“…in the surrounding areas, wherever a man directed his steps, there was nowhere that his feet or eyes did not encounter a corpse or someone in the last refuges of agony, or even a great number of people in this unhappy state.”

They had finally, after a difficult march across the path of the ‘fecal storm’, and over the heaped and scattered bodies of countless people too numerous to be scavenged and still of whole aspect minus their eyes, attained the safety of a large house. This house had a well-girded courtyard, finely painted woodwork trimming the doorways, and the family members laid out as if in a besieged city, some putrefied, others freshly dead, all covered or wrapped with rugs and tapestries; the most recent deaths less so, a sure sign that their mortician was in failing health. The court gave some shelter for the beasts, which were left there against the windward wall, while the party raced into the greeting room, the main feature of such a well-to-do household, where visitors would be entertained out of sight and sound of the servants and women toiling to prepare the feast.

The storm outside pelted the walls of the house and tore at the silk-curtained windows of the loft level, making their refuge seem all the more welcome.

Upon a cushioned chair—oh such a rarity in treeless Egypt—sat a man who had once been both wealthy and strong, and whose house here on the outskirts of Cairo had become his family’s tomb. Abd al-Latif checked the man’s life signs and noted that he had passed within the hour.

Yusuf spoke up grudgingly, “He was someone of account. No rascals have raided his yard for flesh, and none have pillaged his household goods. Also, I do not smell the taint of flesh; his kitchen has not been defiled. I swear it.”

Ibis spoke through ground teeth, “Until now there has been no one to steal from this man. How shall we precede Master?”

The clarity of this moment seemed to reinvigorate him. To be standing before a man who had died with dignity amidst the overreaching want of mankind’s most brutal dearth.

“Ibrahm please read from the Holy Koran before this man, where he died, still master of his house, on his familial throne.”

“What passage Master?” spoke the boy, as solemn as a sufi.

“The Inevitable, Verse sixty-five I think.”

“It is Verse fifty-five Master. Might I suggest lines ten through twenty as a fitting recital?”

“Of course Ibrahm. You are such a good student, the Holy Koran ever at hand.”

Abd al-Latif bowed to the corpse forgivingly and arranged his clothing in the most dignified manner as Ibrahm recited from the Holy Koran;

“And they were foremost on earth—the foremost still.

These are they who shall be brought nigh to God,

In gardens of delight; A crowd of the former

And few of the later generations;

On inwrought couches

Reclining on them face to face;

Aye-blooming youths go round about to them

With goblets and ewers and cups of flowing wine;

Their brows ache not from it, nor fails the sense;

And with such Fruits as shall please them best.”

Finished with assuring the dignity of this man who faced death with honor, and so proud of his quick-study boy who had not let a missing eye dampen his spirit by a single breath, Abd al-Latif turned with a smile—the first in months—for Ibrahm, who would surely make a fine son.

“A fine recitation Ibrahm, and”—‘There he stands without the Koran!’

The filth storm outside had abated, replaced by a gentle breeze.

Beadra having offered Ibrahm the Koran, had shrank back in fear from the radiant light in his single eye, and was cradling the book below her bosom.

Ibis and Yusuf let their eyes bug in astonishment.

Tuman and Shamballa held hands and smiled at Ibrahm like doting parents.

Only Niko was not speechless, “As you can see Master, us donkey boys are not so stupid. Ibrahm said he is going to teach me to remember like that too.”

“Yes, of course Niko. Please, go with Yusuf and ready the horses so we might overtake the Turks. We do not want them plundering such places as this if there are more.”

He came to one knee before Ibrahm to look into his eye, which seemed to have expanded somewhat with an over dilated pupil, particularly odd during the day. Ibis was shivering and his skin turning a pale hue.

‘Oh the poor superstitious savage fears for Ibrahm.’

“Ibrahm, God blesses us in unfathomable ways—my mother told me so when I was your age. The loss of your eye has resulted in the expanding of not only your other eye but your mind as well. You have become a prodigy. We will seek out the wisest men of Bagdad. Yours will be a blessed life.”

Ibrahm smiled, and took his hand, helping him to rise, with a ready strength that had not been present in the boy before, and was comparable to the strength of a laboring man. Abd al-Latif felt as if he had been blessed by God with a medical miracle, and believed now that his prayer from earlier in the day might yet be answered.

When he got to his feet though, Beadra and Ibis seemed a bit taken aback by the boy’s new status—still a Jew at that. But such were the jealousies of one servant for the favor in which the Master held another that he regarded their obvious concern as being beneath consideration. All eyes were on him, and he felt the father of a family now, felt as if the hope un-hoped that he had feared to bare to the cruel world, had come to fruition unbidden.

“Ibis, Ibrahm, Shamballah, Tuman, Abdul—‘like a brother to me’—and Beadra, terrible trials lie ahead. Let the man who owned this house, and remained true to decency and dignity, serve as our guide for what comes, by day, and by night.”

Abdul-Matin appeared put aback by Ibrahm’s recital, but clasped Abd al-Latif’s free hand vigorously and swore eagerly, “By the light of God’s eye al-Latif, I’m your man. You can count on me.”

As they preceded outside he felt like a leader, like a man of account, for the first time in his life. He began a mental inventory of the opium paste that remained in his medical case. The realization of the low quantity brought fear and raised his heart beat. Then Ibrahm squeezed his hand in an understanding way, as if he could sense his Master’s returning anxiety.

“Cool rain and a Caspian breeze Master—man to world, world to man.”

He no longer felt the need for his opium, was of a sudden pleasantly surprised at the power of poetry, and that this boy had somehow managed to pick up such serene verse. When they reached the doorway Ibrahm raced off like a boy again and hastened to attend to Abdul’s donkey.

Still hand in hand with his friend and colleague he was pleased to hear a note of approval for Ibrahm, “The boy sure knows his way around a donkey.”

“Yes indeed Abdul, and around a poem as well. Weren’t you impressed by that verse he just recited to me?”

Abdul looked at him with concern. “With all due respect Doctor, he simply whistled a little tune.”

He then discreetly whispered, “You might want to consider reducing your opium consumption. I’m not the pharmacologist you are, but since you are hearing poems in a boy’s whistle, you might consider modifying your treatment.”

‘Oh my, I am slipping again. There goes my confidence like a stone into a well.’

No sooner had his self-doubt began to reemerge then Ibrahm looked to him with his understanding eye, pursed his lips, and whispered across the courtyard as he petted the donkey of Abdul Matin, “You are stronger than you know Master, stronger than all the world’s sorrow.”

As they parted hands and stepped toward their respective donkeys, Abdul nudged him with a whisper, “See, merely a pleasant whistle, like a fakir blowing his pipe to tame the restless.”

A cataract of ice seemed to spill from the base of his head and rush down his spine like an icy torrent.

‘Yes indeed; opium no more.’