One day, as he was working in the Archives, he was taken aback to find Sa‘fan Basyuni standing in front of him, decrepit and emaciated like a ghost bidding life farewell. He stood up to welcome the man, ashamed of how grossly he had been neglecting him. He sat Basyuni down, saying with affected geniality, “How nice to see you again!”

The old man pulled himself together with great effort and mumbled, “How I missed you, man!”

“To hell with work!” cried Othman in a burst of repentance. “To hell with home and everyone there! I’m so sorry, dear friend.”

“I’m ill, Othman,” the man said plaintively.

“Don’t worry! You’ll be all right…Shall I order a coffee for you?”

“Nothing at all. Everything is forbidden.”

“God give you back your health and strength.”

He was extremely vexed and embarrassed and could see no way in which this unfortunate meeting could be brought to an end. Sa‘fan was quiet for a short while and then murmured in tones of humiliation, “I’m in bad need of three pounds.” He choked as he spoke and then went on: “For treatment, you see.”

Othman trembled. He saw danger about to engulf him, no mercy shown; and he cried out passionately, like a man being chased, “How horrible! I would never have…I would never have imagined myself turning down a request from you. Particularly this request. I’d sooner steal than say no to you…”

The man swallowed hard and said despondently, “Not even one pound?”

“Don’t you believe me, dearest of men? Oh, God! If only I could tell you! If only I…”

The man despaired completely and was lost in unknown thoughts. He got to his feet with difficulty, saying, “I believe you. God help you! God help us all!”

Othman’s eyes brimmed with tears as he shook hands with him—genuine, unaffected tears, condensed out of the vapors rising from the tortuous conflict raging deep down inside him. He nearly went after him, but let him go and walked back to his desk muttering to himself, “Oh, God!”

“We should have been hewn out of stone or iron to be able to stand up to life,” he said to himself.

“The path is very long,” he also said. “My only consolation is that I hold life, the gift of God, as sacred and do not make light of it.”

During the same week he heard the news of Sa‘fan Basyuni’s death. It was not unexpected, but he was deeply shocked. From the sheer intensity of his pain, he screamed inwardly, “Stop suffering! You’ve got more than your share of pain.”

And he said, “People envy me, but am I happy?”

And he asked, “What’s happiness?”

“Our real happiness,” he told himself, “is that God exists,” and he then added with determination, “Either we live or we die!”

NINETEEN