Read The Aisha Prophecy Online
Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers
The Aisha Prophecy (47 page)
He said to the woman, “This man knows her. He was here.”
Clew groaned within himself. Now he wished he hadn’t come. The woman asked him, “What might you tell us about her?” But she asked it in a way that gave him a sense that she was afraid of his answer. Or at least of a flesh and blood answer.
He said what he imagined Sadik would have said. He answered, “She touched all our hearts.”
The answer seemed to please her. “She’s gone on to touch others?”
Clew left the question unanswered.
The woman said, “If you’re wondering, we are not deluded. We don’t know whether Aisha has been reborn. But she might have been. And she might have been here. That’s what draws us. Her spirit. We’re feeling it here. Do you know of a better place to look for it?”
“In here,” said Clew. He touched a finger to his heart. It’s what he thought Sadik would have done.
The woman fidgeted with the edge her scarf. She said, “I find I want to ask whether you’re of our faith, but a voice inside tells me I should not.”
“One should listen to one’s inner voices,” he told her. That sounded even more like Sadik.
The woman asked, “Have you touched her?”
Touched her? Sure, he had. She got a birthday hug from him. But he answered, for some reason, “Just as she has touched me.”
Clew’s left arm, in shirtsleeves, was resting on his door. His right arm rested lightly on his steering wheel. The woman eyes were on his right hand. She said, “If my husband should give me permission, will you allow me to touch the hand that touched her?”
The husband grumbled. “Since when do you ask my…?”
“I’m asking it now. This is not an ordinary man.”
The husband said, “If he’s willing, you have my permission. In return, will you promise to have something to eat?” He said to Clew, “They’re fasting. Almost all of them.”
Clew offered his right hand, it’s palm facing downward. All he knew about offering a hand to a Muslim was that to offer the left hand was offensive. He wasn’t sure about palm up or palm down, but in this case it didn’t seem to matter. She took it in both of her own.
She closed her eyes. She rocked back and forth. He felt a shudder go through her. He said to her, “With that, I’m afraid I must leave you.”
She released him. She asked, “Will you tell me your name?”
“It’s not important. Goodbye. And please eat.”
He drove away slowly, straight ahead. In his rearview mirror he could see that woman. She was showing her hand to the others. Faces turned in his direction. He could see their necks craning. Several stepped into the street to get a better look at the car of this man who knew Aisha.
What was it Sadik said about Aisha coming? He said no one can fight it because she’s really come. He said her spirit is already out there.
And it is.
That’s the power of faith and it’s the power of myth. Aisha is here. The idea of her is here. Women like those women standing vigil back there back will probably soon start to organize. They’ll form sisterhoods something like the Nasreens. They’ll probably call them Aisha Societies. They’ll start doing the work that Aisha would do. For Muslim women. Perhaps for all women.
Sadik was entirely correct. It was real. And this could only be a good thing.
And yet Clew still felt something eating at him. He knew what it was. A touch of guilt.
“This is no ordinary man,” said that woman. And he made it worse by not giving her his name. Jack Smith. Ivan Goldberg. Any name would have done. Then poof, no more mystery. Just a townie passing through. What he’s not is some other guardian angel who speaks in cryptics, who embodies love and kindness and who drives a three-year old Buick. The damned thing’s even white. So is his shirt.
He should turn around.
But no, let it go.
Drive over to Sam’s place. Kick back with a beer. And try to stop wondering whether Sam’s ruined building has now become a permanent shrine because he didn’t have the sense to keep his mouth shut. Whether sixty will soon be six hundred.
He’ll wait a day or two. And then he’ll check the internet.
He’ll see how the word is spreading and whether he’s part of it.
He’ll see whether he’s the angel of the Buick.
END
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