Bilal

[NaSra]

<b>Bilal is bought again</b>


I heard voices in argument, Umaya’s voice and a milder voice I did not know. I tried to open my eyes but the sun, now at its height, blinded me.


They were talking about money, which was not unusual. In Mecca money was an addiction, as if men’s bowels moved by money and time was told in dirham.


I had no interest. I longed to sleep again, never to wake in slavery; never to be under their faces; never to be within the distance of their call. For I knew now what I had never known.


Even in the worst death that a man can devise for his fellow man, God is kind. In the taking of souls God’s hand is ever kind.


I heard a third voice. Abu Sufyan, authority itself was speaking:


‘It is against social order to buy or sell a slave during his correction.’


I tried to collect my wits. Umaya was answering back:


<b>‘The slave is dead already! If Abu Bakr wants to buy a carcass for a hundred dirhams that is my windfall.’</b>


A new name had been spoken: Abu Bakr? Why was he here? Even against the sun I opened my eyes. There was a gasp and a stop in their talk. A moment passed. Then a voice I did not know came closer and called my name to me across the burning distance between us.


Umaya was beside himself.


‘The slave kicked. I saw him kick.’ Then he whispered into my head: ‘Breathe, you black animal.’


It was a turnabout, to say the least. The man who had been knocking the breath out of me for several hours was now exhorting me to hold onto my last gasp. Surely, life has more comedy than it has laughter.


More voices. Umaya again.


‘He’s kicked his price up, Abu Bakr. He is worth two; give me two hundred and take him.’


They lifted the rocks from me and untied me. Bilal was sold again. Yes. And Bilal was bought again- but only for a minute. A young man helped me up. I had difficulty seeing him the first time. Then I knew who he was. He was Saeed, the adopted son of Muhammad. I said nothing. I had no need, for he had said it all:


‘You are freed from slavery, Bilal.’


Umaya was counting and chuckling.


‘You paid two hundred dirham for him but let me tell you I’d have sold him for one hundred.’


There was laughter. Then I saw Abu Bakr, a man like a lamp.


‘You have cheated yourself Umaya,’ he said. ‘Had you asked a thousand dirham for him I would have paid it.’


Surely my price had shot up! Abu Bakr took me by one arm, Saeed by the other and together they half dragged, half walked me away. I was not much help to them for my legs would not hold me.


For five days I lay in a darkened room in Abu Bakr’s house, drifting in and out of consciousness. Vague whispering shapes hovered over me with oils, ointments and cooling cloths.


Once, when I woke, I saw a man praying in a corner of the room, but then I slept again. On the sicth morning I was able to get up and take my first steps out into the air. Abu Bakr was so pleased he brought in a goat and milked it for me.


Then he told me:


<b>‘The Messenger of God himself prayed beside you for three days until the fever dropped. Only when you were safe would he leave you. I never saw a man so happy. “Bilal is received into Islam,” he said. Tomorrow you and I will go to the Prophet together.’</b>



They say I was the third man to believe in Islam. But it is too great a place they give me. I was only the ninth. I take pride in the fact that I was the lowest of the first Companions, for surely I was found under a stone.