Part 7 (1/2)
Having no idea that this girl was his son's new friend, the one Thar met just yesterday, Mustafa asked: ”Which mother? What did she say?”
”On our way to the Grave of Lazarus, Mother told me that the Savior would resurrect you from the dead-just as He brought Lazarus back to life.”
”Me?”
”Yes, you Daddy!”
Mustafa turned toward us: ”She believes I'm her father! How strange! Who is this child?”
”My name is Schamah, the 'forgiveness,' and you'll find my Mother over there in the house.” Once again holding up her outstretched hands, she pleaded: ”Just like you used to, carry me in your arms as we go to her.” His face lost its color. White as a corpse, he retreated a few steps backward. His voice faltered as he asked: ”Schamah-the forgiveness?” He directed the next question to his son: ”Was this really the small girl from yesterday?”
”Yes, it is she,” he nodded.
”My word, oh my word! Do you know her father's name?”
Before the boy could answer, Schamah spoke up: ”Truly, you are my Father! Your name is Achmed Bustani. Don't you know me anymore? If not, I can't help but cry. Lift me up and take me to Mother!”
It's impossible to describe what happened next. Simultaneously, Mustafa Bustani let out a cry and fell to his knees. He stretched out his arms to Schamah and pulled her towards him. Nonstop, he kissed her cheeks as he cried out: ”Schamah-Schamah-the forgiveness! Just like he told me in my dream, has it happened? These were his words: 'I will send you my forgiveness- she comes here from the East. Every day, look for her!' I have done so, and now she has arrived!”
Suddenly, Schamah withdrew from his caresses. With both arms, she pushed him away, looking him straight in the eyes as she said this to him: ”It's not true; it's not so! I like you, but you are not my Daddy. One more time, you must go back into the Tomb in order to be fully brought back to life.”
He repeated her request: ”Yet one more time back inside the Grave? Yes, I clearly understand. There is still something inside of me that must die. Until then and for the time being, I am your daddy's brother. Oh dear, dear child of my heart-from now on, you have my love, just as if I were your father.” She smiled when she answered: ”If you wish, then I'll do so. Now, carry me to my Mother!”
”First, please tell me something else.”
”What?”
”Do you know the date when your daddy died?
”Oh yes, Mother and I certainly remember that day. I can never forget that date, because she recalls it so often. He died on the fifteenth day of the Month of Adar, one day after the Jewish Holiday of Purim.”
Mustafa leaped to his feet. His face took on an indescribable expression: ”Did you hear what she just said? The 15th day of Adar!
That's the same day of my dream. He told me that he had died and that he would send me his Schamah, his forgiveness. Allah, Allah! How wonderful all of this has turned out. I honor you. I treasure you. I adore you.”
”To Mommy, to Mommy!” pleaded the child. What she saw and heard were all too much for her to understand just now.
He gathered Schamah into his arms and lifted her up: ”Yes, I'll take you to your mother. Where will we find her?”
Clinging close to my side, Thar was ready to go with them: ”At the home of Abd en Nom.”
Still full of excitement, his father took almost hesitant steps in the direction of the house-where he soon vanished inside.
Thar thoughtfully pondered aloud: ”If I may not go inside and hear what is said, I'll just have to speculate on what's taking place. Father is right; marvelous things still happen. I myself played a big part in today's miracle. Without my father knowing, the Donkey Driver and I came up with the plan that involved a note which would eventually lead Schamah to this place-and at this time.
Effendi, you and your wife have to agree that all of this could not have turned out any better. Wait for me here! As soon as I put all of this together, I'll ask you to hear me out.”
He then left us. My wife and I went on to visit the ruins where we quietly shared our thoughts, almost as if we were in a church. We were completely alone. The site's guardian had already gone for the day. The entrance to the Tomb lay open. Oh what thoughts seemed to come forth from that wide-open door. Daylight began to wane. Oh what a pure and clean breath of fresh air drifted down on us from the heights of the Mount of Olives. Inside of me, I heard something-or was it from somewhere outside? Was someone standing behind us? No human presence could compare to this feeling of a powerful force that embraced us as it seemed to call out: ”Lazarus, come out!” Yes, nothing is so surreal as the physical a.s.sociation with miracles that seems to connect the dead with the living.
From somewhere up above, softly sublime and aerial two-part harmony voices floated down to us-once again, the boys were singing ”The Song of Bethany,” recalling how the Savior went to visit His brothers and sisters. Per Thar's instructions, the boys had climbed behind the ruins and were now repeating the verses they had sung at the Pool of Siloam. It was the song of Christ, the one who caused the blind to see and the dead to live again. As I thought about this song, it almost seemed irreverent and profane to use common words to allude to matters of blindness and death. Such things are deeply rooted in feelings. Herein, I can't instruct you- I can only tell my story.
When the song faded away like an evening vesper from the time of Christ, Thar returned to us. He and his playmates had parted ways, and each had returned home. Once again, his father came out of the house. His sister-in-law and Schamah accompanied him. When I saw their expressions, these biblical words came to mind: ”And their faces glistened brilliantly.” Thar saw it too: ”What an hour, what a blessed time,” he said.
”Adding in the song, who could have arranged all this?” I asked.
Pointing to himself with both hands, the boy answered: ”I was the one.”
”Were you really the one who's responsible? To me, it seemed as if this was some sort of greeting from your mother.”
The widow joined in: ”It's also from my departed husband whose life ended, yet his spirit lives on as his dying wish now comes to fulfillment.”
Mustafa Bustani turned to his son: ”If all of this truly came about through your mother's and my brother's last requests-and not from you-surely you have done more than your share, and you deserve our thanks. Actually, Abd en Nom told us the name of the architect who orchestrated today's joint-ventures. The compa.s.sion which your mother planted in your young soul has born fruit and brought blessings upon us. Schamah, the forgiveness, will be living with us and-”
”In our house?” Thar quickly asked.
”Yes.”
”With her mother?”
”Yes.”
”For how long?'