“O Allah, give me the strength to do what is right, that Your House may forever be sanctified.” With that, he reached to push open the latch.
And then a shadow fell on him from behind.
Umar whirled, his hand reaching for his sword instinctively. And then he saw that it was a member of his clan, a slight fellow named Nuaym who was perpetually cheerful and posed no threat.
Nuaym smiled and clasped his hand and then looked carefully at his tall clansmen’s face.
“Umar! Are you all right? You look feverish.”
Umar stared at the little fellow with irritation. He was not about to be distracted from his mission by this silly fool.
“I burn with the fire of justice.”
Nuaym raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise.
“What are you talking about?”
There was no harm in telling him. He was a member of his own clan and could be trusted. And if Umar did not emerge alive from the house, Nuaym would tell the other sons of the Bani Adi to sing songs of his heroism.
“Today I have sworn a vow to kill that heretic Muhammad and end this sedition in our city.”
Nuaym’s mouth fell open in shock.
“Are you mad? The Bani Hashim will kill you in retaliation!”
Umar shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling like two mountains in an earthquake.
“So be it.”
Nuaym put a friendly hand on his clansmen’s arm as if to pull him away from this madness.
“Come, let us return to my house,” he said brightly. “The heat of the day makes it hard to think wisely. We can talk about this over a cold drink in the shade.”
Umar removed Nuaym’s hand, squeezing the fingers painfully in warning.
“Get out of my way, old friend.”
“Umar, listen to reason-”
Umar gabbed Nuaym by his collar and lifted the small man off his feet until their eyes met.
“No! I have sworn a vow to set things right today, and no man can stop me.”
He dropped his clansman and turned back to face the house. Unsheathing his sword, he pushed open the gate.
“If you wish to set things right, you should look closer to home!”
Umar froze. Slowly, like a stubborn boulder finally giving way under the force of an avalanche, he turned to face Nuaym.
When Umar spoke, his voice was soft. But there was an edge there that was more terrifying than the roar of a thousand charging elephants.
“What are you saying?”
Nuaym looked deeply frightened, but he managed to meet Umar’s gaze. He hesitated, his eyes flicking to the sword that now glittered lethally in the assassin’s hand.
“Your sister Fatima is one of them.”
Umar’s eyes went wide. Of all the possible things that Nuaym could have said, this was the one he had not expected.
“You lie!” Umar’s sword began to rise into attack position.
“She has embraced Muhammad and follows his path. Ask her yourself.”
Umar’s face turned bright red. He stepped forward and for a moment Nuaym believed the sword would soon slice open his neck. Umar bent down until his face was right next to his clansman and Nuaym could see the redness that ringed his dark eyes.
“If you are spreading calumny against my family, your blood will join Muhammad’s on my sword.”
And then, without another word, Umar turned and stormed down the path toward his sister’s home.
Nuaym fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands, grateful to still be alive. At that moment, I emerged from the shadows of the alley where I had been secretly watching Umar’s approach.
I walked over to Nuaym and saw that he was shaking. Not knowing what else to do, I put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Nuaym started at my touch, half expecting that Umar had returned to finish him off. When he saw it was just me, he breathed deeply to calm himself. And then he took my hand in his. I could feel the cold dampness on his palm.
“Thank you, little one, for your warning.”
Even though I was a child, I knew what Nuaym had done. He had run out of options, but I was still upset that he had betrayed Umar’s sister Fatima, who had been a secret believer for the past year and had always been kind to me and my family.
“But Umar’s sister-”
Nuaym shook his head, and I could see shame written on his gaunt features.
“I had no choice,” he said, regret filling his voice. He stared down the path where Umar had charged off, still bearing his sword. “May God protect her from Umar’s wrath.”
10
Fatima bint al-Khattab sat inside the small living quarters of her stone hut in the southern quarter of Mecca. She had covered her mousy brown hair with an indigo scarf that her brother Umar had given her for her wedding. Her husband, Said, knelt beside her, his head bowed reverently as she read from the leather hide that she had received that morning from Ali, containing words from the holy Qur’an that had just been revealed to the Messenger the night before.
She swayed back and forth like a candle rustling in the wind as the Words of God fell from her lips in the form of majestic poetry.
In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate.
Ta Ha.
It was not to distress you that We sent down the Qur’an to you
But as a reminder for those who hold God in awe
A Revelation from the One who created the Earth and the high Heaven
The Lord of Mercy Established on the Throne.
Everything in the Heavens and on Earth
Everything between them
Everything beneath the soil
Belongs to Him
Whatever you may say aloud
He knows what you keep secret
And what is even more hidden.
God-there is no god but Him
The most excellent Names belong to Him.
As she recited in her soft, melodic voice, she saw Said wipe tears from his eyes. She understood his emotion, although she had always kept a tight lid on expressing her own. A trait learned under the harsh hand of her father, al-Khattab, who brooked no weakness in his off-spring, whether male or female.
Said was so different from him and from her fiery brother, Umar. He had a gentle soul and was more comfortable playing with children and tending to sheep than engaging in the cruelties of war or the hunt. Other women might have thought him weak, but Fatima loved the softness of his heart. For a girl who had been raised in a house where anger was demonstrated more than love, his kindness and sweet touch were like the calm breeze that brought peace when a storm had subsided.
Said gently touched the cowhide parchment in her hands, stroking it like a lover. Like most men she knew, he could not read or write and relied on her to express the sounds that came with the strange lines and jots that he had never been taught to understand. Though Fatima had much bitterness toward her father for the roughness of her upbringing, she was grudgingly thankful that he had forced her and her brother to learn to read and write. Said had long felt ashamed that his wife was better educated than he, but when he discovered that the Messenger of God himself was illiterate and relied on his wife, Khadija, to read to him and write his correspondence, he had been comforted.
“What do those words mean at the beginning?” he asked. “Ta Ha. I’ve never heard that before.”
“I don’t know,” she answered with a small shrug. “I asked Ali and he said they were sacred letters wrapped in mystery, and only God knew what they signified.”