Alamut (41 page)

“Why wouldn’t I be surprised? How can a living being, a man of flesh and blood get into heaven?”

“So the Prophet lied?”

“Allah forbid that I even think such a thing.”

“Wasn’t he here during his lifetime? Didn’t he appear before Allah, flesh and blood that he was? Didn’t he ordain that on the day of judgment flesh and blood would be reunited? How do you propose to partake of the food and drink of paradise, or enjoy yourself with the houris, if you don’t have a real mouth and real body?”

“Those things are promised to us only after death.”

“Do you suppose it will be easier for Allah to bring you to paradise when you’re dead?”

“That’s not what I meant. But it’s what has been said.”

“It’s also been said that Allah delivered to Sayyiduna the key to open to the gates to paradise for whomever he wishes. Do you doubt that?”

“What an idiot! I have to keep remembering that I’m just dreaming. But everything, this conversation with you, your appearance, these surroundings are all so vivid that I keep getting fooled. Such a pity it’s not for real!”

What a close game
, Miriam thought.

“A pity! So you still don’t believe, ibn Tahir? Your stubbornness amazes me. Come take another good look at me.”

She approached a lantern that had a tiger’s head painted on it, jaws open and eyes gleaming. Ibn Tahir looked first at her, then at the lantern above her head. Suddenly he caught the scent of her perfumed body.

A new, insane thought flashed through him. Somebody must be making fun of him.

“This is a fiendish game!”

His eyes flashed in fierce determination.

“Where is my saber?”

Furiously he grabbed Miriam by the shoulders.

“Admit it, woman! All of this is just a mean trick!”

Pebbles crunched on the path. A heavy, dark body bounded through the air and knocked ibn Tahir to the ground. Mute with fear, he found himself looking into two wild, green eyes above him.

“Ahriman!”

Miriam took hold of the leopard and pulled him off of ibn Tahir.

“Poor thing! Now do you believe? You just about lost your life.”

The animal sat down tamely at Miriam’s feet. Ibn Tahir picked himself up off the ground. Everything was becoming more and more confusing for him. He should have woken up just now from fright, if he were only dreaming. So could it be true? Where was he?

He looked at the girl bending down over the strange, long-legged cat. The animal arched its back, let itself be petted, and purred contentedly.

“There mustn’t be any violence in paradise, ibn Tahir.”

She laughed so sweetly that it coursed through his marrow and into his heart. So what if he was the victim of a trick? So what if he was just dreaming and would eventually have to wake up? What he was experiencing was extraordinary, wonderful, fantastic. Was it really that important for everything around him to be true? He was really experiencing this, and that was the main thing for him now. Maybe he was mistaken about the reality of the objects. As for the reality of his feelings and thoughts, there was no mistaking those.

He looked around. Far off in the background he thought he could see something dark rising high up toward the sky, like some sort of wall.

That was Alamut.

With his hands he shaded his eyes against the light and looked hard.

“What’s that back there, rising up into the sky like some wall?”

“That’s the wall of al-Araf, which divides paradise from hell.”

“Absolutely amazing,” he whispered. “Just now I thought I saw a shadow moving on top of it.”

“Probably one of those heroes who perished for the one true faith with a weapon in hand, fighting against the will of their parents. Now they gaze longingly into our gardens. They can’t come here because they violated the fourth commandment of Allah. They don’t belong in hell because they died as martyrs. So they’re made to look in both directions. We enjoy, they observe.”

“Then where is the throne of Allah, and the All-Merciful with the prophets and martyrs?”

“Don’t expect paradise to be like some earthly landscape, ibn Tahir. It’s boundless in its extent. It begins here, beneath Araf, and then stretches onward through the eight infinite regions to the last and most exalted realm. That’s where the throne of Allah is. The Prophet and Sayyiduna are the only mortals who have been allowed there. This initial section is designated for ordinary elected ones like yourself.”

“Where are Yusuf and Suleiman?”

“They’re also at the foot of Araf. But their gardens are far away from here. Tomorrow back at Alamut the three of you can tell each other where you’ve been and what each of you experienced.”

“Sure, if my impatience doesn’t get to me first.”

Miriam smiled.

“If your curiosity gets too much for you, just ask.”

“First of all tell me how you know so much.”

“Each of the houris was created in a particular way and for particular purposes. Allah gave me knowledge to satisfy a true believer with a passion for knowing.”

“I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming,” ibn Tahir muttered. “That’s the only explanation. And yet no reality could be more vivid than this dream. There’s a perfect consistency to everything I see and everything this beautiful apparition tells me. That’s the difference between this and ordinary dreams, where everything is disjointed and usually vague. All of this must be the work of some incredible skill of Sayyiduna’s.”

Miriam listened intently to what he was muttering.

“You’re so incorrigible, ibn Tahir! Can you really think that your paltry intellect has embraced all the mysteries of the universe? There are so many more things that are veiled from your eyes! But let’s leave the disputations behind for now. It’s time for us to rejoin the houris, who I’m sure are longing to see their dear guest again.”

She released Ahriman and sent him bounding off into the bushes. She took ibn Tahir by the hand and led him toward the pavilion.

At the foot of the steps she heard a soft whistle. She started. Apama must have been listening in and wanted to talk to her now. She led ibn Tahir into the central hall and gently pushed him toward the girls.

“Here he is,” she called out.

Then she quickly ran back through the vestibule.

At the far end of it Apama was waiting.

“Apparently you’re keen on losing your head!”

She greeted her with these words.

“So is this how you carry out Sayyiduna’s orders? Instead of getting the boy drunk and confused, you engage in discussions of Allah and paradise with him while he’s still perfectly sober.”

“I have my own mind and can judge for myself what’s best.”

“Is that so? You plan to seduce a man with those things? Haven’t you learned anything from me? What use are your red lips and white limbs, then?”

“It would be best if you disappeared, Apama. He might see you, and then his last shred of faith that he’s in paradise will evaporate.”

Apama would have liked to rip her apart with her eyes.

“Slut! You’re gambling with your life. It’s my duty to tell Sayyiduna. You just wait!”

She disappeared into the bushes, while Miriam hurriedly returned to the central hall.

While she and ibn Tahir had been out, the girls had gotten slightly tipsy. They danced and sang, and were in an animated and playful mood. They drew ibn Tahir in amongst themselves, surrounding him and pushing food and drink on him.

When Miriam came in, they fell silent for a moment. They noticed the displeasure on her face and were afraid that they might have caused it.

Miriam hurried to comfort them.

“Our guest must first wash off his earthly fatigue. Be at his service and help him bathe.”

Ibn Tahir shook his head firmly.

“I won’t bathe with women around.”

“You are our master and we will do as you command.”

Miriam called the girls and left the hall with them. When ibn Tahir was convinced no one could see him, he dashed over to the beds, grabbed the pillows, inspected them, and felt under them. Then he went over to the tables set with food and picked up one piece of fruit after another, feeling and sniffing them. A number of them he didn’t know at all. He searched his memory to see if he hadn’t heard descriptions of them. From the food he
went to the carpets hanging on the walls and looked to see what was behind them. He found nothing that could provide him with any indication of the land he was in. He felt unwonted apprehensions coming over him.

He asked himself if perhaps he really was in paradise. All of his surroundings seemed alien and unfamiliar. No, a lush valley like this with gardens full of exotic flowers and strange fruit couldn’t exist amidst his barren uplands. Was this really still the same night he had been summoned before the supreme commander? If it was, then the only possibilities were that he was the victim of some incredible trick and Sayyiduna’s pellet had conjured these false dreams, or that everything truly was as Ismaili doctrine taught, and Sayyiduna really had the power to send anyone he wanted to paradise.

Confused and divided, he took off his robe and slid into the pool.

The water was pleasantly warm. He stretched out on the bottom and yielded to its lazy pleasure. He didn’t feel like getting out of the pool, though he knew the girls could come back any minute.

Soon the curtain over the entrance was drawn aside and one of the girls looked through the opening. When she saw that ibn Tahir wasn’t frightened and was smiling at her, she went in.

The others followed her.

Rikana said, “Finally ibn Tahir has realized he’s master here.”

“Just say whenever you’re ready to get out and we’ll give you a towel.”

They vied with each other to do him favors.

But when Miriam entered, his awkwardness returned. He asked for a towel and his clothes.

Instead of his robe they offered him a splendid coat of heavy brocade. He put it on and belted it. He looked at himself in a mirror. This is what princes looked like in old pictures. He smiled. He couldn’t resist feeling that he had undergone a change.

He stretched out on some pillows and an all-out banquet began. The girls served him, one after the other. Miriam gave him wine to drink. She couldn’t shake off some strange, relaxed lightheartedness that progressively overwhelmed her. While each glass she drank before ibn Tahir’s arrival had made her more sober, now she suddenly felt the pleasant effects of the wine. She felt like having a good talk and having a good laugh.

“You’re a poet, ibn Tahir,” she said with a charming smile. “Don’t deny it, we know. Let’s hear one of your poems.”

“Who made you believe that?” ibn Tahir blushed as red as scarlet. “I’m not a poet, so I have nothing to offer you.”

“Would you rather hide? Isn’t that false modesty? We’re waiting.”

“It’s not worth talking about. They were just exercises.”

“Are you afraid of us? We’re a quiet and appreciative audience.”

Khadija asked, “Are your poems love poems?”

“How can you ask something like that, Khadija?” Miriam contradicted her. “Ibn Tahir is a warrior for the true doctrine and is in service to the new prophet.”

“Miriam is right. How can I write poems on a subject I know nothing about?”

The girls grinned. They were pleased to have such an inexperienced youth in their midst.

Ibn Tahir looked at Miriam. A sweet terror came over him. He recalled the previous evening, the evening before the battle, when he lay in the open air outside of Alamut, gazing at the stars. A far-off longing for some unknown thing had taken hold of him then. He was tender and sensitive, and he loved his companions, especially Suleiman, whom he saw as a model of human beauty. Didn’t he have an intimation even then that he would soon encounter another face even more beautiful, more perfect than his? At least at that instant, when he looked into Miriam’s eyes, he felt as though he had been waiting precisely for her and nobody else. How heavenly everything about her was! Her finely arched white brow, her straight nose, her full red lips, whose curve had an ineffable charm, her large, doe-like eyes, which gazed at him so intelligently, so omnisciently: wasn’t this image the perfect incarnation of some idea he had always carried inside himself? What power must be inside those pellets of Sayyiduna’s, that they could animate his imagination and reconstruct it outside of him as this fabulous creature? Whether he was dreaming, or whether he was in heaven or in hell, he sensed he was on the way to some gigantic yet unknown bliss.

“We’re waiting, ibn Tahir.”

“Fine. I’ll recite several poems for you.”

The girls arranged themselves comfortably around him, as though in anticipation of a special treat. Miriam lay on her stomach and leaned against him, her breasts grazing him lightly. His head began spinning with a strange, aching sweetness. He lowered his eyes. In a quiet, unsure voice he began reciting his poem about Alamut.

But soon an intense fervor came over him. Indeed, the words of his poem struck him as impoverished and empty, but his voice gave them a completely different meaning, something of what he was feeling inside.

After “Alamut” he recited the poems about Ali and Sayyiduna.

The girls understood the hidden feelings that his voice conveyed. How clearly Miriam sensed that he was speaking to her and about her! With no resistance she yielded to enjoyment of the knowledge that she was loved, and loved perhaps as never before. An enigmatic smile arched her lips. She listened intently within herself. The words ibn Tahir was speaking reached her as though over a great distance. She started only at the poem about Sayyiduna. If only he knew!

“All of it is worthless!” he exclaimed when he finished. “It’s miserable, totally empty. I feel hopeless. I want to drink. Pour me some wine!”

They reassured him and praised him.

“No! No, I know too well. Those aren’t poems. Poems have to be completely different.”

He looked at Miriam. She was smiling at him, a smile that struck him as unfathomable. That’s how a poem should be, he suddenly realized. Yes, that’s how a real poem ought to be! Everything he had admired and loved until now had just been a substitute for her, the one he had gotten to know tonight.