Chapter 11
Dear God, grant me Thy relief and show me Thy mercy!"
So said Mistress Umm Hussein as she made her way toward the house of Master Radwan el-Husseini, the relief and mercy relating to the despair, rage, and vexation from which she was suffering. The attempt to make her husband see reason had exhausted her and she had been powerless to make him obey. In the end, she could find no alternative but to go and see Master Radwan el-Hussein in the hope that he, with his righteousness and prestige, would succeed where she had failed. She had never previously broached this appalling subject with Master Radwan. However, despair on the one hand, and apprehension over how her enemies would gloat if their arguments and wrangling should become public on the other, had driven her to knock on this good man's door as a last resort. At the house, she was received by Master Radwan's wife and the two sat together for a while. Master Radwan's wife was in her mid-fifties, an age which many women delight in as the acme of feminine maturity. In her case, however, the woman was haggard and wasted, body and spirit alike displaying the marks of the arrows that time had loosed at her as, one after another, each of her children had been snatched from her arms. She therefore brought to her quiet house an atmosphere of sadness and gloom whose pall even Master Radwan's deep faith could not dispel and presented a contrast, in her emaciation and melan choly, to her beaming, serene, and effulgent husband. She was weak, and her faith, deep-rooted as it was, could not lift her out of the debil itating decline into which she had fallen.
Umm Hussein, knowing how things stood with her, launched into a complaint over her own grief and anxiety, confident of finding a sympathetic ear. Then she asked if it would be possible for her to meet with Master Radwan. The other woman absented herself for a few minutes, returned to invite her to go in and see him, and con ducted her to his room.
Master Radwan was sitting on a sheepskin rug, telling his beads, the brazier before him and a pot of tea to his right. His private room was small and elegant with sofas lining its sides and a Shiraz carpet, in the middle of which stood a round table on which old 'yellow paper' books were stacked, a large gas lamp suspended above it. Master Radwan was wearing a capacious gray gallabiya and a black woolen skullcap from beneath which his ruddy face shone out like the full moon. He spent a lot of time alone in this room, reading, telling his beads, or meditating. Here too he would meet with the scholars of religion, Sufis, and leaders of the dhikr who were his friends, and who would study together the history of Islam, relate traditions of the Prophet, and discuss their different opinions. Master Radwan was not considered a scholar with a deep knowledge of the technicalities of religion, or a man of outstanding intelligence, or, on the other hand, one of those who, unaware of the limitations of their capacities, exer cise these on whatever topic they 'VVish. He was, however, a sincere believer, pious and god-fearing, who, with his forgiving heart, his toler ance, his sound sense of what was right, his affection, his kindness, and his mercy, had captivated the souls of the scholars, and could thus, in truth, be considered one of God's Righteous Friends.
Averting his gaze, he rose to receive Umm Hussein, and she, swathed in her milaya and with face fully covered, approached him and shook his hand, wrapping hers in the edge of her garment so that she wouldn't invalidate the ablutions that he had made in preparation for prayer. The man invited her in with the words, "Welcome to our virtuous neighbor!" and asked her to sit, so she took a place on the sofa opposite him, the man sitting cross-legged on the sheepskin, and launched into prayers for his well-being: "May God be generous to you, by the grace of the Mistress, and grant you long life, by the grace of the Chosen One!"
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Irritation showed on the other's handsome face as he said vehemently,
"Not so! It is the will of the Devil! Shame on you for saying otherwise!"
"When God wills that I be guided, then ..." murmured Boss Kersha.
"If you stop obeying Satan, God will guide you to what is good for you. Have no more to do with this youth, or let me send him peace fully on his way."
Now Boss Kersha grew annoyed, and panic seized him. No longer able to conceal his emotions, he said firmly,_ "No, master. You must not do so." Master Radwan stared at him with indignation and contempt and said in a grieving voice, "Now do you see how you prefer temptation to guidance?"
"Our Lord is the guide." Despairing of the man, Master Radwan said angrily, "I'm telling you for the last time, leave him and let me send him peacefully on his way." "No, master," said Boss Kersha stubbornly, shifting forward on the sofa as though preparing to leave. "I beg you to forget the matter until God commands that I be guided." Amazed at the man's impertinent obstinacy, Master Radwan asked him disgustedly, 'fue you not embarra**ed to be so devoted to this dis graceful behavior?''Sick of the master and his homilies, Boss Kersha now rose, saying, "Men commit many disgraceful acts, and this is one of them, so leave the matter to God's guidance, and don't be angry with me but accept my apology and my regrets. How far can a man control himself?"
Master Radwan smiled a sad smile and said, as he too rose, "He can control himself completely if he so desires, but you will never understand the meaning of my words, so it is in God's hands," and he extended his hand to him and said, "Go in peace."
Boss Kersha left the house frowning and muttering, cursing people, the alley, and Master Radwan.