A Muslim Suicide

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183 12 I now made a huge effort to concentrate on the most valuable portions of the learning of the ancients, but it was all in vain. My mind was completely disoriented , and I found it impossible to focus on the texts, whether generalities or particulars. My entire consciousness was focused on this crafty female devil who was robbing me of my sanity and powers of concentration. I decided to spend the next night either in the mosque or else in a hotel. After that I would make my way to the city in the hope that my wife, Fayha’, would return. Then I would have her protection and could live in peace and quiet. Toward evening I slunk out of my prayer-cell and made for the door. It was closed and locked, so I went up to the roof door and found the same situation. I therefore had no option but to go back to my little room. Once there I started making preparations by locking the door and window and then barricading them both with furniture and other stuff. For a while I just sat there, waiting fearfully and using my weight to reinforce my bed, my boxes of books, and my papers. As night began to descend, I recited as many intercessions as I could. Then I heard ‘Abla’s voice, begging me to honor our pact and allow her to enter. I stood firm and remained silent. She now threatened to raise a hue and cry and vowed a dreadful outcome, but I still said nothing and stayed where I was. Indeed she did start letting out cries that sounded like moans, puny and feeble, coming from a wounded animal. All of a sudden she stopped, and there was a total silence, as before a violent storm. And that is exactly what happened. A few seconds went by, feeling as oppressive as a load of lead, seconds that I spent in almost total panic, and then the girl started yelling and screaming all over again. Using an axe or something like it, she started digging a hole in my front wall; it was soon large enough that you could see and reach through it. I ordered her to stop, and for a 184 | Bensalem Himmich moment she paused to recover her breath, all the while staring at me with tearful, distracted eyes. With both her status and mine in mind, I begged her to show that she feared God. She retorted with the very same thought and went on to demand that I explain why her Creator was choosing to deprive her of her right to meet the one she loved; why was He depriving her of the joys of love and intercourse. I told her that her love of love was an empty qibla that could only ever be inhabited by a champion with neither beloved nor spouse, someone who longed to find a partner who could love and take care of him. ‘Abla now seemed to come to her senses, but not for long. Taking up the axe again, she started enlarging the hole till she was exhausted. “Now, my lord,” she said, “I can see your gleaming face in its entirety. Tell me about this bachelor champion. When will he come knocking on my door and become engaged to me? Will it be happening soon, or only after I’ve grown old and grey-haired?” “The answer to that question, ‘Abla, lies with God alone. Keep praying to Him, and never despair. Keep yourself busy with other things. Your release may come when you least expect it.” “It’s your prayers that are answered, not mine. Pray to my God for me that He will remove from me the damage caused by the one who oppresses me. Pray to Him that he will hasten my encounter with the man who will marry me and treat me well.” “I shall do that morning and evening. But now go back to your own quarters.” Before I knew it, my hand was in hers and she was pulling it toward her, kissing it on both sides and bathing it in her hot, coursing tears. She started licking and sucking every one of my fingers, concentrating on the thumbs, emitting groans of pleasure as she did so. I tried to pull my hand back through the hole, but her hold was strong. I only managed to release myself when I heard her making a noise that...