Muhammad Read Free Page A

pulling and spread out my arms. “I am in Mecca, my son, delivered into her holy gates by a miracle. What feels like hatred must be God’s love in disguise.”
    Abdullah grunted. He had no interest in his father’s foolish miracle. All he cared about was being awakened out of a heavy sleep to walk through the predawn darkness. He had half a mind to rebel. He was the youngest son of ten, favored and handsome. His noble nose was so large that it touched the wine before his lips did. More than anything, though, he hated that his father, a rich man, bore the nickname “the Slave.”
    â€œIf I have to listen to you,” Abdullah said petulantly, “let me walk in the shade.” Water carriers stayed in the shade of houses and walls as much as they could, but now there was only a sliver of cool darkness, just enough for one man to creep into.
    â€œYou get the shade on the way back. We tossed for it.”
    â€œOn the way back the jugs are empty. It’s not fair.”
    I shrugged and leaned into my harness. The sun was at its highest point. The heat burned my skin like a stove.
    Love that feels like hate. That riddle had been on my mind for days. To me it was the whole mystery of life, only I hadn’t seen it before. Every curse is a blessing in disguise. Take this land of Arabia. Like a dangling jewel, it lies in the grasp of two empires. To the north the Byzantines hold out their fist,to the east the Persians. Surely that was a curse for a defenseless, scattered people like us. Yet the Arabs have never been conquered. The desert is too vast, too bleak. Wander off the trail for barely an hour, into the wasteland where only jinns and scorpions thrive, and you would be lucky to find your way back alive.
    Even there God has shown his mercy, because traders couldn’t sail around Arabia, not with pirates waiting in every cove and harbor. They were forced to march their precious silk and spices across the desert to Damascus. The result was prosperity for any town like Mecca lucky enough to be on their route. The tribes praised the gods and vowed to make sure every traveler had water when he entered the city. Which only led to the next curse, that the water had to be hauled in every day, no matter how many backs it broke.
    On and on life goes, like a necklace where one bead is a pearl and the next one poison.
    No one wants to hear me babble about it. It was only the noonday sun that made me open my mind to my petulant son. Two nights ago, my obsessions with God’s love became inescapable, and I lay awake with anxiety like a cold fever. I had taken a drastic, foolish step that day. I confessed to my cousins over a bout of wine drinking. It was at one of the tiny inns that cater to pilgrims near the Kaaba, where local men also meet.
    â€œI cannot find a single blessing from God that is not also a curse,” I said. “And no curse that is not also a blessing. Why is this so?”
    There was silence. What was I talking about? My cousins only discuss three things: money, women, and camels.
    One of them spoke up. “I lost another camel yesterday. Either my slave is faking the numbers, or he is letting raiding parties in for a pretty penny.”
    â€œIf he was paid off, they’d take more than one camel,” observed another cousin.
    â€œPerhaps,” the first cousin replied.
    But I wouldn’t be put off. “You don’t care if God has cursed us? God has spoken to every people but the Arabs. Are we lost children who will never find our father’s home again?”
    The company went silent again. It made them nervous to hear me say “God” instead of “the gods.” “It is so because it is so,” remarked the oldest cousin, who gets exceptionally drunk every day and is exceptionally respected. The others nodded, and the conversation ended there.
    I didn’t expect an argument. The inn falls under the shadow of the Kaaba. All the ground