At his age a man thinks twice. He gets tired of the company of books and grumbles about work. He finds deprivation and austerity difficult to bear and is conscious of the past pursuing him without mercy. At his age a man’s awareness of his isolation and estrangement grows more intense. So does the anxiety of waiting for uncertain glory. The previous day Hamza al-Suwayfi had said to him, laughing, “Look! There’s a gray hair on your head, master of financial statutes!”

He started as if he was caught red-handed.

“Your eyes may have deceived you, sir.”

“Let the mirror be the judge between us. Have a good look at home.”

“It’s come too early,” he muttered in defeat.

“Or too late!” the Director of Administration said, laughing. “I knew gray hair when I was ten years younger than you.”

He gave another long laugh and then went on: “Yesterday you were the subject of a conversation I had with some colleagues. We wondered how you lived. They said no one ever met you on the street or saw you at a café or a party, and they wondered where you spent your time. ‘What does he live for without a family?’ they said. And ‘He’s not interested in any of the things that interest most people; what does he really care for in this life?’ ”

Othman smiled weakly and said, “I’m sorry to have been a source of trouble to you.”

“You’re an able and honorable man, but you’re mysterious. What is it you care about in this world?”

His heart raced as the questioning closed in upon him, and he said, “There’s no mystery, Mr. Suwayfi. I’m a man whose interest is in carrying out his duty and who finds his heart’s content in worshipping God.”

“Well said! I hope I haven’t upset you. To be at peace with oneself is what really matters.”

But where was this kind of peace? Where?

Here was gray hair advancing on him. Life’s splendors, like its trivialities, drew to an end. How much time was left for him?

TWENTY-ONE

One day while Othman was doing some routine work with Hamza al-Suwayfi, the latter remarked in the course of a conversation, “Happiness is man’s goal in life.”

“If that were so,” Othman replied with concealed contempt, “God wouldn’t have banished our first ancestor from Paradise.”

“So what do you think the purpose of life is?”

“The sacred path,” he answered proudly.

“And what’s the sacred path?”

“It’s the path of glory. Or the realization of the divine on earth.”

“Do you really aspire to dominate the world?” Hamza asked in surprise.

“Not exactly that. But there’s an element of divinity in every situation.”

The man gave him a strange look which made him regret his words. “He thinks I’m mad,” he said to himself.