Was I on a tryst with Šahrazād? I do not know, but when embarking on my summer trip I asked my companion [i.e., his amanuensis] to include Alf Layla wa Layla in his luggage, I made this request with some embarrassment, for it is clear that Alf Layla wa Layla is a book that it is improper for older men who put on an appearance of venerability to read. I recall that I read this book with some of my brothers when I was twenty or a little older. And I remember the unforgettable, shameful day when our aged father discovered that his sons were poring over the booklore neither of the [State] schools nor of the Azhar, but over this hateful, ill-starred book that never enters a house without bringing it adversity, and that engages the attention only of idlers who are of no avail to others or to themselves.