3. The Pessimist

I had never known him to be malicious or inclined to lead people astray. On the contrary, I had known my friend Ilyās al-Biqāʿī as a refined and affectionate young man of delicate feeling, diligent in his work and fiercely protective of his customers’ interests. But lately his morals and character had been transformed. If a lost traveler asked him the road north, he pointed south, indifferent to the consequences and unconcerned by the offense he committed in misleading others.

One day I sat beside him and asked why his character had altered until people had blackened his record. He shook his head and bit hard upon his lower lip. His only answer was this:

“I have sworn never to guide a lost man so long as error exists among humankind. If I see a blind man who hopes for light, I attack his hope until he can see neither in fact nor in imagination.”

“Ilyās, Ilyās, what has happened to you? Tell me. You are not the Ilyās al-Biqāʿī I knew. You are another man. What has come over you?”

“Do you think the long years of my labor changed me? No, by Him who created profits and losses! What changed me from the Ilyās al-Biqāʿī you knew into the one you now see was my meddling effort to illuminate the paths of the lost. A man wandering through life is in safer circumstances than a man whose blind eye you open: he sees the whole universe beneath his gaze and turns his eye into a vast mouth that wants to swallow everything it sees.”

He sighed, then told me his story and how matters had reached this pass.

“You know that for fifteen years I worked in the United States carrying cases of goods and selling them to our merchants in the interior. From the beginning of my trade to its end, I made it my rule to be faithful to my customers and sincere in advising them, so as to secure their good fortune, to which my own success was tied.

“I had one customer in a small inland town to whom I sold whatever goods I wished. I gave him the purest counsel in buying and selling, as though he were my partner. On one of my journeys, I entered his store and found it crowded with crates piled here and there and merchandise scattered about without order or system. He was serving his customers with a long cigar in his mouth. I said to myself: By God, it is strange that a customer like this should prosper when he is so disorderly!

“I waited for him to finish with a woman bargaining over a shirt, so that we might sit down and I could sell him a list of merchandise. As I waited, his cigar stirred my thoughts. I told myself: I must ask whether this man’s store is covered by an insurance company, for its condition exposes it to fire.

“When I sat down and began asking what goods he needed, I said, ‘Are you insured?’

“‘Yes, insured with that one.’ He pointed toward one side of the store.

“I did not understand his gesture. I thought he was pointing to a calendar hanging on the wall that bore the name of the company insuring him, so I asked no further questions. I resumed business, pen in hand, writing down the articles he ordered.

“Halfway through, the thought of insurance returned. I repeated my question.

“‘You told me your store is insured, but I did not understand which insurance company covers it.’

“He pointed again. ‘I told you, with that one. That one—there! Do you not see him?’

“I followed the straight line of his finger and found nothing but a picture. Too embarrassed to ask for more explanation, I continued my work. When I had finished writing the order, which amounted to about five thousand dollars, I folded the list and put away my samples. Then I stood hesitant and perplexed, like a man who has forgotten something, although I had forgotten nothing. I remained there in a daze while my customer waited for me to shake his hand, bid him farewell, and leave.

“At last I said, ‘Before I go, allow me to copy down the name of the company that insured your store. I need it for my books. I must know the companies that cover every customer’s premises.’

“He laughed. ‘How strange you are! I told you—with that one. With that one. Do you not see him?’

“‘I see nothing but a picture.’

“‘Yes, a picture. But it is the icon of Saint Anthony, patron of our village church.’[20]

“Here began a comic tale, and my anxiety eased a little. First I laughed heartily at my customer’s simplicity. Then, with a faintly contemptuous tone, I asked, ‘Does Saint Anthony perhaps own an insurance company? What premium does he charge per thousand?’

“‘People kept advising me to buy insurance, and I kept putting it off until I had no excuse left. Every agent who approached me wanted a hundred and fifty dollars. So I thought: Instead, I shall send Saint Anthony a hundred dollars every year. He will protect my store better than any human being, for his miracles are famous and he is the protector of our village. I shall save fifty dollars and benefit my country and its saint.’

“‘But if your store burns, how will Saint Anthony compensate you? He takes a hundred dollars every year and will not give you a cent if, God forbid, the shop catches fire. The companies take a hundred and fifty, but they pay you every cent you lose in a fire.’

“For two full hours I sat enlightening that customer’s vision. I made him understand that the issue was not protection. Saint Anthony was a great worker of miracles, but he did not compensate those who suffered losses. Companies offered no protection from fire, but they guaranteed the loss. I did not leave until I had explained the whole matter and persuaded him to summon an insurance agent and obtain coverage.[21]

“That year my poor customer’s store burned. A week later I received news that the company had compensated him for a loss of twenty thousand dollars. Inside his letter he enclosed a bank draft settling his entire account with me. I wrote that he should take a lesson from what had happened and remember insurance before establishing his second store. Had God’s mercies not brought me to him that day to illuminate his vision and transfer his insurance from Saint Anthony to a company, then he and the labor of his many years would now be in that saint’s keeping.

“Exactly one year later, his store burned again. The government summoned me to his town as one of his largest creditors; he owed me twelve thousand dollars. I remained there two days and returned to New York exactly as I had gone, while my customer went to prison accused of setting fire to his store deliberately. The police had found a special candle used to ignite it. By the time the fire engines arrived, the flames had devoured everything green and dry.[22]

“Under questioning he confessed that he had set the fire to collect thousands of dollars from the insurance companies. He told the court that I was the cause, and so it summoned me to testify. I told the judge the story from beginning to end. Its end was that I came back from that town having lost the profits and labor of fifteen years to that customer. Such was the price of opening a blind man’s eyes, guiding a lost man, and leading a simpleton onto the path of knowledge.”

My friend Ilyās al-Biqāʿī concluded the story, which affected me deeply:

“And you blame me for changing from the Ilyās you knew into the Ilyās you now see and hear about—the man who misleads people and plunges them deeper into error!

“If only he had remained insured with Saint Anthony. Better still, if only I had never opened his eyes and guided him to the true insurance that taught him to commit crimes.”

NOTES

[20] Mār is a Syriac-derived honorific for a saint. The story does not identify which Saint Anthony the village church honored; Anthony the Great is especially prominent in Eastern Christian tradition.
[21] The Arabic repeatedly uses al-sūkirtāh, an immigrant loanword for insurance, probably related to Ottoman Turkish sigorta and ultimately Italian sicurtà. Because the plot depends on the concept rather than the foreign sound, the translation uses “insurance.”
[22] “Devoured the green and the dry” is an Arabic idiom for indiscriminate or total destruction.
