Marzuq: One word

Every day he stands there, in the same place just outside the Sparkasse bank, next to the kerb. An old Arab man, in his late 70's, perhaps even early 80's. Around his neck hangs a make-shift counter on which are a variety of goods he sells, ranging from batteries to cigarette lighters. He is like an island in the centre of a fast flowing river. Cars speed by behind him, pedestrians march past in front. Every thing becomes a blur if you focus on his smiling eyes.

Few, who pass him regularly, could guess the reasons for his happiness in the face of such seemingly obvious hardships. His frail body bends under the weight of the wares he carries but his features are relaxed and confident. Every now and then, someone stops and buys a key ring or passes a few minutes in genial conversation with him. His smile is infectious, you are drawn to it, you smile in reply but without knowing why.

I never hear the singing that makes his happiness absolute. The traffic sounds, boots tapping on the concrete and the raised voices of children are abundant but never that beautiful chorus that swamps his entire being. He watches people as they walk past, his tanned face glowing as he listens to the leaves in nearby trees. They sing, each and every one of them, more beautiful than any human choir. Every blade of grass in the nearby park sings similarly, he can hear them unified in voice. Sometimes he closes his eyes and listens to the fibres of his cotton jacket singing with such attachment and tenderness. When a man or woman walks past with a sullen face, he hears the blood in their veins joyously crying out in devotion. Everything he can see or feel is singing, constantly but in a way that neither tires nor irritates. There is only one word to be heard in his ears. One solitary word that fills his heart with happiness and soothes his tired muscles and bones. Even the birds sing it, as do the clouds that float above his head, the bricks in the walls of the surrounding buildings and the miniscule animals that can hardly be seen with the human eye. With each breath he takes, his whispered voice chants the name that can be heard all around. Over and over and over again. He bathes in the word that brings meaning to his life, that brings him total bliss. The name of the one thing he worships with all his soul.

"Allah"

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Marzuq was born in 1927 in Algiers. After a childhood spent in abject poverty, he was dealt a further blow by the death of his mother and father by Nationalists when only 15. Following this incident he joined the French army and saw action in the latter stages of World War 2 and in the Algerian War of Independence between 1954 and 1962. When the French were defeated he fled to France, later moving to Germany in the 1980's after suffering intense discrimination in the suburbs of Marseille. In 1991, on the brink of mental collapse, he began to hear the singing that now so dominates his life. These days he never feels sad, lonely or fearful, only delight in being alive to hear such beauty.
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