When he bulges his eye as the orbed sun just over the morning hill he frightens me and I contract to the detumescence of my fresher days the Headmasters grip lies unbroken though carrying the cancer of time on his crooked back like my forgotten friend Quasimodo and when he smiles I relief in toykind joy though in distance he appears shrunk and I magnified in importance quietly posing to hear the countless feet of regiments of whores on the march. The writer is the Ibn Khaldun Chair of Islamic Studies, School of International Service, American University, Washington, DC