The Dreams

Dream 34

On one of the winding lanes of our quarter, I ran into two friends who were brothers: their long absence had saddened me greatly. Speechless for a moment, we threw our arms open wide and grasped each other warmly about the neck, as we recalled the griefs, the joys, and the beautiful nights of our distant past.

The two of them asked to visit my house, so I went with them toward it from a distance of some meters. They scrutinized room after room, laughing a long time, as was their custom, before expressing their regrets at the simplicity of the shelter — while mocking me with their burning, beguiling tongues. They asked what I did for a living. I told them I was a rabab player who sang about the travails of life and the betrayals of time, then performed some music for them.

“This is a beggar’s life!” they scolded me — and hence weren’t surpised when weakness and despair showed on my face.

They told me that they had been looking for me for a long time until they found me, and their concern for me had clearly not been misplaced. Yet now, they added, they had brought the good news of my imminent release from this suffering.

I praised God, then asked what this good news could be. They explained that soon I would emigrate with them to the gorgeous place of abundance and plenty. I asked, how could that be possible? They replied that, as I knew, they enjoyed a close connection to influential persons — and nothing good comes to you except through influential persons.

They then took me by the arm and walked me outside, where we met a man whose appearance and manner proclaimed he was someone of importance. He listened to the tale with a neutral expression, before saying that — for me — emigration would entail great dedication and enduring patience. He promised me a positive outcome, however, and my two friends sought to reassure me, as well.

Finally, the man said, “Wait for me at the mosque at the crack of dawn.”