Muhammad paced, constantly checking on the stranger’s path, asking himself, What should I do if more “visitors” appear?

Something inside wanted the white man to return, but was quickly crushed by the fear of ever meeting anyone like this American again.

“What’d you think?” The beggar smiled.

“Next time? Why would there be a next time! He makes no sense! Who bothers themselves with such idleness?” Muhammad sat next to the wretch.

“Don’t you see? My friend, he’s not you! He’s not the húr– not a spirit of the afterlife. His name is not ‘Sada.’ You felt things, impossible things without him. His words may not have been comfortable, but they were real, and they were meaningful.”

“No, not comfortable at all. And, I’m not too sure how meaningful that was, but I’ll admit, it was different.”

Along the visitor’s path from behind a rustling bush, a brief patch of golden hair peaked out. A playful yip, and a frantic dog tail disappeared.

“Then meet the outsiders. This man’s life was not the only one you accounted for today. Meet the janitor, and share more of his music. Sit with the meter maid, the hot-dog vendor. Have a face-to-face with Grant’s brother.” He squeezed the hijacker’s hand.

“Wait, who?”

“The man in the black golf shirt.”

“Right, Mitch’s uncle. Wow, was he big… but, boy did that feel good the moment I tackled… I mean the moment he tackled him… ah, me.” Shaking his head, Muhammad freed his hand.

“Conversations await in the forest; in the mansion, there is only you.”

“I can’t. The forest is different now. I use to love my long walks here, but this time it wouldn’t let me out! I was trapped here because of you.”

The old man squeaked, “Me?”

“I couldn’t find my way back until you showed up, no matter how hard I tried!”

“Muhammad, you don’t need me.” The wrinkled head slowly shook.

“Seems like I do. And what if I can’t find you?” He took hold of the bony shoulders. The weather-worn face warmed.

“Don’t worry. You are the master of this domain– it’s your forest. When you desire your palace, you’ll find it without a thought. Today, you kept yourself from it. You banished me, but returned for me. Again and again you’ve sought me out to hear a single message: you are alone. And, Muhammad, you know that.

“But today, you’ve met someone. And although it has taken a long time to journey this far, you are different from your brothers-in-arms. Never once have they cared that they are alone– content to remain omnipotent gods, secluded in their dreams.”

Muhammad’s eyelids softened. His shiny shoes pressed their tips into the fallen leaves. Taking a deep breath, he spoke like a splashing ocean churned by the oars of an attacking asātīl.

“I can’t imagine meeting Sherry. Her promotion left her in the office next to mine. Without my recommendation, she’d have been across town with clients. Lord Almighty, her death must’ve… but was it any worse than the loss felt by her family? And then, there’s Payton. I had no idea she even existed before today. It’s as though I lost my own child.”

“You’re getting it.” The wise man smiled.

“But, if I should ever, you know, want to do that again…?”

“It’s as easy as falling asleep at the end of a weary day. There are many dreams to come. It won’t always be pleasant, but it will always be rewarding. No one’s innocent. Even that man accounted for himself.”

“Oh really,” his tone shifted, “and what did he have to face? His stain pales in comparison.”

“Comparison is impossible. Everyone misses the mark. His faults were of betrayal, neglect, arrogance. How many school plays did he miss? How many schools in Africa do not exist because of his vigorous efforts in shaping a powerful corporation’s polices? How many times did he pass a stranger in need, yet do nothing, when a simple smile would have meant everything?

“That which he could not see in life, he saw in death. He accounted for the fullness of his mortal path. When will you?”

Muhammad’s head fell into his hands as his mind raced.

How am I not capable of this feat when an infidel could handle it so easily? And what’s in it for me? If only I were born Christian, I’d have my cake and sell it too… eat it? Really? Doesn’t sound right. Either way, selling or eating a cake it is supposed to leave you with no cake! This is going to do nothing but cause me more pain, and I’m tired of suffering here, alone.

The old man swayed the narrow shoulder with a gentle nudge, and spoke in a rich timbre.

“No one’s forcing you. Take your time, but remember, forever isn’t just a concept, it’s how long we’ll be here. So play your games, be with your women. Spend as many centuries in the mansion as you must. Then, consider the piece of this man’s life you’ve shared. The same hand now marks you both.”

“God?” His eyes returned to the elder.

“Yes, you’ve established a connection.”

“A connection of pain.”

“A connection of divine beauty.”

“Beauty I don’t have the stomach for if it means I must go through that again.”

The tattered brown robe turned towards the tall tree. Looking up and down the giant, he stroked its bark in the spot the man had leaned against.

“Then consider this man’s help. He wishes to take my place by your side. As you relive his family’s lives, he’ll counsel you as I have, but I am Sada and he’s a real person, a friend.”

“A friend? And why would anyone want to be my friend?” asked the martyr.

Scanning along the fortress wall, the wise man said, “Love. And it’s more than just friendship he wants. He wishes to visit your mansion.”

“Why?”

“Just to hang out, maybe take a tour.” Pointing to the mammoth stone barrier, he continued, “He wants to teach you real American football. Muhammad, he too has a mansion, and wants to share it with you. But more than anything else, he’s willing to carry your burden with you, to join you on this journey. Those outside of this place are not looking to balance the scales; that’s between you and God. They just want to help.”

The beggar meandered around the shady giant, and grabbed a branch to inspect a craggy leaf. The creatures above inched from their hiding places. The image of Payton’s adorable face framed atop that desk stopped Muhammad’s heart.

“But I left that poor girl with no father. How can I ever listen to her scream the moment she discovers her ‘daddy’ will never again come home? She’s the true victim here.”

Releasing the leaf, the vagrant said, “That’s her past and your future.”

“I have no future.”

“No, you’re wrong.” He marched over and Muhammad jumped to his feet. “Your future is your love for Payton, your yearning to hear her joy and her pain.”

The jihadi grumbled, “But I know him. This man’s memories are equal parts terror and beauty… they overwhelm me. I can’t handle this!”

“You can, one step at a time. Unlike a mortal life where the sequence of events is out of one’s control, here you have total control. Make as much or as little progress as you want, as fast or as slow as you must. Remember, you can always return to the mansion. Sure, you will choose their pain, but this also means you will know their joy.”

“No!” The little creatures snapped back into the deep foliage, and he escaped to the wall.

Following a few paces behind, the bum asked, “No?”

“It makes no sense. Why would they want to help me? They should all want to kill me. That’s what I’d do… what I did.” He spun around.

“Yes, you did, my boy. And until today, you’ve been cutoff from from God’s love. But this man is not. He understands why you did what you did. Just as you became him, he became you. He’s aware of your family, the destroyed village, fixed fan… the bullies, everything. He sees your heart, knows you better than you know yourself– well, what you were, what you’ve chosen to forget. The person you’ve become is a mystery, unrecognizable… and not just to him or yourself. Your mother watches and waits for you, but no longer knows her own son.”

“Exactly my point, I’m a lost cause. Why would anyone ever want to help me?”

“Because they love you.”

“But look at what I’ve become! How many times did I murder you, just because you annoyed me? How many lies have I told, just to get attention? How many women have I banished simply because they bored me? I’m a terrible person!”

Locking eyes, and lowering his volume, the bum said, “It is not the person you have been, but the person you are becoming. If my many deaths have served this path, then let us agree every blow was worth it to get you back.”

“Back from… where?”

As the pauper pointed towards the fortress, the crackling voice pitched, “Back from that stinky dump you’ve made for yourself.”

“No, there’s no way anyone would want me back.”

“Enough.” He grabbed the Ruler’s shoulders, his voice becoming grizzled.

“Those outside are no longer anchored by the dark consequences of leaving behind a mortal body. This man is with his family. Now that you’ve shared in his death, you can visit with him. And when you’re ready, he will help find your mother.”

The old man’s arms encircled Muhammad in a tight embrace. The calloused hands separated to jostle the martyr’s stiff posture loose. His buoyant words continued.

“You’re not the only one responsible, but you are the first of the silent ones to hear his story. This man stands at your side in awe, proud of you. He knows it’s not easy to account for such things when one can stay in Paradise forever.”

With a feathery smile tingling the tips of his ears, Muhammad mumbled, “He said things, did things, acted in a way I could never have imagined… in a way I’ve never seen, well, not since I died. Sada does not act like this. Honestly, he’s the only one here who’s ever laughed at me, I mean, right at me.

“But, I know he didn’t mean it… he was just being honest, just being his entitled, stupid, American self, hahaha. And I guess, well, this isn’t Paradise.” The King wiped his tears.

Moving a lock of hair from a face with its first wrinkle, the elder’s eyes shone like the glint of an approaching lighthouse– salvation for a lone sailor aboard a derelict wreck.

“It isn’t hell either. It’s your dream. You can sleep forever, and he knows it. But you also have the courage to accept help from those who love you. You will join them as you discover your fate, your real future.” Thousands of eyes glimmered from the many branches above.

A guttural sigh fell from Muhammad as he crumbled to the ground. The prison doors rattled open, flooding forth years of trapped tears. The pitter patter of tiny creatures streamed along the big trunk to encircle their master.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the way to have your cake and eat it too is to share it with someone else. Could the sin which we would hide from the world be our treasure? And if I’m to be honest, there are things I deserve to know… things I should pay for. Throwing rocks at Assad, even after he pleaded for mercy, was wrong. Sure he could be a bully, but he never started anything, only went along. I treated him as if he was Abdul– ibn al kalb. Maybe the old man’s right; maybe I’m the son of the dog.

It only seems right that if I’m ever going to meet Payton, I should first know her pain. In fact, won’t it be easier to face her if the scales are balanced between us? If I have to go through that a million more times, then bring it on, because I will do whatever it takes to see my mother again. I’m sick of the boredom, sick of Sada, sick of myself! I’m ready to listen to the whole truth.

Choked words uttered, “Now, can I see my mother, my real mother?”

“Yallah. We’ll search the forest. Maybe Juice can help.” With the little animated animals celebrating, the wretch smiled.

Rising to his feet, rubbing his eyes, and peering into the forest, Muhammad asked, “Juice?”

“The dog.”

“You saw it too?”

“A gift.”

“From him, from the man?”

“Yes.” The old man whistled for the golden retriever.

“I know his dog’s name, but I don’t know his. Haha, I even know his birthday. Hey, when we see him next, you must remind me to ask more questions. I must know his name.”

Juice hurled himself into the brown robe, barking up a cacophony and swirling around the bony legs in tight eddies while an old hand dipped into the furry flow. The wise man greeted Juice with the outburst of a four-year-old finding the gift of his first puppy in his father’s arms.

“You will not forget.” The beggar caught his breath, and trailed Juice into the forest.

Catching up, the hijacker put a hand on the sharp shoulder, stared at the fleck, and spoke.

“No, you’re right. The time for forgetting has passed. It’s time to remember, everything.”

Muhammad imagined the smile of his mother’s face, smell of her clothes, sound of her voice. Surrounded by tiny tree-dwelling creatures, the tattered pair followed a nose tracking with the purpose of a fortunate castaway swimming towards his lover’s open arms.

After a long journey, the King of his Paradise found his mother amongst the outsiders. The man became the elder, returning to wait under a tall tree with a wide canopy and red fruit, between an ocean with jutting black rocks like fingers and an emerald-green forest, surrounding a mansion with golden-framed windows. As a scorched young man appeared from the surf, this perfect echo returned full circle. Muhammad would now shepherd a naïve nine-eleven terrorist to his fate.