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has exhausted me
    From the top of the mountain .
    “He had a beautiful, pure voice that moved the soul. I knew immediately I could not compete with him. Nevertheless, I sang whatever I could remember from his song. He repeated what my grandfather had already said, that my voice was not bad at all.
    “‘It is you, Shakroun, who has a truly beautiful voice,’ I said.
    “He replied proudly, ‘One day I will become a famous singer.’
    “We quickly became good friends, a true friendship among many superficial ones. Our friendship was deep and strong, and we shared a love for singing, especially during Ramadan nights. I invited him to attend the religious chanting soirées at my grandfather’s house; it made him very happy. He was delighted to hear the famous singers and follow closely their prowess in chanting, the differences in their voices, and their ability to entertain and impress. I could see his strong emotional reaction, his passion and entrancement, and dared him to brave the dignity of the council. One day, no sooner had one singer ended his verse than Muhammad Shakroun left his place near me and began chanting, ‘Welcome to a full moon, filled with the essence of beauty.’
    “He captivated the chanters and the guests with his beautiful voice and his youth. My grandfather could not hide his admiration for him. There was among the guests a sheikh called Taher al-Bunduqi, a Sufi composer and a close friend of my grandfather. Shakroun impressed him greatly, and he talked with Shakroun at length. He learned everything about him, his origins and his dreams. This is the magic of singing. The jinn enjoy our songs and we do theirs. Some of Margush’s inhabitants claimed that they heard a jinn sing before dawn and—”
    I interrupted Jaafar, begging, “Let’s forget about the jinn. We are now in al-Rawi’s house and I am strongly convinced that you do not believe any of those stories.”
    “Memories pour heavily like rain,” he said.
    “They always do,” I said, “but it is up to you to channel them into a clear stream.”
    He went on relating Shakroun’s story.
    “Sheikh Taher al-Bunduqi visited my grandfather a week after Shakroun’s adventure and told him he wished to teach Shakroun oriental music and train him as a singer. My grandfather agreed immediately, and offered to pay for the lessons and the training. This convinced me of my grandfather’s deep love for music and singing. It was a separate emotion, totally independent of his religious feelings. When he informed me of his decision to support my friend, I said to him, ‘You do like singing, Grandfather.’
    “He smiled and said, ‘Why not? It is the soul’s intimate friend.’
    “‘Have you heard the famous singers, Grandfather?’
    “‘Yes,’ he said. ‘In my friends’ homes, during the celebration of happy occasions.’
    “His financial support for Shakroun’s music lessons was one example of how he took care of the needy in our district.”

    I said impulsively, “Your grandfather topped all that by willing his real estate to charity.”
    “No,” Jaafar said loudly, “that is not charity. Nothing good comes out of a charitable act based on evil.”
    “I apologize for the interruption,” I said.
    “It is more important to apologize for your opinion.”
    I did. He got over his ire, then continued.
    “Muhammad Shakroun became Sheikh Taher al-Bunduqi’s student. Our friendship brought him luck and I was the gate to his success. I was very happy for him, and I exaggerated my feeling of happiness when talking with my grandfather. He was suspicious of me, which made him ask, ‘Is your happiness mixed with jealousy?’
    “I denied any such feeling strongly.
    “Dissatisfied, he said, ‘Jealousy is a vice, and at your age you can be excused for your feelings, but there is no excuse for lying. Don’t ever lie, Jaafar, always be truthful. Do not upset your grandfather, he likes purity. God gave you a bright mind the way He gave