became fear。 I could see no one color and realized that all colors had bee
red。 What I thought was my blood was red ink； what I thought was ink on his
hands was my flowing blood。
How unjust； cruel； and merciless I found it to be dying at that instant。 Yet；
this was the conclusion that my aged and bloody head was slowly ing to。
Then I saw it。 My recollections were stark white； like the snow outside。 My
heart ached as it throbbed as if within my mouth。
I shall now describe my death。 Perhaps you’ve understood this long ago：
Death is not the end； this is certain。 However； as it is written everywhere in
books； death is something painful beyond prehension。 It was as if not only
my shattered skull and brain but every part of me； merging together； was
burning and racked with torment。 Withstanding this boundless suffering was
so difficult that a portion of my mind reacted—as if this were its only
option—by forgetting the agony and seeking a gentle sleep。
190
Before I died； I remembered the Assyrian legend that I heard as an
adolescent。 An old man； living alone； rises from his bed in the middle of the
night and drinks a glass of water。 He places the glass upon the end table to
discover the candle that had been there is missing。 Where had it gone？ A fine
thread of light is filtering from within。 He follows the light； retracing his steps
back to his bedroom to find that somebody is lying in his bed holding the
candle。 “Who might you be？” he asks。 “I am Death；” says the stranger。 The old
man is overe by a mysterious silence。 Then he says； “So； you’ve e。”
“Yes；” responds Death haughtily。 “No；” the old man says firmly； “you’re but an
unfinished dream of mine。” The old man abruptly blows out the candle in the
stranger’s hand and everything vanishes in blackness。 The old man enters his
own empty bed； goes to sleep and lives for another twenty years。
I knew this was not to be my fate。 He brought the inkpot down onto my
head once again。 I was in such a state of profound torment that I could only
vaguely discern the impact。 He； the inkpot and the room illuminated faintly by
the candle had already begun to fade。
Yet； I was still alive。 My desire to cling to this world； to run away and escape
him； the flailing of my hands and arms in an attempt to protect my face and
bloody head； the way； I believe； I bit his wrist at one time； and the inkpot
striking my face made me aware of this。
We struggled for a while； if you can call it that。 He was very strong and very
agitated。 He laid me out flat on my back。 Pressing his knees onto my
shoulders； he practically nailed me to the ground while he raved on in a very
disrespectful tone； accosting me； a dying old man。 Perhaps because I could
neither understand nor listen to him； perhaps because I took no pleasure in
looking into his bloodshot eyes； he struck my head once more。 His face and his
entire body had bee bright red from the ink splattering out of the inkpot；
and I suppose； from the blood splattering out of me。
Saddened that the last thing I’d ever see in this world was this man who
would be my enemy； I closed my eyes。 Thereupon； I saw a soft； gentle light。 The
light was as sweet and enticing as the sleep I thought would straightaway ease
all my pains。 I saw a figure within the light and as a child might； I asked； “Who
are you？”
“It is I； Azrael； the Angel of Death；” he said。 “I am the one who ends man’s
journey in this world。 I am the one who separates children from their
mothers； wives from their husbands； lovers from each other and fathers from
their daughters。 No mortal in this world avoids meeting me。”
191
When I knew death was unavoidable； I wept。
My tears made me profoundly thirsty。 On the one hand there was the
stupefying agony of my face and eyes drenched in blood； on the other hand
there was the place where frenzy and cruelty ceased； yet that place was strange
and terrifying。 I knew it to be that illumined realm； the Land of the Dead； to
which Azrael beckoned me； and I was frightened。 Even so； I knew I couldn’t
long remain in this world that caused me to writhe and howl in agony。 In this
land of frightful pain and torment； there was no place for me to take solace。 To
stay； I’d have to resign myself to this unbearable torment and this was
impossible in my elderly condition。
Just before I died； I actually longed for my death； and at the same time； I
understood the answer to the question that I’d spent my entire life pondering；
the answer I couldn’t find in books： How was it that everybody； without
exception； succeeded in dying？ It was precisely through this simple desire to
pass on。 I also understood that death would make me a wiser man。
Noheless； I was overe with the indecision of a man about to take a
long journey and unable to refrain from taking one last glance at his room； at
his belongings and his home。 In a panic I wished to see my daughter one last
time。 I wanted this so badly I was prepared to grit my teeth for a while longer
and endure the pain and my increasing thirst； to wait for Shekure’s return。
And thus； the deathly and gentle light before me faded somewhat； and my
mind opened itself up to the sounds and noises of the world in which I lay
dying。 I could hear my murderer roaming around the room； opening the
cabi； rifling through my papers and searching intently for the last picture。
When he came up empty…handed； I heard him pry open my paint set and kick
the chests； boxes； inkpots and folding worktable。 I sensed that I was groaning
now and then and making odd twitching gestures with my old arms and tired
legs。 And I waited。
My pain was not abating in the least。 I grew increasingly silent and could no
longer stand to grit my teeth； but again； I held on； waiting。
Then it occurred to me； if Shekure came home； she might encounter my
ruthless murderer。 I didn’t want to even think about this。 At that instant； I
sensed that my murderer had exited the room。 He’d probably found the last
painting。
I’d bee excessively thirsty but still I waited。 e now； dear daughter；
my pretty Shekure； show yourself。
She did not e。
192
I no longer had strength to withstand the suffering。 I knew I would die
without seeing her。 This seemed so bitter I wanted to die of misery。 Afterward；
a face I’d never seen before appeared to my left； and smiling all the while； he
kindly offered me a glass of water。
Forgetting all else； I greedily reached for the water。
He pulled the glass back： “Denounce the Prophet Muhammad as a liar；” he
said。 “Deny all that he has said。”
It was Satan。 I didn’t answer； I wasn’t even afraid of him。 Since I never once
believed that painting amounted to being duped by him； I waited confidently。
I dreamed of the endless journey that awaited me and of my future。
Meanwhile； as I was approached by the illuminated angel whom I’d just
seen； Satan vanished。 Part of me knew that this glowing angel who had caused
Satan to flee was Azrael。 But another rebellious part of my mind remembered
that in the Book of the Apocalypse it was written that Azrael was an angel with
one thousand wings spanning East and West and that he held the whole world
in his hands。
As I grew more confused； the angel bathed in light approached as if ing
to my aid； and yes； just as Gazzali had stated in Pearls of Magnificence； he
sweetly said：
“Open your mouth so that your soul might leave。”
“Nothing but the besmele prayer ever leaves my mouth；” I answered him。
This was just one last excuse however。 I knew I could no longer resist； that
my time had now e。 For a moment I was embarrassed at having to leave
my bloodied and ugly body in this miserable condition for my daughter；
whom I’d never see again。 But I wanted to leave this world； shedding it like
some tight…fitting garment that pinched。
I opened my mouth and abruptly all was color just as in the pictures of Our
Prophet’s Miraj journey； during which he visited Heaven。 Everything was
flooded in exquisite brightness as if generously painted with gold wash。 Painful
tears flowed from my eyes。 A strained exhalation passed from my lungs
through my mouth。 All was subsumed in wondrous silence。
I could see now that my soul had left my body and that I was cupped in
Azrael’s hand。 My soul； the size of a bee； was bathed in light； and it shuddered
as it left my body and continued to tremble like mercury in Azrael’s palm。 My
thoughts were not of this； however； but of the unfamiliar new world I’d just
been born into。
193
After so much suffering； a calm overcame me。 Death did not cause me the
pain I’d feared； on the contrary； I relaxed； quickly realizing that my present
situation was a permanent one； whereas the constraints I’d felt in life were
only temporary。 This was how it would be from now on； for century upon
century； until the end of the universe。 This neither upset nor gladdened me。
Events I’d once endured briskly and sequentially were now spread over infinite
space and existed simultaneously。 As in one of those large double…leaf
paintings wherein a witty miniaturist has painted a number of unrelated
things in each corner—many things were happening all at once。
194
I； SHEKURE
It was snowing so hard that snowflakes occasionally passed right through my
veil into my eyes。 I picked my way through the garden covered in rotting grass；
mud and broken branches； then quickened my pace once I’d exited onto the
street。 I know you’re all wondering what I’m thinking。 How much do I trust
Black？ Let me be frank with you； then。 I myself don’t know what to think。 You
do understand； don’t you？ I’m confused。 This much； however； I d