The Thief and the Dogs

He pushed the Sheikh's door, met no resistance, entered, closed it behind him, and found himself in the open courtyard where the palm tree towered, as if stretched upward into space as high as the watchful stars. What a superb place for hiding, he thought. The Sheikh's room was open at night, just as it was by day. There it stood, pitch-black, as if waiting for his return, and he walked towards it quietly.

He heard the voice muttering but could only distinguish the word "Allah," "God!" It went on muttering as if the Sheikh were unaware or perhaps reluctant to acknowledge his presence.

Said withdrew into a corner at the left of the room close to his pile of books and flung himself down on the rush mat, still in his suit and shoes and carrying his revolver. He stretched out his legs, supporting his trunk on the palms of his hands, his head falling back in exhaustion. His head felt like a beehive, but there was nothing he could do.

You wish to recall the sound of the bullet and the screams of Nabawiyya, feeling happy again that you did not hear Sana scream. You'd better greet the Sheikh, but your voice is too weak to say, "Peace be upon you!" There's this feeling of helplessness, as if you were drowning. And you thought you were going to sleep like a log as soon as your skin touched the floor!

How the righteous and God-fearing would have shuddered, turned away from him in fright — until recitation of the name of God had made them less particular, less hard of heart. When would this strange man go to sleep? But the strange old man now raised his voice and began to sing: "In my view, passion is nothing but ingratitude unless it issues from my witnesses." And in a voice that seemed to fill the room, he said: "The eyes of their hearts are open, but those in their heads are closed!" Said smiled in spite of himself. So that's why he is not aware of my presence. But then I too am not fully aware of my own self.

The call to the dawn prayers rose above the quiet waves of the night. It reminded him of a night he'd once spent sleepless until the same call to the dawn prayers, excited over some special joy promised for the following day.

On that occasion, he'd got up as soon as he heard the call, happy at release from a night of torment, had looked out of the window at the blue dawn and the smiling sunrise, and had rubbed his hands in anticipation of whatever it was he'd been about to enjoy, something he had since completely forgotten.

And therefore he loved the dawn, which he associated with the singing of the prayer-call, the deep blue sky, the smile of the approaching sunrise, and that unremembered joy.

It was dawn now, but he could not move from exhaustion, not even to shift his revolver. The Sheikh rose to perform his prayers. Showing no awareness of Said's presence he lit the oil lamp, spread out the prayer mat, took up his position on it then suddenly, asked, "Aren't you going to perform the dawn prayers?"

Said was so exhausted he was incapable of giving an answer and no sooner had the Sheikh begun his prayers than he dropped off to sleep.

He dreamt that he was in jail, being whipped despite his good conduct, screaming shamelessly, but not offering any resistance. They gave him milk to drink. Suddenly he saw little Sana, lashing Rauf Ilwan with a whip at the bottom of a staircase. He heard the sound of a Koranic recitation and had a conviction that someone had died, but found himself, a wanted man, somehow involved in a car chase! The car he was driving was incapable of speed — there was something wrong with its engine — and he had to begin shooting in every direction, when all at once Rauf Ilwan appeared from the radio in the dashboard, grabbed his wrist before Said was able to kill him, and tightened his grip so mercilessly that he was able to snatch the revolver. At this point Said Mahran said to him: "Kill me, if you wish, but my daughter is innocent. It wasn't she who whipped you at the bottom of the staircase.

It was her mother, Nabawiyya, at the instigation of Ilish Sidra." Escaping his pursuers, Said then slipped into the circle of Sufi chanters gathered round Sheikh al-Junaydi, but the Sheikh denied him. "Who are you?" he asked. "How did you come to be with us?" He told him he was Said Mahran, son of Amm Mahran, his old disciple, and reminded him of the old days, but the Sheikh demanded his identity card. Said was surprised and objected that a Sufi disciple didn't need an identity card, that in the eyes of the mystical order the righteous and the sinner were alike. When the Sheikh replied that he did not like the righteous and wanted to see Said's identity card to make sure that Said was really a sinner, Said handed him the revolver, explaining that every missing bullet meant a murder, but the Sheikh insisted on seeing his card; the government instructions, he said, were stringent on this point.