The Book of Saladin by Tariq Ali Read Free Book Online Page B

I shook my head, and he burst out laughing.

Five
Ibn Maymun’s wisdom and his prescriptions
    O NE EVENING, AFTER TWO long and exhausting days with the Sultan, I returned home to find Rachel, my wife, in deep conversation with Ibn Maymun. She was registering a set of complaints against me with our great teacher, knowing how much influence and respect he commanded in our household. As I entered the room, I heard her tell him how the amount of time I was spending in the palace was affecting my way of thinking, my character, and my attitude to “less privileged mortals”. Most important of all, I was being charged with the neglect of my duties to her and to our family.
    “I think this is a case for the Kadi,” replied Ibn Maymun, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Should I transmit your reproach to him, and demand that he punishes Ibn Yakub?”
    My laughter annoyed Rachel, and she left the room, her face as hard as the stale bread she had been compelled to serve our unexpected guest. Ibn Maymun was tired. His duties to the Kadi were heavy, given that he lived in Fustat, some two miles distant from the Kadi’s palace. He visited him early in the morning, on every day, attending to his needs as well as his children’s, and those of the inmates of the harem.
    Thus he spent most of the day in Cairo, returning home late every afternoon. Waiting for him was a unique combination of people: Jews and Gentiles; noblemen and peasants; friends and enemies; and young children and their grandfathers. These were his patients. The price of success was that Ibn Maymun was much in demand. The number of his patients increased by the day and, true physician that he was, he could never turn anyone away.
    Sometimes, when desperately in need of rest, he would spend the night at our house in the Juderia, a short walk from the palace. Here, he told me, he could enjoy total peace and recover his energy. I apologised to him for Rachel’s outburst.
    “Be careful, Ibn Yakub. Your wife is a good woman, but her inner strength and her love for you is slowly ebbing away. She will not tolerate your absences for ever. You seem to spend most of your time at the Sultan’s palace. Why not tell the Sultan that you need to be with your family on the Sabbath?”
    I sighed. I too was feeling weary and worn out that evening.
    “I understand you, my friend, but was it not you who recommended me to Salah al-Din? There are times, I admit, when I feel like a prisoner. Yet I would be telling you an untruth if I claimed to be unhappy. The fact is, I like this Sultan. I would like to be riding by his side as we approach the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and I would like to be present when the city falls to our armies, when Jerusalem becomes al-Kuds again, and when we can pray once more in the precincts of the Temple. We buried the sun in Jerusalem. We will meet there again. It would be worth my whole life to see that day. A bright new age is drawing near to our sacred city. I have faith in Salah al-Din. In his own quiet way, after much thought, he will retake Jerusalem.”
    The sage nodded his head.
    “I understand you only too well, but Rachel’s needs are no less important than your desire to be part of history. Find a balance. Happiness is like good health. You only miss it when it disappears.”
    Ibn Maymun retired to bed after our short exchange.
    Alone, I reflected on his advice. How best could I preserve a balance between my work and my family? Rachel wanted me to return home to resume my work on the history of our people. That, for her, was far more important than becoming a court scribe.
    She did not understand that Ibn Maymun had deliberately turned me away from my own work. He was concerned that my researches would alienate the Rabbis. Fearful of our fragile status in this world, he did not want me to provoke a dispute with our great religious scholars, whose understanding of our past was limited to the scriptures. Ibn Maymun agreed with me that the movement of