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The young man approached the crowded market. He
was dressed as a student, with a loose pale jacket
that reached to the middle of his thighs. He walked
quickly with a definite purpose, a destination.
His eyes were clear and intense and he was filled
with resolve, nearly exultant. He was on the way
to the market, and he was on his way to Paradise.
The feelings of powerlessness and isolation that
had been his nearly as long as he had been aware
of his name were gone. He had seven kilograms of
Semtex duct-taped around his body, armed with detonators,
and the switch was beneath his jacket. All he need
to do to enter the Paradise of Martyrs was to slap
his chest, as if in declaration of his identity,
of his power.
His cousin, the leader of his cell, his recruiter,
had described to him the next moments. He would
not die. Only his enemies, the infidels, would die.
Instead he would be bodily transported to Paradise
- a world of green grass, all of the pleasures forbidden
to his people on Earth, flowing water, and seventy-two
virgins, to be possessed by only himself. The thought
of earthly women had terrified him. He had no power
over them, but now there would be beautiful women
that would exist only to please him. This had been
the promise that had finally turned him, that even
surpassed the greatness of his martyrdom for his
people and for God.
He walked into the market until he reached a place
where the crowd was so dense that nearly no one
was succeeding in moving. Here he stopped in his
tracks, and stood as still as stone. He was the
only person who was not trying to push toward somewhere
else, and in the moments before the concussion,
those nearest to him were aware of the purpose of
his immobility. There was no path to safety. The
crowd was too thick. He raised his hand and held
a single long syllable, as loud as he could shout,
and then he struck the switch.
He heard no sound. For a terrible, brief moment
he was surrounded by white light, absolute in its
brightness. Then there was darkness and silence.
There was pain, but just as having rolled out of
bed and hit his head on the floor. He seemed intact
and aware and alive, just as his cousin had promised.
But what now? This was not Paradise. This was darkness
and silence. He waited for Paradise to appear until
he grew afraid, and then he shouted. The sound of
his voice startled him. No voice answered him for
what seemed a long time.
Then, startlingly close to him, a match was struck.
It illuminated the face of an old Bedouin. His head
was covered in coarse red cloth and his robes were
of a blue so deep that it seemed to be the fabric
of darkness itself. He even thought that within
it, he could glimpse stars. The old man's hand descended,
and he lit a small oil lamp. The scent of its smoke
made the young martyr a bit dizzy, and his voice
broke as he asked, "Is this Paradise?"
The old man took his time speaking.
"Perhaps," he said, in a rough voice,
barely above a whisper.
"Are you God?" asked the young man.
"No more than you," he replied. "Why
have you come here?"
"I am a martyr in God's name, and I killed
many of his enemies in the market," he said
with pride. "I have come to enter the Paradise
of Martyrs. And if you are not God, then who are
you?"
"I am a kind of helper, and a kind of gatekeeper,"
replied the old man. "And perhaps, young man,
you may enter Paradise. But I am curious. Perhaps
I may ask you a few questions?"
The young man had not expected any encumbrance.
He had been told that he would enter Paradise instantly,
as soon as he had completed his work, but this seemed
a small enough task, especially as he would momentarily
have his martyrs' rewards.
"Ask, if you must," he said impatiently.
He looked into the old man's eyes and suddenly was
aware that he was a dervish, an ancient mystic,
even a magus, perhaps. Again he was uncertain, and
the old man's eyes seemed to be as deep as wells.
"Do you surrender absolutely to the will of
God?" asked the dervish.
The youth was taken aback at having his commitment
questioned.
"Yes! Of course! Is not my very presence here
proof of this?"
"We shall see, we shall see… Does God
reside in the heart of all creatures?"
"No! God is in the highest of Heavens, and
all men and beasts are placed in the world to humbly
do His will, to follow his plan, and to rid the
world of those who do not surrender to Him."
"And how do you know God's will?
"I am told by the Mullah, and by those who
lead us into battle with the infidel!"
"Do you believe that love in your heart can
be love from God, and in the heart of God, for in
fact your heart is God's heart, and that God looks
upon the world through your eyes? That your eyes
are the eyes of God?"
The young man was growing agitated. He had never
heard such words, and from a holy man!
"How can such a thing be? My heart is humble
as dirt, not exalted as the heart of God must be.
I am a million miles away from the glory of God.
I am as a worm in the soil, before God!
The old man smiled, and paused, and quietly went
on.
"What of great persons, great scholars, teachers,
great peacemakers. They do not seem so humble as
you. Do they act against the will of God?"
"I don't know. I only did what I could. I acted
for our cause, and God's"
"Are your actions acts of God's will, acting
through you?"
"Of course! I surrender to God's will!"
"And you have already told me how you come
to know God's will… And if others act in ways
that are forbidden by your… faith… do
they not also act according to God's will?"
"Of course not. They act against the will of
God. They do not submit to the will of God. They
are fallen and they are infidels.
"Then you do not believe this - that we are
all equally parts of God, and that God lives in
us and through our lives, and that to kill others,
any others, is to kill God? And to kill God within
you?"
"No! What are you saying? This is all blasphemy!"
"Perhaps what you have done, through what you
have called 'surrender to God's will' is to deny
the will and judgment and compassion that has been
entrusted to you by God's presence within you, as
to each creature to the limit of its capacities,
which none may know, as they always run ahead of
our knowledge… And that what you have done
is simply the will of those with greed or vengeance
or fear in their hearts, and it is in fact the denial
of God, not surrender."
"I am being tested! Or you are Shaidan and
I am in Hell, not Paradise. I deny all these things
you say, I am a man of pure faith and I place my
fate in God's hands!"
"Indeed you are, and you have been tested.
By my questions and by your acts. Be calm, now.
And follow me. Do not fall behind, as this lamp
does not cast light very far."
They walked for a time, and came to a great door
that was iridescent as mother of pearl. The old
man pushed upon the door and it fell open as if
light as air. Beyond the door a luminous mist parted
and gathered as if becoming solid forms. They entered
a meadow filled with green grass, by the bank of
a great, clear river. Nearby was a splendid palace
of pale green marble, adorned with ornaments of
gold.
"Come," said the dervish, "let us
collect your virgins and all of the rewards of a
Martyr of God!" They entered the palace. Arrayed
on ebony tables was a feast as the youth could not
have imagined, with exotic fruits and jars of wine
and honey.
"Indeed, here you may partake of wine, for
is this not Paradise?"
"And where are my virgins?"
"Ah, yes, your virgins…"
The old Bedouin glanced with amusement into the
youth's eyes and softly clapped his hands. Soon
seventy-two robed women, all in white, filed into
the great hall.
"They are all covered like women of the world
from which I came - how can I choose the best among
them?"
The old man laughed softly.
"Is this not Paradise? Any you may choose will
always be the best. It must be so."
The youth looked down the row of women before him,
and chose a woman of nearly his own height. Suddenly,
the old man was not to be seen. The youth was seemingly
alone with his chosen virgin. He led her to an alcove
filled with soft pillows, she walking a few steps
behind him. He turned and pulled the cord around
the top of her robe, and it fell to the floor around
her feet. Before him was a woman of greater beauty
than he had ever imagined. She seemed to be nearly
the same age as himself, young, with the fullness
of adulthood only recently reached. This exquisite
girl was here to be taken, and possessed by him
alone! He was filled with desire, and he immediately
pushed her to the soft bed of the cushions and fell
upon her, lying upon her even as he wrestled his
own garments from his body enough for the entry
which was his only thought. Without preamble, he
quickly and forcefully entered her.
Instantly, upon the penetration her hymen, she vanished
in a bright flash of white light. The young man
jumped to his feet, still erect, unfulfilled. He
looked around for the old one, who was now standing,
leaning against a column, a short distance away.
"What happened?" he cried, "Where
is my beautiful virgin?"
The old man looked at him with an expression of
weariness.
"Why are you surprised?" he asked. "Oh.
Obviously, you haven't thought this vision of Paradise
through all the way. Once she was no longer a virgin
to you, she could not remain here in your Paradise.
You have lost that which you most desired."
The youth was stunned. Suddenly his virgins were
only there to torment him. They could never satisfy
him. He could see them, even caress them, but he
could never consummate an act of desire with them.
"Come, we will think this through over a goblet
of wine," said the old Bedouin. "It will
relax you, and you can think more clearly."
The first taste from the goblet seemed to him bitter,
but the next was pleasant, and the next was wonderful.
Unaccustomed to wine, he was soon lying supine on
the pillows.
"I feel like I have once again entered Paradise.
I will deal with the problems of the virgins in
a little while. Right now I must sleep." And
so he slept.
Soon he began to dream. He dreamt he was a woman,
dressed in white.
The old man leaned over him, and softly he spoke.
"So again I find myself at this sad place.
You acted out of your fear of insignificance, and
as so often happens, your fear brought the thing
that was feared. Beyond meaningless destruction
and a few shouts of your name in the streets, your
act is insignificant. Perhaps you brought an end
to the life of someone who could have brought your
people peace. This cannot be known. "I was
once as you. I had killed dozens in what seemed
a righteous act. I had come to this place, too.
But when the gatekeeper questioned me on the justice
of my acts, I came to the thought that perhaps I
had been mistaken. If only we had had such thoughts
in life. So I am still in this place, and I will
be, until one such as you comes to doubt the righteousness
of his actions, performed for the gain of others,
for empty promises of Paradise, or out of the desperation
born of your fears. When I came to doubt that I
indeed followed God in my acts of destruction, the
old gatekeeper moved on, through a doorway I have
never to this moment again seen. And so shall I,
when I welcome one who is capable of questioning
whether his submission is indeed to God. And who
then may reclaim that part of God that he was given
at birth. He shall then become the Helper, and like
me, remain in this place where time does not pass,
and question all who would claim to be Martyrs of
God, and only then I shall move on to whatever reward
follows.
"But now you must go to the reward that your
choices have brought you, and I return to await
the next in a seemingly endless line of boys, such
as you were."
The girl awoke in her chamber, at the soft sound
of a handclap. She had no memory of any day before
this one. But she still felt the shadow of a dream
that had been filled with fire, death and then darkness.
She was aware of what she must do next. It was her
destiny to be the lover of a great hero, of a Martyr
to God. She thought such a man must be wise, gentle,
compassionate, as befits one capable of such selflessness.
The clap she heard was the summons for her to consummate
her purpose. She went to meet her hero.
Then he was before her, but he was a mere boy, no
older, to look upon him, than she herself. He led
her to the soft cushions lining the alcove in the
great hall. Still she anticipated being consumed
with love. But he rushed toward her and tore her
garments from her. He was impatient and rough and
cruel. There were no kind words, no ministrations,
no preamble - only the fiercest of attacks. His
rough hands bruised her arms. His teeth bit her
shoulder.
She was about to scream as he entered her, and in
the instant of annihilation it was clear who she
had been, and who this boy was, and through the
fire and force that was about to claim her, she
could see the fearful faces turned toward her in
the marketplace.
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