When I returned home that night, ably evading my landlady—who was beginning to act like my mother—I sequestered myself in my room and lay on my mattress, giving myself over to visions of Shekure.

Allow me the amusement of describing the sounds I’d heard in Enishte’s house. On my second visit

after twelve years, she didn’t show herself. She did succeed, however, in so magically endowing me with her presence that I was certain of being, somehow, continually under her watch, while she sized me up as a future husband, amusing herself all the while as if playing a game of logic. Knowing this, I also imagined I was continually able to see her. Thus was I better able to understand Ibn Arabi’s notion that love is the ability to make the invisible visible and the desire always to feel the invisible in one’s midst.

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