Chapter 6

"So, we must choose someone else!" said Abdullah. From out of the throats of the remaining Whales, this chorus rang out: "You couldn't pay me enough money! I'm going-I'm leaving-I'm out of here!" One after another, they disappeared, until there were no more to be seen-except one in the distance. Without saying "adieu," the Lions followed those who had already left. In much the same way, the Hippos and the musicians made the same kind of exit. Most of the Elephants ambled off in single file, but some left in twos and threes. Without saying a word or grudgingly waving good-bye, the adults finally rode away.

Thar turned towards Schamah: "Now do you believe that I'm a hero?" She handed him the Canterbury-bells: "From the very beginning, I believed you. You've won, so here are your flowers." He accepted the prize, then he gave the bouquet to my wife, asking her to take care of them; she could do this better than he would.

In the distance, we now saw another considerably large procession, and it looked like it was coming our way. With their sharply trained eyes, our adversaries had already seen this approaching caravan. For that reason, they hurried away. They didn't want their disgrace to be discovered by the incoming crowd. We too no longer had a reason to stay, because the time was drawing nearer for us to move on and keep our appointment to meet Mustafa Bustani. Schamah's mother said that she and her daughter were headed towards The Oak of Abraham; from there, they wanted to travel to the Russian Hospice and spend the night. The Arabic widow had heard that penniless pilgrims could stay there free-of-charge. Our friendly Donkey Driver declared that the mother and daughter didn't have to walk that distance; since his return to the city would be the same route that they were traveling, they could ride with him.

When Thar heard this, he quietly asked me: "Effendi, do you have a 20 franc coin? Please, give it to me, but don't let anyone see it." I suspected why he wanted the money, so I said "Yes," and secretly slipped him the coin. Schamah and her mother climbed upon one of the mules, and the driver rode upon another. Thar vaulted onto the back of Guewerdschina and said: "I'm riding with you. Once we reach the Oak, I'll walk back. Before my father arrives, I'll be there."

He tugged the dove's tail high into the air-she let out a loud hee-haw and shot down the road. My wife gave the widow our name and our address in Jerusalem and invited her to make every effort to visit us there. We would genuinely and whole-heartedly like to see her and her young daughter. She promised that she would assuredly do her best to visit us. So giving her word, she said good-bye as they rode away and tried to catch up with Thar. My wife and I then took a short walk on the surrounding area, making sure that we avoided any further encounters.

When we reached the rendezvous, Thar was already waiting for us: "They're so very poor. They only know that I was concerned about them and that I wanted to accompany them to the Hospice." "Do they know your name?" I asked. "Yes." "And your father's name?" "No. You may have heard that the Prophet tells us this: 'Whoever gives to the poor should give everything-only not in the name of his father.' Anyway, I'll see them again in Jerusalem. You can count on that."

Soon thereafter, Mustafa Bustani arrived with the carriage. He was very glad to hear that the local citizens did not harm us nor his son. He shared the fact that there had been several clashes between Muslims and Jews. In light of the fact that he personally was so angry about the rude reception from his business colleague, he had even refused to share a meal with the man. Now, he was hungry. As soon as we climbed in and were once again moving, we brought out the food that we had packed earlier. So, our on-the-go evening meal's setting was atop four rolling wheels.

On the return home, nothing happened that would be important enough to retell. When we reached the Hebron Valley, we once again stopped at the caf,. This time in a much more measured manner, the innkeeper stepped out and asked for our orders. Mustafa Bustani spoke up: "Five cups of coffee!" The drinks were served and sipped. I then pulled out my money pouch: "How much for the five?" "Exactly one half franc," he answered. "And the fifteen from forenoon?" "One and a half francs." "So, altogether for the twenty?" "Two francs." I gave him only two francs-not a fraction of a Turkish piaster more: "Here! Paid in full!" He quickly gripped the money and slipped it into his pocket. This time, he bowed deeply as he sincerely said: "Effendi, I thank you. You are fair as well as wise. May your journey home be a blessed one."

The trip was indeed a blessed one. Mustafa was angry about the fanaticism of his fellow believers; during the entire time, he had no objection to his son's crush on the small Christian girl. When we reached Bethlehem, he took a deep breath and said: "A lot of love and much goodness has come out of this small city, much more than any other large and famous pilgrimage places. Today, I was rightly and starkly reminded of my own zealot's mind-set. What have you ever done to the people of Hebron? Not a thing! Still, they transgressed against you. Such unkindness and injustice! What did my own brother do to me? Nothing. Yet, I banished him, my dear brother. I was much more unloving and far more unjust than the Canaanites of Hebron. Now that evening is finally here, I can tell you that thoughts of him were with me throughout the entire afternoon.

"What was his name?" my wife asked. "Achmed Bustani. As you heard me say, we still kept the same family name. I now have no greater wish than that he is still alive and that he will find me!" "Would you really divide your wealth with them?" "Of course, immediately! It's not only because I promised my dying wife that I would do so-for me, it's a personal necessity. Ever since that dream that I told you about, I've had a very strange feeling about something more that I now must be concerned about as we make our way home. When we were outside of Abraham's Well, it seemed as if some invisible thing accompanied you when you climbed into the carriage-something that took hold of me and now doesn't want to release me again. Perhaps it's nothing more than realizing the wrongs that need to be righted. Yet in a strange sense, I'm not anxious; instead, it makes me feel much more at ease. There's a feeling of contentment. It burrows itself into me-not to torment, but rather to put me at ease. Are you going to laugh at me when I tell you something which you yourselves can not comprehend?" "To laugh would not even occur to us!" I answered. "Be confident of that!" "I have the feeling that today I shall again dream of my brother. Isn't that funny?" "By no means." "So, you believe that this is possible?" "Certainly." "Secretively, what do you think?"

"Oh no! All too often, we men make the mistake of treating completely natural things as if they were mystical. In the course of today's events, the picture of your brother has been shoved into your mind's consciousness. Until now, you have held all of this tightly inside of you, and it's become even more deeply embedded. Hence, it's no wonder, and indeed very understandable, that you would dream about him as you preoccupy yourself with your return home. Whenever we perceive something as wonderful, be certain that in spite of all our experiences, we misguidedly label the obvious things in nature as inconceivably miraculous."

As we now rolled on towards Rachel's Tomb and to the Prophet Elijah's memorial, we soon arrived in Jerusalem-at precisely the moment when nightfall tenderly entered the Holy City. Whatever was intended for me to learn in Hebron, I hadn't yet grasped it. As we would plainly see tomorrow, this here-to-fore unknown would turn out to be quite different and infinitely better. So it seems that life always takes care of things. If we are somehow denied some external, material wish, or if an unexpected grief gets in the way of the joy we were hoping for, our ignorance does not hesitate to quarrel with destiny. That which we were denied on the outside may now become an inner victory. Although this last truth may not be apparent if we oppose it like some kind of enemy, be quite certain that it still knocks on our door. Usually afterwards, we realize that we have gained life's less-valued, quite inexpensive gifts that we so very much long for. Concerning the saddle, this was also true. I was sure about my desire for it, but my wish to own it had to rely upon earlier circumstances that were directed otherwise. Looking back on those past events, we are most often too short-sighted and impatient to grasp the meaning of these things.

The next morning, we had barely risen and sat down to drink some coffee, when we heard a knock on our door. Who stepped in? It was Thar. European style, he stretched out his hand and greeted us: "Good morning!" We gave him our thanks and approvingly saw how he was fully dressed in fresh, spotlessly pure white clothes. "You are probably surprised, right?" he said. "The colors are no longer stylish. Our lady here first spoke about heroism that is authentic and doesn't need to be painted up. Since then, I've wanted to be a real hero-no artificial coloring. Secondly, you also heard how my new girlfriend Schamah yelled out 'Phooey!' when I wanted to paint my body with bold blue, green, red and yellow colors. What she said to me is worth more than past advice you have offered. I've definitely decided, that in the future, I'll lay aside the superficial paint and only deal with things that don't need artificial coloring. By the way, I'm only here on account of Schamah. If she and I are permitted to drink coffee, why then are your cups bigger than ours?"

He got what he wanted, so he sat down and continued to talk: "Next, I want you to know that as long as Schamah stays in Jerusalem, I'm withdrawing from all four clubs: the Lions, the Elephants, the Hippos, and the Whales. For this mission, I've now dressed in white in order to inform each of the clubs that I may no longer associate with beasts-at least for the time being. Schamah is so polite, and if I'm not nice too, then I'll feel ashamed of myself. She said 'Phooey!' much too readily. Well then, you must be aware of the fact that she's coming to Jerusalem today." "How do you know this?" I asked. "It is part of the conspiracy." "So, there is a plot?" In all seriousness, he nodded and said "Yes." "Who is doing the plotting?" "I am." "With whom?" "With the Donkey Driver." "As of yesterday?" "Yes. For that secret plan, I needed the twenty francs from you. Here is the money that I borrowed. Thank you." He took two golden ten franc coins out of his pocket and laid them on the table. However, I didn't pick them up-instead, I said: "Before I accept the money, I have to know what it was for. Instead of loaning you the money, I gave it to you."

In earnest, he said: "You're mistaken! I don't beg; I only borrow. Schamah and her mother are poor, very poor. At times, they don't have enough to eat. Without asking anyone, I came to this conclusion. In contrast, I'm rich, and I'm her friend. Thus, without their knowing, I took care of their room and board at the Hospice. Today, the Donkey Driver is bringing them to Jerusalem-of course, on better animals than they rode yesterday. They still do not know that it was I who paid for these things. When they arrive here, they won't go into the city. Instead, they'll veer to the right, riding into the Valley of Hinnom, then up the Mount of Olives towards Bethany. At that point, they'll meet my friend Abd en Nom. "Who is Abd en Nom?" "He is the father of both the greatest Whale in our club and the heaviest Hippo that ever was. He is a host to pilgrims. At the moment, his house is completely empty, so Schamah and her mother have more room than they really need. They'll also have meals there. Of course, Schamah believes that all of this was because the Hospice recommended them. Abd en Nom likes me. I'll be going with him as we make the preparations."

"And you are paying for all of this?" "Yes, but I ask you not to reveal this to anyone. Schamah and her mother must never know this secret." "Does your father know? "No." "My dear boy, you know this will cost a lot of money!" He happily laughed as he replied: "I have it." "From whom?"

As he answered my question, Thar quickly became serious again: "From Mother-before she died. She loaned me the money, and every month, I receive the interest. Since Father is the trustee of her estate, he gives me the money. I'm not permitted to hold onto the money. I'm required to spend it-not on myself, but for poor, old, sick people who find themselves in need. That's the way Mother wanted it, so Father has to allow me to spend it how I wish. He may only counsel me if I use the money in a way that differs from Mother's instructions. That has never happened, because I loved my Mother. With every piaster that I spend, I think about how she would do the same or otherwise. To be truthful, before I borrowed the money from you, I first had to think about what my Mother would say. Before I went to sleep that night, I asked myself that question. As I awoke early this morning, I knew in my heart that she is in complete agreement-and that she's pleased about Schamah and her mother. Effendi, will you now take back the money you loaned me?"

"Yes," I answered and slipped the coins into my pocket. In recognition of his soul's goodness, my wife poured him a second cup of coffee. He took a sip, then spoke further: "Seriously, I want to look after her. I would like to be her guide to all of the holy sites, including Bethlehem and anywhere else she wants to visit. Do you know why I would do this?" "Out of compassion," my wife said. "Yes, I too first thought of this. Yet when I reflected on my heart's decision, just as I always do when I think of my Mother, it wasn't a feeling of sympathy. Rather, there was something else. Right now, I'm not sure what to call it, because I've never felt this way before. It's almost like a duty, and yet again, it may be more like something that I very much enjoy doing. Just as you witnessed yesterday, I would do battle with the whole world if it meant protecting Schamah and her mother. And yet, that is much, much too little; that's a long, long way from the right thing to do. I still want to think about this some more. When I've found the answer, I'll tell you. Now, may I leave you again? There's something very necessary that I must do. Remember what I said about going to the Lions, to the Elephants, to the Hippos, to the Whales, and to Abd en

"Does he know that you went to visit us?" "I don't intend to tell him. As you know, he has such an extraordinary affection for you; if he learned that I planned to come here, you would be stuck with him for the entire day. Well then, may Allah protect you; I'm going now." He finished his cup of coffee, shook our hands, opened the door, went outside, and stood still. For a moment, he pondered, came inside again, then firmly closed the door behind him. It seemed as if he had some great secret that he wanted to entrust to us: "I simply must ask you a question. Don't you find this ridiculous? In a man's own country, he is called "The Chosen One." I tried to help him with the answer: "How did you arrive at this question?" "In my hours of vanity, I have taken pride in this designation; but seriously, this title actually irritates me."

"So, be angry!" said my wife. "Your irritation is more justified than any pleasure from that title." As he meditated on that advice, he looked at her. Then he aimed his eyes on me, thoughtfully nodding: "I put a great deal of stock into what your wife has said. Perhaps you don't? Up to this point, she has always come up with just the right words. Now, I'm really going to do it! May Allah protect you!" Hardly ten minutes after he left us, there was a knock on the door. Who was it? His father. He asked us to forgive him for disturbing us at such an inconvenient hour. Something had happened which he absolutely had to share with us. "Did you dream something?" I asked him.

"Yes, how did you know that?" "No, I didn't know for sure-I simply had a hunch." "You guessed correctly. Just think! In my dream, it was morning as I got out of bed and came into my living room. There sat my brother, as real as I am standing here. He smiled at me and said: 'I have come, and I want to see if I should remain.' In pure joy, I woke up. Now tell me, is that a phenomenon, or not?" "A miracle? No, to me it is something more like a completely natural occurrence." "After our conversation yesterday, I too felt comfortable about all of this. Yet in today's awakening, instantly after the dream, a thought came to me-almost as if this thought itself were to be the continuation of the dream. Do you know what my brother said to me in the previous dream I described to you?" "That he would send you a sign of his forgiveness." "Now then, do you recall the name of the child whom you met yesterday, the girl whom my son constantly talks about?" "Schamah, the Forgiveness!" My wife swiftly joined in: "Yes, that's true! That's exactly right! It might be-" Imitating Old Jew Eppstein, I quickly interrupted: "Pssst! Still! Pssst! Don't try to force some kind of mystery from all this. Although 'Schamah' means 'forgiveness,' at the same time, it's also a girl's name." Mustafa interjected: "But as Thar told me, the girl's mother comes from the region of Al Karak, and that place is in East Jordan, where my brother went." In order to divert him from this subject, I asked him: "So, did you and Thar talk about her today?"

"It was yesterday evening that we talked. Today, he was up early, but he said practically nothing. Whenever his thoughts are focused on his mother, he acts this way. It always keeps him preoccupied as he looks for some kind of gift he can give or a good deed that he can perform for someone. Off he went without having anything to eat or drink for breakfast. "Does he know that you are here with us?" "I don't think so. If he knew that he could visit you as often as he wanted, he would stay beside you for the entire day. I must confess that his heart dearly loves both of you. Ever since yesterday, I've seen changes in him. The young girl seems to have made an impression on him, and that baffles me." "Surely such a riddle is not a bad one?" "Oh no, it's especially very pleasant and welcome. Compared to ordinary times, I too have changed. Yesterday was a festival; yet for me, it's as if the celebration is just now happening. I feel the same joy that I felt in my boyhood-when something long-desired finally promises to come true. Isn't that strange? Isn't that laughable?"

"It's not strange to me, and in no way is it absurd. Our souls are linked to an entirely different world than our bodies. This connection is so deeply intimate, that no reasonably sane man would ever doubt what we call our 'inner voices.' Did your dream clearly focus on your brother? Or was it merely a figure which you mistook for him?"

"Truly and clearly, it was so certain and distinct, that even in the dream I marveled at the joy I felt in seeing him appear precisely as he looked earlier. We were so extraordinarily similar that people often would mistake one for the other. We had fun with that, so he would often enhance that relationship by wearing the same clothes and by growing a beard just like mine. On the inside, we were very different. He was always tender , pliable, and prone to be at peace. By contrast, I was insensitive, unsympathetic, and always ready to play the role of lord and master. In the end, that separated us. However, today-." Something inside him stopped. He walked to the window, gazed outside and reconciled himself to what would come: "There lies the road to Bab en Nebi Daud, and that way goes to Bab el Amud. For me, it's the same, whichever path I take. They both lead me around the city and towards the Mount of Olives where I will wait to learn when and how the 'forgiveness" will come to me. Today, I am in suspense, and I can't relax. I'm going!"

He left, and I openly confess that a portion of his suspense stayed there with us. If I were to try to attach an artificial angle on his narration, one which differed from the view he had just shared with us, then I would have to rearrange the tale itself. The conclusion would be otherwise, even giving his story an extra chapter of its own. For me, it all seemed to follow a natural course of events, which was just as interesting as any literary embellishment that his son Thar would have added. So, I'll follow the examples from our brave boy Thar and simply report the plain, unvarnished facts As long as Schamah dwelt among us, she renounced any synthetic coloring of green nor blue, neither yellow nor red.

That morning, we visited the Graves of the Kings and a couple of other nearby sites. In the afternoon, we wanted to go to Ain Kahrim, one of my favorite places. However, we could not undertake this outing. Just as we were preparing to eat our lunch, there was a third knocking at our door. Who appeared? Schamah and her mother. We were genuinely glad to see them, and we welcomed their noontime visit. Without hesitation, we invited them to eat with us. The mother was a loving, good-natured, and noble-minded woman. She had an inner pride that stemmed from her heart's solemn education. In spite of her humility, she spoke with a good deal of satisfaction about her Azerbeijan roots and the fact that she did not come from Syria. So, as far back as tradition stretched, her people had always been Christians. Due to her father's beliefs, he was oppressed and died as a poor army officer in Al Karah. Her husband was also very poor, but he was blessed with all of the virtues that are necessary to merit the attention and the love of all mankind. His name was Achmed Bustani, and he died from a sickness of the heart, a yearning that never stopped gnawing at him-until death delivered him from that ceaseless longing.

Achmed Bustani! Surely, you can imagine the impact this name had on us. Just think-the brother of our friend. As soon as the widow made this disclosure, both women intuitively knew that they had been drawn to each other-both outwardly and inwardly, sensing a bond of confidentiality between them. In spite of the few short lines that I now use to report this surprise, naturally, it took several hours for us to grasp what we had just learned. During the time she talked with us, her heart's restrained agony peered out from her moist, poignant eyes. Not wanting to increase her sadness by asking insensitive questions, it was especially hard for us to repress our normal curiosity about the details.

Quite simply, Achmed Bustani died of homesickness. At most, his love for his wife and child delayed his death, but nothing could prevent his dying. Knowing the inherent importance of very close family relationships among Semitic people, it cost him his life when he could not bear the thought of his father and his entire family banishing him and forever refusing to give him their support. Practically moments from death, he asked his wife to promise him that she and Schamah would make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. If possible, she was to find his brother and seek reconciliation with him.