14. Everyone’s Acquaintance

ʿAzīz Sayyār possesses an advantage over the rest of humankind: he knows everyone he sees. When he sees you, he greets and salutes you, asks after every member of the family, and tells a story about meeting your late grandfather in Damascus, for example, and about how your late father was one of his dearest friends.

This ʿAzīz Sayyār is a marvelous creature, especially in the detailed histories he gives of this man’s life and that man’s. At first encounter, many submit to his conversation because they believe his claims about having known the late So-and-so, his ancient friendship with this one and that one, and his continued relations with one person after another.

He has a habit by which he is known and which is known by him. When he meets a person, he first greets him, asks after the family, and relates an incident involving one of the departed. Then he links his arm through the man’s and the two walk down the road together until God shows mercy and another person passes. ʿAzīz says farewell to the first and seizes the second, telling the former, “The rest is to come. God willing, on our next walk I shall finish the story.” Then he begins the same performance with the second. Thus he continues, saying farewell to this man and meeting that one until the day ends.

Many who studied ʿAzīz’s character learned how much truth his talk contained. They began wagering over whether he knew a particular person, then went to him to find out. The bettors usually lost. The man had an intense passion for knowing families and names. A tiny hint about the person in question was enough for him to say, “He is So-and-so from such-and-such a town and family. I met the cousin of his aunt’s daughter-in-law in the year . . .” and so forth.

One day ʿAzīz was in a Syrian store during a snowstorm that had stopped business. Several proprietors and customers gathered inside to keep warm, with ʿAzīz Sayyār among them. The work they had been doing came to an end, but no one wanted to go outside.

As they waited, a boy carrying newspapers pushed open the door, threw a copy inside, and shut it as he turned away. One of the partners picked up the issue and began turning its pages.

“Give us the newspaper’s news to amuse us,” ʿAzīz called. “We have nothing to do but wait for the storm to settle before going out.”

The merchant handed him the copy. “Read us Khalīl Luqmān’s article on page four.”

The instant the name was uttered, everyone stirred and cried, “Yes, by God! Let us hear what this great writer says. His words are magic: they enter hearts and fold up the mansions of the soul.”

At the writer’s name, ʿAzīz smiled, then shook his head dismissively at the gathering’s enthusiasm.

“May Khalīl’s heart burn over what I write! By God, I wonder how the young man manages to write. I spent all yesterday and part of last night with him. How did he find time to compose this article for today’s issue? I do not know!”

Someone asked, “You know Khalīl Luqmān? Is he in this city?”

“Do I know Khalīl Luqmān! Is he in the city! How could I not know him when he is one of my dearest friends? He came from Buffalo yesterday for the express purpose of meeting me. Khalīl Luqmān and ʿAzīz Sayyār are two in one.”

One of those present said, “For God’s sake, describe Khalīl Luqmān. I have always wished and longed to see a likeness of him. Meeting him is one of my life’s desires. By God, he is on my tongue and in my heart wherever I turn.”

ʿAzīz Sayyār began to describe Khalīl Luqmān.

“He is a young man no more than twenty-five years old. Readers imagine from his writing that he is over fifty, but his true age is twenty-five. He is of medium height, fair complexion, and handsome face, with a high brow and black eyes. He is so shy he blushes at his own shadow and so filled with feeling that whoever looks upon him sees in his face the tenderness and humanity one reads between his lines. His manners are gentle; his words are drunk like wine. There is no finer or lovelier young man in the world.”

He offered these attributes while the listeners crooned over the name of Khalīl Luqmān, whose place in their hearts was exalted.

Throughout this performance, one of the store’s partners stood at his counter with his head resting upon his palm, eyes fixed on ʿAzīz as he enveloped the company in descriptions of Khalīl Luqmān. The merchant wore a meaningful smile recognizable to anyone skilled at reading faces.

When the performance ended and ʿAzīz left the store with most of the gathering, the merchant turned to a partner.

“Will you bet that ʿAzīz has never met Khalīl Luqmān or seen his face?”

“No, partner, do not make a mistake. ʿAzīz knows every creature. The proof is that he described the man. Where else would the description come from?”

“Do not argue. My heart tells me that ʿAzīz Sayyār does not know Khalīl Luqmān and has never met him in his life. Will you wager?”

“How can you learn the truth?”

“We shall go to the proprietor of the newspaper for which Khalīl writes and ask him. Perhaps we shall discover it.”

The partners immediately went to the newspaper office. The proprietor received them well and took them into the editorial room. Once the three sat down, the merchant began:

“We have come without appointment, sir, because we heard by chance that Khalīl Luqmān was in New York. We wanted to visit the office, meet him, and express our gratitude for his writing in the pages of your flourishing newspaper, thereby encouraging him to continue supporting your beloved publication.”

“I thank you with all my heart,” the journalist replied. “Unfortunately, Khalīl Luqmān returned to Buffalo this morning. He came to New York for only one night and stayed no longer because he feared meeting people. I shall write and tell him that you honored the office by coming to greet him. But how did you learn he had been in New York? I thought no one knew of his arrival but me.”

The partner who had bet on ʿAzīz smiled inwardly. We have won, he thought, since Khalīl was in New York just as ʿAzīz said.

The other partner sensed some of this but refused to concede. He told the journalist that ʿAzīz Sayyār had announced Khalīl’s arrival.

When the name reached the newspaperman’s ears, he laughed loudly.

“Now I know why you have come! It appears ʿAzīz is still affected by yesterday’s incident and has sent you to apologize to Khalīl for his unfortunate behavior. But I can tell you that Khalīl took no offense. On the contrary, the scene ʿAzīz performed before him was a tremendous joke at which he is still laughing.”

The merchant answered, “We did not come for that reason. Between ourselves, we came to learn the origin of this friendship joining ʿAzīz Sayyār and Khalīl Luqmān.”

The journalist began relating the history of that friendship, speaking one word and then laughing for five minutes. The history was as follows:

“Khalīl Luqmān descended upon me like an angel upon a mortal, without appointment. The moment he arrived, he greeted me and said he had come for a single purpose: to meet a professor at New York University. After completing his business, he visited the office to become acquainted with it. He insisted that I tell no one he had come and introduce him to no one at all.

“He intended to say farewell and take the night train to Buffalo. After I pressed him hard, he agreed to be my guest for that one night, on the condition that we spend the evening alone, with no third person. I closed the office and took him to the ferry landing.[59]

“While we sat there, ʿAzīz Sayyār seated himself opposite me. He asked after every member of my family in the old country and whether I heard from them by every post—all the many questions you know. Then he asked permission to see an issue of my newspaper that I held.

“His eye first fell upon a short article by Khalīl Luqmān. He said, ‘Do you know that I read your newspaper only because Khalīl writes for it? You must hold on to him so that his work is not transferred to another paper.’ Then he asked whether I knew him personally.

“I said no, to see what lay behind the question.

“‘It is better that you never meet him,’ ʿAzīz said. ‘If you saw him, he would fall in your estimation. His appearance—God protect us! His hair falls to his shoulders like a dervish’s. His nose is an elephant’s trunk. He has enormous ears, each equal to three ordinary ears, and tiny eyes like a mole’s. In short, he is frightening to behold. Poor Khalīl Luqmān and his ugly face! But he has a fine pen and sublime intellectual gifts. It is better that people never meet him.’

“At that point the ferry arrived. We stood and hurried with the passengers to board. ʿAzīz remained fixed to my left side, while Khalīl Luqmān walked on my right, saying not a word but smiling. All the way across, ʿAzīz described Khalīl as he knew him. He told me about incidents they had shared in Buffalo and New York and about his long friendship with Khalīl and his family.

“We reached the other side of the river and went ashore with the passengers in Brooklyn. There I stopped to say farewell to ʿAzīz so that he might take his road while my companion and I took ours. Providence willed that he not depart before completing the scene.

“After shaking my hand, he said, ‘Why did you not introduce me to your companion? At first I thought he was a stranger to you.’

“I performed the introduction. ‘My friend, the fault is mine for neglecting the duty. But ʿAzīz, you gave me no opening to introduce you to the friend we share: Khalīl Luqmān.’

“In that instant, ʿAzīz Sayyār ceased to be ʿAzīz Sayyār. His color changed as though he had been exchanged for another creature. But Khalīl approached, took his hand, and said that from the beginning he had understood from ʿAzīz’s remarks that he was mistaken. Certainly—he must have been describing another person whom he believed to be Khalīl Luqmān.

“ʿAzīz said nothing. He pulled away his hand and went on his way.”

The journalist stopped for several seconds, then continued:

“Khalīl and I stayed up last night while I tried to console and calm him after his great distress over ʿAzīz’s condition at the moment they met. But he could not sleep. Again and again he let me hear a gentle reproach for the cruel way I had treated the man. Had he known the matter would end as it did, he said, he would never have endured ʿAzīz’s conversation. He would have interrupted and identified himself, for fear of the rash act that occurred.”

The partners left the newspaper office. To this day—ten years after the incident—they still dispute the wager. The first says he won because ʿAzīz neither knew nor had met Khalīl when he made the claim. The second says he is the winner because, as events proved, ʿAzīz did meet Khalīl—and that is enough.

NOTES

[59] Before the completion of fixed East River crossings for all routes and the later expansion of subway service, ferries remained an ordinary connection between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Haddad uses al-ṭawwāf, literally a floating vessel or ferry.
