He felt the crackle of approaching fire. When the woman had gone, he thought of the long nights that would be added to The Thousand and One Nights rather than of the nights he was accustomed to spend studying, translating, and performing services for His Excellency: nights of sacrifice on the path of glory. That path which he had chosen from the first day as an emblem to which his infinite yearnings could legitimately aspire. His desire for the woman subsided as a result of her thoughtless impetuosity and the way she had freely offered herself. Actually she was not bad as a substitute for Qadriyya. But in her he felt the crackle of approaching fire, eager to swallow him up together with those sacred hopes linked to the mystery of God’s word. He would not let himself be destroyed by any power on earth save death itself—which was another of God’s mysteries, like His inspiring glory. And while he had not been accepted by that unknown wife after whom he had striven for so long, it would be wrong to give up the struggle and surrender to pathetic widows and spinsters.

One night he heard a knock on his door. He was dumbfounded to see Asila sneak in, stumbling over her shame and humiliation.

“I was determined to come and told myself that if somebody saw me I would make for Omm Husni’s flat as if it had been her I had come to visit.” She spoke in tones of embarrassment as she sat down panting on the settee.

“Well done!” he said, trying to comfort her.

“Do you mind my coming?”

Life had begun to stir in his depths.

“Of course not. I’m more pleased than you imagine.”

“Omm Husni will soon be going to bed,” she went on. “Do you mind if she suspects what’s happened?”

“Not at all!”

They exchanged a long look. Beneath its darkly flowing current she seemed without a trace of pride, merely a woman in love with her defenses down.

“What’ve you done?” she asked in tender expectation.

He recovered completely from his surprise. He did not want to talk about anything at all; all he was aware of was carnal desire embodied in a woman prepared to give herself to him. He took her soft hand. It felt cold; the contraction of her heart had stopped her blood from circulating. He squeezed it repeatedly, as if passing a secret message. She wasn’t expecting this—or so she pretended—and tried to take her hand away. But he did not let her.

“What’ve you done?”

“We’ll discuss that later.”

“But you haven’t tried to get in touch with me.” He bent toward her and kissed her cheek as he whispered in her ear, “Later…later…”

“But this is what I’ve come for.”

“You’ll get what you’re after…but later…”