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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

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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.
In delectable horror he realized that he was in love for the first time, and that this love was
vast and deep.
Suddenly he became aware that they weren’t alone. The presence of the other girls began
to  bother  him.  Oh,  if  they  were  alone  now,  as  they  had  been  earlier,  he  wouldn’t  bother
asking a hundred irrelevant questions! Now he’d take her by the hand and look into her eyes.
He would tell her about himself, about his feelings, about his love. What difference would the
nature of the gardens they were walking in make to him now! Whether they were the figment
of a dream or reality, he didn’t care. What mattered was that his feelings for this heavenly
apparition  were  as  real  as  life.  Hadn’t  the  Prophet  said  that  life  in  this  world  was  just  a
shackled image of the beyond? But what he was feeling now, and what had given rise to that
feeling, couldn’t be the shackled image of something unknown. It was itself exalted. It was
perfect in its own right.
But perhaps his body was still lying in the dark room at the top of Sayyiduna’s tower. And
a fragment of his self had split away from his soul and was now enjoying all this luxury. One
way or the other, Miriam’s beauty was reality and so were his feelings for her.
He took her by the hand, by her delicate, rosy, wonderfully shaped hand, and pressed it to
his forehead.
“How hot your forehead is, ibn Tahir!”
“I’m burning,” he whispered.
He looked at her with glowing eyes.
“I’m all aflame.”