Uneasy, Najjar decided it was time to go. His aunt was calling him again and sounded quite annoyed. He pulled the cigarette packet from his pocket and tossed it to the beggar.
“See for yourself,” he said, then turned to his aunt and yelled, “I’m coming!”
The beggar caught the rumpled pack but did not open it. Rather, he tossed it right back at Najjar, seeming to dare Najjar to reconsider. A bit annoyed himself now, Najjar walked over to the beggar, leaned down, opened the cigarette pack, and prepared to read the name Fulgencio Batista.
But to his shock, the words were not there.
Rather, next to the scratched-out name of Saddam Hussein was the name Muhammad Ibn Hasan Ibn Ali-in his own handwriting, no less.
Dumbfounded, Najjar looked back at the beggar. He tried to say something, but no words formed.
The young beggar spoke instead. “You will serve the Promised One when the time is right. You are not yet ready. But do not fear. The time has not yet come.”
Najjar suddenly felt icy cold. His fingers went numb. Now his uncle was demanding he come home with them. He looked up to ask his uncle for another few minutes. He had questions. He needed answers. But when he looked back, the beggar was gone.
15
Gouin Reservoir, Quebec, Canada
For David, it was even better than the stories he’d been told.
His older brothers had told him about their adventures, but they weren’t capable of describing the color of the sky in the dawn or the feeling of being so far removed from any other human beings. David felt like a pioneer and imagined that their group was as far as human society had ever gone. He spent the first full day glued to his dad’s side, getting an introduction to the walleye up close and by the dozen. He’d never seen a place so thick with fish, as if no one had ever fished here except the black bears. He and his father skimmed around the edges of the island in low, flat, jigging boats, and David began to learn how to work the sonar and how to feel a strike as he held the rod. The fish were low and deep in the lake, but they hauled them up and into their boat all day, stopping only to drift in a little bay as they munched PB &J and the last of the doughnuts the boys had bought at the airport in Montreal. The water was clear, the sky was deep blue, and even the simplest of sandwiches tasted wonderful. Of course, there would be plenty of fish for dinner.
David wondered how Marseille and Mr. Harper were getting on. The two had decided to spend the morning on a hike with the promise to rejoin the fishermen in midafternoon. David found himself looking forward to seeing her and even tried to prethink some better conversation than he’d been able to summon up thus far. He wondered if she even liked fishing, seeing as she and her dad were the only ones who hadn’t plunged in first thing. Either way, though he was a bit embarrassed to think it, he was actually glad she was here. Maybe his father hadn’t done such a bad thing after all.
David wasn’t disappointed, therefore, to see Marseille sitting by the shore when his father’s boat came to rest at the dock. As the two dads took the opportunity to grab a cold drink together and catch up on old times, David shyly asked Marseille if she was up for a walk. “Want to show me what you guys discovered all morning?” He hoped he didn’t sound too eager.
Smiling, she said, “Sure. We just walked along the shore for a long time and tried to see if we could make it around the whole circumference of the island. We weren’t even close. This place is huge!”
David grabbed a thermos of water, and the two wandered off together. After a few minutes, he realized they were heading straight for their “ghost town.”
Marseille pointed out the clawed screens of the cabins, and David decided it might be better not to make any more bear jokes. The A-frame seemed almost tidy among the group of shabby cabins, and with both of them exerting their full weight at the same moment, they were able to force open the front door. Inside they found a few sling-back chairs and a very basic bed frame supporting an ancient, thin mattress. David used his sweatshirt to dust off the chairs and dragged them over to the open doorway. They both plopped into them, feeling quite at home.
“Any good fish stories from your morning on the reservoir?” Marseille asked.
He liked the question, liked the way she asked it, liked the way she looked at him with real interest.
“It was great to be out with my dad. I’m a walleye rookie, but I caught more than I thought I would.”
David asked about her school and found out her favorite classes were English, creative writing, history, and drama. He asked about her hobbies and learned she played the piano, only because her mother wanted her to, but also the saxophone because she loved it. She ran cross-country but not terribly well; she loved poetry, Shakespeare, singing in the choir, and especially acting in school plays. She was looking forward to the spring, when she planned to try out for the part of Nellie Forbush in the production of South Pacific at her school. Her real dream was someday to play the role of Cosette in Les Mis on Broadway, or better yet, in London or Paris.
“What about politics?” he asked her.
“What about it?”
“Are you a Democrat or a Republican?”
“I have no idea,” she said.
“No idea?” he asked, incredulous.
“No, why should I?”
“Weren’t your parents Foreign Service officers in France, Italy, and Switzerland after getting out of Iran?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So doesn’t your father teach history and U.S. foreign policy at Princeton?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So wasn’t your mom a consultant for the Treasury Department for a few years before getting a job with some big investment bank in Manhattan?”
“She was, but how do you know all that?” Marseille asked.
David shrugged. “I don’t know-I hear things; I remember them. The point is, your parents are so interested in the world and in government. Didn’t any of that rub off on you?”
“I guess not,” Marseille said. “I can’t stand politics. It’s just a bunch of old men arguing and spending all of our money.”
David laughed. She was feisty and sure of herself, and he liked that. “Do you think it’s all going to get better if young people like us tune out the world’s problems and do nothing?”
“No,” she conceded.
“Well, shouldn’t you pick a team and root for it?”
“Maybe,” she said at last, pulling a box of Junior Mints from her knapsack and eating a few without offering him any. “All right, which party should I sign up for-Republicans or Democrats?”
David laughed again. “Well, it’s really not for me to say,” he said, sure she was going to prove to be a liberal Democrat like him but wanting her to come to her own conclusion lest he look too pushy. “How about this? I’ll give you a little test to see if you’re a liberal or a conservative. Then you decide which party is best for you. Deal?”
Marseille thought about that for a moment and liked it. “Deal.”
“Okay, let’s see. Are taxes too low or too high?”
“Too high.”
“Should government spend more or less on education, health care, the environment, and other important necessities?”
“Government spends too much as it is,” she said. “I think they should let people keep more of what they earn.”
David continued cautiously, surprised by her answers. “Should the government protect a woman’s right to choose?”
“You mean abortion? No way! It’s a baby, David. You can’t kill a baby in her mother’s womb.”
David gulped.
“Don’t you agree?” she pressed.
“Well…”
“Isn’t government supposed to protect life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?” she continued. “Life-it’s the first one, for crying out loud. Life comes first, then choice. If you switch that around, you’ve got chaos. Right?”