The Chosen One

“How do you know of these things, woman? They’ve told me nothing of such plans.”

“They will. They’re waiting until the last possible moment so you’ll not have time to think before you step onto that bus. They’re afraid if they give the backward Algerian an instant to reflect, he’ll lose his nerve and fail them.”

“Why would they think that? I’m a proud soldier in Allah’s blessed war. I’d eagerly give my life in the service of the jihad. How could they think I’d fail them?”

“Because despite their brave talk none of them would ever make such a sacrifice.”

Surprise spread across his features. He looked into her shimmering eyes. The truth of what she was saying was there for him to see. Even so, he didn’t understand why the unfamiliar girl had risked the obvious danger involved in approaching him with such news.

“Why are you telling me these things?” Muhammad asked. “Why should you care one way or another what becomes of a poor boy from the distant deserts?”

“Because if you’re really the Mahdi, Allah put you here for a glorious purpose. If what they say about you is true, then you’re here to master the planet for Islam. You’re here to guide us through this world’s coming end. So going against Allah’s wishes and blowing yourself up in a suicide attack won’t carry you to paradise. It would be the greatest sin you could commit. To ignore his plan for your life is unthinkable. The consequences of such a dire act would be beyond comprehension. Despite my acceptance of many of the Western ways, I too am a fervent believer. Once I stumbled across their dirty little plot, I knew I had to do everything within my power to stop them. You can’t throw your life away. You’ll not be permitted to violate Allah’s command. I’ll see to that. You’ll not be allowed to destroy yourself to serve the betrayers of our God.”

“How could you think I’d ever violate the will of Allah? My life, my every breath, is spent in learning how to serve him with all my being.”

“Then serve him.”

“How?”

“Tomorrow you’ll tell the Syrian puppets you’re leaving the Martyrs’ Brigade.”

“What if they won’t let me go?”

“You leave them to me. If they refuse to free you, then by sunset each will find himself in French chains. They’ll be on their way to spending their lives behind bars.”

“You’ve the power to do so?”

“When your father’s one of the richest men in Egypt, you’ve the power to do most anything.”

Muhammad glanced at the clock at the far end of the room. It had grown quite late. The library was minutes from closing.

“Then tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll trust in Allah’s wisdom and find a new path to paradise. For now, I’d best be on my way. It’s a long walk home, and I’ve grown quite tired.”

“There’s no need to walk. My car’s right outside. I’d gladly drive you.”

Once again, an astonished look came to his emaciated face. “Such would be impossible. It’s bad enough I chose to speak with you. To let you drive me to my home would be unthinkable.”

“Nonsense. Now gather your books and let’s get out of here. There’s a wonderful Turkish café nearby that serves the most delicious coffees. We’ll stop on the way and have a cup and maybe a few pastries to celebrate our meeting. So far, tonight’s discussion’s been much too serious. You’ll find I’m a lot of fun once you get to know me. Come on, I want to see if I’ve got what it takes to make the Mahdi laugh.”

Muhammad shook his head in exasperation. “Impossible. Just impossible. Even if accompanying you weren’t a violation of everything I’ve spent my life learning, I’m an extremely poor man. There’s no money in my life for Turkish coffee.”

“Well, there’s more than enough in my father’s life. So stop arguing and let’s go.”

“Understand this, woman, you’re wasting your time with such outrageous offers. I’ll not ride in your car. And I’m certainly not going to a restaurant with you to laugh and eat pastries. Now if you’d excuse me, it really is a long way home.”

He got up and headed for the door.

* * *

—

Two hours later a sparkling Mercedes pulled up in front of the run-down apartment building where Muhammad lived. He quickly said his good-byes and got out of the car.

Sharif waved as she sped away.

He stood on the crumbling sidewalk, watching her disappear into the night. There was a smile on the desert descendant’s face that engulfed him. Sharif had been right. The coffee and pastries had been wonderful. And for the first time, Muhammad had found someone with the ability to make him laugh.

The Mahdi was head over heels in love.

From that night on they were inseparable. Within days they’d grown to be fast friends.

And much to her surprise, within weeks Sharif found herself as deeply in love with the uncommon Algerian as he was with her.

For Muhammad those early hours and passing weeks were the most wonderful, and the most frustrating, of his life. Tradition called for him to end the relationship. But he couldn’t stand the idea of spending a single day where he didn’t see her marvelous face or join in her boisterous laughter.

Thoughts of her stole his every waking moment. Sharif’s radiant smile filled his being and devoured his consciousness, causing his heart to soar. For the first time in his life, Muhammad’s sleep wasn’t filled with the essence-stealing images of his tortured past. Sharif’s sweet smile had forced the terrifying visions from him and replaced them with a peace he’d never believed existed. His hatred for the nonbelievers remained. Yet the fierce fires burning in his eyes were soon joined by a new look. A look of complete contentment. A look of love for Sharif.

Through Sharif, Muhammad experienced the ways of modern man. With her help, his uncle was getting his wish. Nevertheless, even in Sharif’s arms, his resentment of the Western world would never completely die. For the distrust he held for those who’d caused his parents’ deaths was too strong to ever overcome.

Muhammad’s time in France was rushing past. During his senior year word came that the health of his uncle was failing. The lengthy period entombed as a French prisoner had taken a greater toll on Sallah than anyone suspected. In a matter of months, he would begin the pious journey to his honored place in the next world. The moment was approaching when Muhammad would be called upon to lead his struggling village. While his strength ebbed, Sallah insisted his nephew finish his final semester of school. Even so, Muhammad knew the instant his examinations were complete he’d pack his insignificant possessions and return to his faraway home.

With each disappearing hour, his time with Sharif was slipping away. Weeks faded. Months flew by. Spring arrived. In two months Muhammad would leave France. Sharif was appalled by his apparent indifference. She was certain of his love for her. Yet she was becoming just as assured that eight weeks from now he was going to walk out of her life forever.