Hajj Muhammad steered clear of the topic that was preoccupying the city. He no longer went to the Qarawiyin Mosque at noon every day to recite the Latif with everyone else, nor did he insist that his son, Abd al-Ghani, keep reciting the prayer. In fact, whenever circumstances required him to walk around the city, he made a point to avoid walking past the entryways to the Qarawiyin.
Since the Qarawiyin Mosque was right in the city centre, it was hard for anyone walking through that area to avoid finding himself in front of one of the entrances to the mosque. Even so, Hajj Muhammad went to the trouble of using back routes so as not to subject himself to the anxieties of passing close by.
Ever since he had heard that security forces had surrounded the ancient mosque and imprisoned the young men who had posed a threat to security by calling for a recitation of the Latif, he had avoided any contact with issues in which the security forces might be involved; he did not want to create difficulties of the kind that he could well do without. By now, the security forces had long since lifted their siege of the Qarawiyin, and yet Hajj Muhammad had inured himself to avoiding the mosque whenever possible – even though it was the place where his religious and intellectual development were centred. Worshippers may have been prevented from performing their prayers inside the Qarawiyin, but the Mawlay Idris shrine and the mosque close to his house were alternative resources. So, if the authorities had stopped people reciting the Latif in public, then it could be done in private. The rosary with its glistening pearl beads provided a clear path of access to God.
Hajj Muhammad felt as though he were waking up after a nap. ‘As long as public recitation of the Latif displeases the “government”,’ he thought, ‘why shouldn’t I show my defiance this way?’ He paused for a moment’s reflection, sensing that his reactions were getting away from him. ‘Displeases the “government”?’ he thought. ‘What has recitation of the Latif to do with the government, whether in public or private?’
His mind was a confused jumble of questions. He could no longer condemn the government for opposing this kind of worship, although no one had ever dared forbid it before. At the same time, he could not condemn the crowd of believers either; they had used this form of worship as a way of expressing their opposition to an action that the government had taken. It all left his mind in a whirl, and he could not discern the true course of action in the context of this challenge which pitted the will of the people against that of the governing authorities. He concluded that he himself could not get involved in such an act of defiance, something he disapproved of. He had to maintain a distance, even if that involved not praying in the Qarawiyin Mosque or ceasing to recite the Latif along with the other worshippers.
No sooner had he reached this conclusion than his brain started swirling all over again, because Abd al-Rahman’s concerns – heavily influenced by the disturbance that this storm of anger had aroused – had been relentlessly increasing. His comments at home had acquired a vengeful edge directed against those foreign usurpers governing the country who were so supercilious in their dealings with people and were now preventing everyone from expressing their anger in a peaceful, religious fashion.
Their tranquil household, which had never before involved itself in such matters, now found itself enmeshed – through Abd al-Rahman’s commentary – in reckless defiance. He described the imprisoned young men as embodiments of the popular will in resistance to the attack that had been launched against the Berbers, and their imprisonment as a criminal act on the part of the government in the face of a popular uprising which was an expression of the people’s desire for unity. The attack that had been launched against the Moroccan Berbers and their Islamic tradition was an imperialist act, to be resisted by mobilising the powerful will of the people.
Echoes of everything Abd al-Rahman was saying kept ringing in Hajj Muhammad’s ears, though at first he paid no attention. However, after due thought and consideration, he came to realise that the young men arrested by the government were no older than Abd al-Rahman himself. In his opinion, Abd al-Rahman was still a child, and any young man was still a child until he grew a beard or married. They were all young men who had not yet reached the age of discretion. This was what the homilist in the mosque had claimed (under pressure from the government) as a way of absolving the people from the young men’s behaviour.
It made him consider what he was hearing from Abd al-Rahman. ‘Utter recklessness! If Abd al-Rahman says things in the street like he’s been saying them in the house, he could suffer the same fate as the young men arrested by the authorities.’
Hajj Muhammad made up his mind to put a stop to Abd al-Rahman’s careless talk, and he began listening more carefully to the flaming row between Abd al-Rahman and Abd al-Ghani.
‘If we were real men,’ Abd al-Rahman was saying, ‘the government wouldn’t be able to separate Arabs from Berbers.’
Abd al-Ghani was furious. He was in no mood to listen to Abd al-Rahman talk about heroism when he was already fed up with all his talk about the academy. His anger was clear enough in his bitter response.
‘You’re still a child,’ he said, ‘and you’re talking about men?! Concentrate on your books and your academy, and leave politics to other people.’
‘That’s the way you always talk! You stay aloof from your own community, as though someone were actually authorised to push you away. Forget about what’s current, you say, forget about knowledge… So, now the government can tyrannise us because there’s nobody around who’s not a defeatist.’
The word ‘defeatist’ hit Abd al-Ghani hard. ‘What can children like you do to the government?’ he asked. ‘It has authority, power, weapons, and police. Then along come a bunch of kids to resist them all with the Latif prayer!’
Abd al-Rahman was no less angry than his brother, whose scorn had stung him like a scorpion. ‘The Latif,’ he replied, ‘is a metaphor, one that enshrines ideas in words. The idea here is that we need to resist aggression and aggressors – not to mention defeatists, like you.’
‘You, resisting me?!’ Abd al-Ghani retorted with a loud guffaw. ‘Now that’s a rare display of courage! So, now you’re going to forget about the guards who have prevented you from praying and reciting the Latif and resist me instead?!’
‘You’re defeat personified. In a dynamic community aspiring to freedom there’s no need for people who worship money and pursue the path of submission.’
These spiteful words made Abd al-Ghani leap up. ‘There’s only one person,’ he said, ‘who can properly discipline the people who are playing with your minds, and that’s Ibn al-Baghdadi. He knows how to pour water on hot heads.’
‘Ibn al-Baghdadi is a living symbol of the barbaric situation that our country is enduring. A day will come when he’ll be burned in the public square!’
Hajj Muhammad had been following this conversation from a distance, and it thoroughly alarmed him. ‘Abd al-Rahman! Abd al-Rahman!’
Abd al-Rahman, Abd al-Ghani, and Mahmud were all shocked by their father’s shouts. They had imagined that this conversation was being conducted out of earshot. Now their father’s outburst brought them back to bitter reality. Abd al-Rahman shuddered. Suddenly the room had gone completely quiet. He hesitated before responding to his father, and Hajj Muhammad shouted at him again, even louder and more stridently than the first time.
As he responded to his father’s orders, he was in two minds: resist or admit defeat? He was already aware that, because Hajj Muhammad had summoned him and not Abd al-Ghani, his father was about to scold him for what he had been saying.
‘Yes, Father?’
‘Come over here, and make it quick!’
Abd al-Rahman went over to his father, while Abd al-Ghani sat there gloating and barely suppressing a laugh. Mahmud was anxious to find out which of the two brothers was going to win.
‘What’s this drivel you’re saying? Have you gone mad?’
Abd al-Rahman stood there looking at his father, furious but not saying a word.
‘Speak!’ his father yelled. ‘Say something!’
Abd al-Rahman thought about his first move on this path to either resistance or defeat. ‘I only spoke the truth!’ he said.
‘The truth?!’ Hajj Muhammad yelled scathingly. ‘The truth! You’re telling the truth! And where did you learn this truth you’re spouting? Is this what happens when you go to that school? Is that what they’re teaching you?’
Abd al-Rahman felt himself spinning. He could feel defeat facing him as he confronted the extent of Hajj Muhammad’s fury, which almost robbed him of his usual equanimity. Even so, he decided to continue resisting. ‘I don’t need the school to teach me how to love my country,’ he said.
He felt that this response was the best possible way of addressing the raging storm in front of him. But Hajj Muhammad was not happy to hear this from his son. He felt that Abd al-Rahman was disregarding his opinion.
‘Love of your country?’ he yelled. ‘I’ve never heard you use those words before. Does love of your country include insulting the government and defaming the pasha, our city’s governor?’
As Abd al-Rahman was adopting this rebellious stance for the first time in his life, he decided to keep his nerve, and said nothing. But his silence made Hajj Muhammad even angrier. ‘Haven’t you heard about the people the pasha’s had arrested and flogged?’ he yelled at his son. ‘Just for defying the government. They deserve to be flogged, exiled, and imprisoned.’
Abd al-Rahman finally ran out of patience. ‘Imprisonment, flogging, and exile,’ he replied, almost in a whisper, ‘will eventually elevate those men to the status of national heroes.’
‘Heroes, heroes! Maybe you’re looking for prison too, rather than a life of ease. Maybe you’re hoping that your words will make you a hero as well!’ As Hajj Muhammad pronounced the word ‘heroes’, his tone was particularly scornful. ‘More, more!’ he went on. ‘Nowadays even children have started talking about heroism. Is that the way it is?!’
Abd al-Rahman decided to swallow the harsh comments without admitting defeat. ‘Children turn into men,’ he challenged his father. ‘But the path to manhood is not paved with roses.’
Hajj Muhammad glared at Abd al-Rahman with fury in his eyes. His anger finally boiled over. ‘Get out of my sight,’ he yelled. ‘It’ll be a black day for you when your meddling gets you involved in things that don’t concern you.’
As Abd al-Rahman withdrew, he could hear the sound of Abd al-Ghani’s barely suppressed laughter in the adjoining room.