At the elevator, Keisha said, “You’re all set. The bellhop will show you to your room. I hope the Hajj is a rewarding experience for you, David.” She held out her hand.
David dared not touch her. “Thank you for your help.” His voice came out as a dry-throated croak. He did not make eye contact.
When he reached his room, the message light was flashing. Imam Ali had left his number.
David called back. “I am honored to speak with you, Imam.”
“Dawud, your father is so proud. Your Hajj is a wonderful gift for him.”
“I am excited and humbled to be visiting Mecca, Imam. I understand you are to instruct me. My mind is open, a blank page ready for your wisdom.”
“I have readied fourteen others for their first Hajj. Come in the morning. This mosque will act as your Mikat, your place of preparation. You may stay here tomorrow night before traveling to Mecca.”
David slept poorly in the luxurious suite Nazar had arranged for him. He worried about his ability to fulfill the complex pattern of prayer and mental cleansing the Hajj required. How wise his father had been to arrange for Imam Ali to guide him through this unique experience.
After an early breakfast in his room, he packed his things, checked out of the hotel, and took a cab to the mosque. The taxi dropped him at the base of a set of white marble steps. He climbed, removed his shoes, and walked through arched doors into the huge, domed building.
Imam Ali strode toward him across the prayer hall, and the sound of his footsteps echoed with meaning in the open space. Robed in plain black cotton, the Imam stood six feet tall, with a bronzed face and a full, neatly trimmed beard.
He pierced David with an intense stare, and when they shook hands, an electric charge traveled along David’s arm. “Welcome, Dawud, we are ready to begin. Please use my office to change.”
At the center of the prayer space, fourteen men, already dressed for Hajj, sat cross-legged in a semicircle. David hurried past them and into the Imam’s office.
David’s hands trembled as he removed his street clothes. From the suitcase he took out his father’s Ihram, wrapped one sheet around his waist like a skirt and the second around his torso, tossing the loose end over his right shoulder.
When he stepped from the Imam’s office into the Mosque, the air felt cool against his skin. The men opened a space for him, and he joined them on the floor, feeling self-conscious about his near-nakedness.
“Good, we are all here. Names are unimportant. You are pilgrims now and for the next six days until your pilgrimage is complete and you become hajis. Tomorrow, you will begin to fulfill the fifth pillar of Islam.”
The Imam gazed around the group, lingering on each face before continuing.
“I will never forget my first Hajj. The pilgrimage satisfied a deep yearning. Before, I missed something in my life; a piece of my soul remained dark. At Mount Arafat, Allah showed me the way to light that dark place. Each pilgrim experiences the Hajj in his or her own way. But one thing is certain; you are here today because Allah has shaped your lives to make this event happen. Now!”
This last word, spoken with force, echoed around the mosque.
As he studied the Imam’s still body and calm face, David’s heart pounded, sending blood whooshing through his ears. He had always believed Allah planned a greater purpose for him. The knowledge had drifted like mist at the corner of his eye. At times, during prayers, he turned inward and almost grasped Allah’s intention, but always it eluded him. This great man had felt the same. The Hajj had freed him. Allah had shown him his destined path. Perhaps it would also happen for David.
After a few seconds of silence, Imam Ali spoke in a soft voice, “Come. We must practice the key prayers and ensure the ceremony’s sequence is understood.”
In the evening, they used the mosque’s bathrooms to cleanse themselves according to the required rituals. The Imam handed out sleeping mats and showed them to a conference room where they would spend the night. As he was leaving, he turned to David.
“Dawud, can you spare a few moments?”
David followed the Imam to his office.
“Dawud, your father encouraged me to speak to you.”
Guilt and fear washed over David. Perhaps he had been remiss in his preparation. Maybe the Imam had listened to his clumsy prayers and decided he was not ready.
“After my first Hajj, I made the decision to become an Imam,” Ali said. “The path Allah had chosen for me blazed in my mind bright and clear. Since then, I have occasionally been the unwitting channel for Allah’s message to others. An ability I can neither initiate nor control.”
Sitting across the desk listening to the Imam, David’s body vibrated as though a low-voltage current coursed through his muscles. He clasped his hands together so the Imam would not see them tremble.
“Your father has witnessed this prescience firsthand. In a dream, I saw him leaving Lebanon and taking his family to America. The day after, your father called me for advice. He had received an offer from a Christian group that sponsored families, moving them from war-ravaged territories and giving them haven in Ohio. I told your father of the dream, and he followed the path Allah showed me.” When the Imam finished speaking, his eyes were closed, and he became still.
In the silence, David heard the distant sounds of traffic — the world without. He waited, and when Ali opened his eyes again he smiled at David, as if he had just noticed him in the room.
“Now you have come to me and yesterday, on the eve of your Hajj, I dreamed of you. In my dream, you were a warrior for Islam wielding a powerful weapon for Allah. I called your father and asked his advice. As always, he was wise beyond his years.”
David thought his heart would burst with pride. This holy man had taken advice from David’s baba.
“After your Hajj, I wish you to return to the mosque to meet another Imam.”
”If my father counsels this, I do it gladly. Who is this man, and why should we meet?”
“This prescience is a vague thing, Dawud, a series of feelings, nuances, and hints shrouded in mist. I believe, at Mecca, you will find the knowledge you seek.”
David walked back through the dark prayer-space guided by the light shining under the door of the conference room. He lay on his sleeping mat and pulled up his single cover. Unlike the previous night, the day’s worries did not churn in his mind. He did not dwell on the Imam’s words, nor think of the harlot on the plane. He had no fears. No qualms. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Tonight, he was in Allah’s hands.
Chapter 5
Fifteen men wrapped in white sheets and wearing open-toed sandals climbing aboard a bus at five in the morning would look strange in most parts of the world, but not Saudi Arabia. In Jeddah, they didn’t warrant a second glance.
Each selected an empty double seat. With so few clothes on, David felt uncomfortable sitting close to another man. He wondered was it the same for the others, or had they turned inward to focus on the experience to come.
The roads were choked with vehicles. The one-hour drive to Mecca became a five-hour crawl. The bus dropped them at a dusty parking lot.
Thousands of pilgrims leaked like white liquid between the buses and flowed toward a distant grouping of tall, elegant spires. The outline of Mecca’s buildings was familiar to David; a picture of Masjid Al Haram, the largest mosque in the world, hung on his office wall in Arizona. Covering 360,000 square meters, the equivalent of sixty-six contiguous football fields, this holiest of all mosques housed the Ka’ba. The place that billions of Muslims faced each day as they prayed.