moment the adventure turned into a life of routine. I guess this is clear now.”

I agreed with him, and he continued his narrative. “I, too, had my hidden dreams. I wished to escape from reality, from the house. I wished to be alone, and even my children did not inhabit my dreams. But I did not know where to go. My work did not leave me time to look ahead, as tawashih chanters do not have a role model to emulate. Besides, God did not grant me the ability to be content and accept my fate. I was not the only one dreaming. Marwana was also dreaming. After one of our fights she remained angry and refused all attempts at reconciliation. She even confronted me, saying coldly, ‘We must reconsider our life.’

“I heard in her tone a strong determination that depressed me. I mumbled, ‘Our life?’

“‘Frankly,’ she said, ‘it is unfair to remain together any longer.’

“I heard the voices of the children from a distance and listened sadly to them. Then I told her, ‘All couples do that.’

“She replied, with frightening calm, ‘But I want to leave.’

“‘Where to?’ I asked stupidly.

“‘To be with my family.’

“I controlled myself and said, despite my anger, ‘Don’t you like living in this house?’

“‘No, I do not,’ she said. ‘You think that we owe you — this is your problem.’

“‘But I sacrificed a lot for you,’ I said.

“‘I am your first victim.’

“‘Listen,’ I said, then stopped to avoid fighting.

“She said loudly, ‘I hate this life with all my heart!’

“I kept saying, ‘What about the children, the children?’

“‘I have the right to take them with me.’

“Do you want them to grow up in Eshashal-Turguman?’

“‘I want them to grow up to be men!’

“I told her that she was crazy, but she returned the insult, saying, ‘You’re the crazy one, and I can swear to that. No sane man lives from the use of his voice like a woman does.’

“There was no use arguing with her, but when she asked to go, I insisted on keeping the children.

“‘What would you do with them?’ she asked. ‘You wake up in late afternoon and do not return home till dawn or even later, and in a terrible state. How can they survive? Do you mean what you say?’

“Defeated, I said, ‘That is why this house must remain open for their sake.’

“She objected, and the conversation did not lead to any solution.

“I thought of the children and realized that they couldn’t live with me. I had to be patient for their sake, no matter how hard it was for me. But Marwana settled the matter in her own way: I returned home at dawn one day to find the house empty. Not a single soul was there. I went immediately to Eshashal-Turguman, reaching it early in the morning. Marwana’s mother met me; she was in a sulky mood.

“‘Go away peacefully,’ she said, ‘and do what men do for once!’

“‘What about the children?’ I said.

“‘They are our children!’ she replied disdainfully.

“Then the old man arrived, surrounded by a band of fierce-looking men. He addressed me, saying, ‘You are a failure. Go back home.’

“The men muttered vague words, and I became aware of the danger I faced. The old man spoke again. ‘Divorce her and give her all her rights, and if the sharia gives you rights now or later, I advise you to give them up if you want to save your skin. Leave before the sun shines on your face. I might commit a heinous crime if I see it in daylight.’

“I left immediately, and began the divorce process. I postponed thinking about the problem of my children, telling myself I would wait until my oldest reached the legal age when I could reclaim him. It was an escape. I knew very well that I wouldn’t seriously try to claim my children since that would mean confronting a people who supplied Cairo with its violent criminals. It would also mean bringing them to a life where they could not possibly be cared for. Those children, descendants of al-Rawi, were destined to be lost wherever they went. Their only hope was in the radical salvation of the whole society.

“This is the way Marwana left me, taking with her a story of love, madness, and failure, a story of emotional drought and hatred. Nothing was left of it but the memory of an amazing desire, the power of confrontation, and obstinate arrogance. It was like a storm: frightening, destructive, and worthy of admiration. After the loss of the children, I was overcome with a sadness that wedged into the depths of my soul and settled in the room of sorrow, joining the memory of my mother and my father.

“I could not carry on living as if nothing had happened. Muhammad Shakroun felt sorry for me and watched over me carefully. One day, he asked me, ‘How long will you go on singing, drinking wine, and taking drugs?’

“When Marwana and the children were living with me, my life had a semblance of normality, regardless of the quality of that life. Now, Shakroun’s question was reasonable. I replied, without meaning what I said, ‘Until death.’

“He said, very seriously, ‘It is time for you to return to your grandfather.’

“‘Sheikh Jaafar al-Rawi is finished.’

“‘He can start all over again. We have to try,’ said Shakroun.

“‘I refuse to try.’

“‘Is it pride?’ asked Shakroun.

“‘I am simply being realistic.’

“‘What kind of reality is this?’

“‘It is not my favorite choice, but I have categorically and definitively given up the religious life. The life that my grandfather planned for me is totally unacceptable, and he won’t take me back unless I return to it.’

“‘He might give you your personal freedom,’ Shakroun said.

“‘He won’t. You do not know him like I do. I refuse to submit to a demeaning experience.’

“Shakroun said sincerely (and I never doubted his feelings), ‘You are a dear friend, and it is my duty to tell you honestly that you are leading a life unworthy of you. You are neither a singer nor a composer, and you must consider your future more seriously.’

“‘I can do that without living with my grandfather.’

“‘You do not seem to be happy now.’

“‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘but I embarked on a crazy adventure I will always be proud of. I am proud of the fact that I can adapt to any kind of life without complaint or weakness. You find me full of hope whether I live the life of a prince or a pauper. Here I am, holding on to the life of a pauper, and I refuse to go back to live in the palace. I refuse to be a respectable sheikh and a noble husband; to live by the fine traditions and norms not out of my own free will, but to fulfill my grandfather’s vision and enticed by the inheritance.’

“‘What about your future?’ asked Shakroun.

“‘I am thinking seriously about studying music and composition with Sheikh Taher al-Bunduqi. I can’t go through my life without a goal.’

“Marwana was the symbol of a past life, and an excuse to live a normal life without a goal. When she left I found myself adrift; I had to rethink my life. It was at this critical time that I met Huda Sadeeq.”