A Muslim Suicide

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66 10 To allow myself time to think, I decided to take a stroll. I walked along the banks of the River Segura, which was uncharacteristically full at the time, then made my way to the park, which was still in flower even though it had been sadly neglected for some time. On this particular morning I was especially eager to look at the palm, cypress, and pine trees that were still standing, even to hug them if I could. Other types of tree—walnuts, pomegranates, figs, and olives—had all shed their leaves and looked as though they were ready either to depart or to die. All of a sudden I felt strangely petrified. Immediately cutting my walk short, I returned home. Nor was this merely a passing whim on my part, for no sooner did I approach my house than a group of my Muslim students surrounded me. They told me that my horse had been stolen; they had found Salman in the stable with his mouth gagged and his legs and arms trussed. They had untied him and put him to bed so he could recover his breath and get over the shock. I ask ‘Abd al-‘Ali about ‘Amr, and he told me that he was still in custody at the police station. I gave him some money to buy me a mule, but he refused, pointing out that the very same thing might happen as had already occurred with my horse. There were now organized gangs specializing in the theft of riding animals; they would either sell them in other cities or else sell the meat to the indigent population . Even so I insisted that he buy me a mule. With that I sent him on his way along with his companions, enjoining them to delve into a set of books that I specified by both name and topic, to which I added some others as well. I then went in to see Salman and found him ashen-faced and downcast; he looked as though he had just lost a relative or been defeated in a fierce battle. Sitting down beside him, I told him not to bother recounting what had happened and A Muslim Suicide | 67 to forget about the wonderful and reliable horse that had been as dear to him as it was to me. Next evening ‘Abd al-‘Ali brought me a white mule, although some of its limbs were tinged with black just like my horse that had been stolen. It looked fit and healthy. He handed it over to Salman and gave me back the rest of the money. I thanked him and sat him down next to me. “Things are going from bad to worse, ‘Ali,” I said, noting how distressed and anxious he looked. “Tell me about ‘Amr.” “Well, Sir,” he replied, doing his best to keep his anxiety under control, “yesterday he was transferred to a prison in an unknown location. His mother has gone on the pilgrimage and hasn’t returned. His eldest brother has quit Murcia without leaving so much as a trace. For our part, my companions and I have no idea what to do to get him released. They’ve accused him of assaulting a police officer and inciting people to resist the Castilians, thus breaking the truce between them and our own Muslim leaders.” I lowered my head, realizing full well that what they were doing to ‘Amr was in fact their way of getting back at me and forcing me to act. Once I started asking for his release, they would start haggling and specify their conditions and demands for compensation. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “I will do my utmost to get him freed. How are you?” “My parents have moved south to Granada. Once they had both despaired of convincing me to go with them, they left me enough to live on. I am in exactly the same position as everyone else who is resisting the thought of handing over the rest of Muslim lands to the Christians. I praise God who guided me to you, my master. It is your gatherings and your words that have restored my sense of resolve and purpose.” “And what about your marriage to Rachel (or is it Fatima)?” “I forgot to tell you that I let her go. She became very angry. She’s remained a Muslim, in the hope that either I’ll take her back or she...