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to his discussions and his songs and music. But I also experienced dark hours that sneaked up on meand changed the quality of my life. Clouds of black memories swept over me, reminding me of the rejection my father had endured and my mother’s tragedy, my mother whose life remained mysterious and unknown to me. Whenever this happened, my anger against my grandfather would boil up and I would subject him to a severe judgment in my imagination. He would then appear like a devil disguised as an angel, a mere bourgeois enjoying the beautiful things in life, pretending to be a saint.
    “The only person with whom I could share my feelings was Muhammad Shakroun. He was beginning to make a name for himself in a field crowded with established singers. He loved my grandfather and was grateful for his help, referring to him as ‘a noble man, descendant of a noble family, unmatched among God’s creatures.’ Upon hearing those words I would ask him, ‘What do you think of his attitude toward my parents?’ His response came always in the form of a long tirade: ‘The relationship of a father with his son is mysterious despite its superficial clarity. Sometimes it overflows with affection and sometimes it hardens as a result of cruelty. My limp was caused by my father in a moment of anger. The true conduct of a man can only be assessed in light of his relationship with others.’
    “I was not convinced by his theory, and told him, ‘The character of a man, any man, is whole and cannot be divided.’
    “Though I was assailed by those dark moments, they were passing moments and not fixed opinions. I would return quickly to the serenity of my soul and the clarity of my vision. The true crisis I endured at this time was a sexual one, that of an adolescent longing for holiness but enduring a continual struggle with his strong natural instincts. I often remembered the wooden box and the girl, now totally unknown to me. I was extremely surprised by my grandfather, who discussed all kinds of ideas I had but was totally oblivious to the true battle raging inside me.
    “There were three women in the house, in addition to old Bahga. They were in their fifties, and plain, but they possessed a remnant of charm that could attract a repressed adolescent. I even found the decently dressed women I saw on the street very provocative. Iexperienced continuous conflict between my conscience and my instincts, but was finally able to overcome temptation with a strong will worthy of admiration. It was as if my longing for God had overtaken everything else and defeated Satan in all his dwellings.
    “Bahga was in fact concerned by my glances at her companions. From her position as my surrogate mother, she shared her concern with me, imploring, ‘Do not disgrace yourself. Your grandfather considers every person in this house an extension of himself and views an infringement on their honors an infringement on his. You have so far enjoyed his approval, and you have certainly found that to be a true blessing, for which you should be grateful. There is another side to your grandfather, however, which you are well positioned to know.’
    “Alarmed, I said, ‘My father!’
    “‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘You are a true believer and your prayers are sincere. Why don’t you think seriously about getting married? Your grandfather is capable of marrying you to a girl who would fulfill all your dreams and then some.’
    “Her words came as a total surprise. ‘I had not thought about that and I don’t think this is the right time for it,’ I said. ‘I also reject the idea of marriage as a substitute for the fear of sin.’
    “‘I do not understand your thinking,’ she said, ‘but if you need help, I am ready to lend a hand.’
    “I told Muhammad Shakroun, who was aware of my struggle and my dilemma, about that conversation. He had often wondered about my attitude, and had told me time and again, ‘Come with me to the houses of the awalim. The gatherings