He recalled the arguments which some of his politically minded colleagues advanced to justify cases like his wife’s by blaming them on social injustice and class inequality. But he also recalled his own “case.” Did he not grow up, like Qadriyya, poor, helpless, and deprived in every sort of way? Yes, but he discovered at the right time the divine secret in his feeble heart, just as he discovered the eternal wisdom of God and thus found the path of glory along which he walked and suffered in a manner worthy of Man, the creature of Almighty God. For this reason he hardly pitied her and again he asked, “What have I done with myself?”

What indeed was the meaning of married life without real love, a spiritual bond, the promise of posterity, or even mere human companionship? Then he addressed this warning to himself: “Take it easy! Don’t let your sorrows get the better of you. You are not as strong as you used to be. There’s been a new change, soft as a breeze, but cunning as a fox: it has to do with age, with the passage of time…”

He thought for a little while and then added: “It is Time we must thank for every achievement, and Time we must blame for every loss…And nought abideth save the face of the Almighty One.”

THIRTY-FOUR

As usual he forgot his new promotion completely. Joy disappeared and a cloud of worries built up. The duties of his Director’s job soon became a familiar routine: something that he had to transcend, and quickly, for not much of life was left. Otherwise his service would come to an end while he still stood like a beggar at the door of the Blue Room. Ambition was ruthless and marriage no longer a comfort.

“God, I’m trying to guide her. In Your mercy, grant me the strength!”

But his effort was of no avail. Indeed, he had brought to her a degree of misery she could never have imagined. In the past she had been miserable, but hardly realized it; and in drink and opium she found a welcome refuge. But today she faced the void with hideous awareness, her eyes wide open and full of terror. There was nothing to console her: no love and no children.

“As a prostitute,” he would say to himself, “she was a consolation to me and a pleasure, but in this comfortable home she is hell itself.”

“If we each went our own way,” he would also tell himself, “with a miracle I might still attain happiness. Where’s my old solitude? Where?”

One evening he went back home to be greeted by bloodshot eyes and a stupefied grin.

“Have you been drinking again?” he said with horror.

She nodded with an air of resignation. “Yes, thank God!”

“And soon you’ll be taking opium again too,” he sighed.

“It’s already happened,” came the sarcastic reply.