Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgment
- Translator’s Introduction
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- About the Author
- Other Titles
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“I’m grateful to you,” he said. “You are a spark of light in this world of ours, which has no logic and no real existence.”
“Look on the bright side of life, for your sake and mine!”
He sighed. “Has Qadriyya gone in peace?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I heard her voice rend the air. What was the matter?”
“Nothing at all. She’s an unlucky woman.”
“Yes. One makes mistakes as often as one breathes.”
“You must rest completely.”
He looked at her tenderly. “Will we be able to realize one of our hopes?”
“Yes, with God’s help.”
He stared at her sadly. “In a moment of despair I put the thought of promotion behind me and all my hopes centered on a single dream—a child.”
“We shall have one.”
“Thank you, darling.”
“You just take it easy and everything will be fine.”
“But how could a hope of immortal kind be lost? It would mean that the annihilation of the world is possible and may, quite simply, happen…”
“Wouldn’t it be better to keep philosophy for another time?”
“Very well.”
“Is there anything you want before you sleep?”
“Just to know the secret of existence,” he answered with a smile.
THIRTY-EIGHT
At last he was able to receive his visitors. Everybody came to see him: his colleagues, the staff working under him, and even porters and messengers. Gatherings took place in the bedroom, lasted a long time, and seemed to promise full recovery. Conversations went on about health and illness, miraculous recoveries, and the mercy of God. They also discussed the skill of doctors, the news of the ministry and the department, the cards sent by the Minister and the Under Secretary of State.
“Why didn’t the Under Secretary come himself?”
“He’s been up to his neck in work. Still, he has no excuse.”
“Well, and what does that matter?”
Soon conversations turned to public affairs: the latest radio concert, prices, the generation gap, etc.
Othman took some part in the conversation, but mostly he just listened, and suddenly he found them discussing politics. Once again talk about the conflict raging in society and the slogans that go with it resounded in his ears: freedom, democracy, the people, the working masses, revolutionary ideologies, and confident predictions about the upheavals of tomorrow.
He told himself that every individual staggered under the weight of his own ambitions: was that not enough? But they believed that each man’s hopes were dependent on his dreams of revolution. Well! What revolution could guarantee him recovery, a child, and the fulfillment of God’s word in the sacred state? But he kept his thoughts secret. They were a paltry flock, grazing in the pastures of misery. They hung their hopes on dreams because their faith was weak and they did not know that solitude was an act of worship.