She had killed so many like these two men, but she was now defenseless. Had she only left the YPJ a day earlier. Had she not gone to her mother’s house. Had she not played little girls with those dresses. Zara’s guilt broke open as she sat paralyzed in front of this strange man from California. And the façade of strength she had created six years ago in order to survive, so stone hard and cold, crumbled.
Trembling and in tears, she pulls back from Peter. “I cannot do it. I just cannot,” she says, barely able to speak. She turns from him and pulls her headscarf up to wipe her tears. She shakes uncontrollably.
Peter reaches out to comfort her but stops short of touching her. Practicing Dr. Beverly’s therapeutic advice, he whispers, “I respect you, Zara. I care about how you feel. I want to give you the comfort you need, but I think you need your space now more than comfort.” She nods yes, and Peter gets up to check in with Jean-Paul, who is calibrating his last lonely EM detector.
“Jean-Paul. Father Jean-Paul, I need your advice,” says Peter.
The good Father puts down his material goods to attend to the affairs of the soul. “Peter, Zara is a very special person, as are you. She has led an extraordinarily complicated life, and thus conflicting emotions run extremely deep in her. Only her inner scars run deeper. Give her time. You did the right thing by giving her space and time, and more importantly, your trust.”
Peter finds consolation in Jean-Paul’s affirmation that he did the right thing with her, finally. He asks, “What did you show her that made her try the algorithm again?”
The good Father pulls the medallion off the chain around his neck and shows Peter, explaining, as he had done with Zara, that it was six to seven thousand years old.
Looking first at the woman and the apple, Peter exclaims, “How on earth? A banana slug?” He looks at Jean-Paul. “My Proto-Greek is rusty, but this says something about her and the voice of God, doesn’t it?” Jean-Paul nods.
Peter stares at the woman hearing God, holding the two halves of the apple, and then the banana slug. He peers back at Zara, who is curled in a sitting fetal position in tears, so, so different from the warrior she had presented herself as. And he finally gets it. This mission is not about him. So self-centered, so full of self-pity, he did not get it. Everything is really all about her. About Zara.
Peter turns the artifact over, points to the giant, and says, “Aliens did this. They did this to us, Zara and me. They are speaking here on this medallion.” With a serious face, he looks into Jean-Paul’s eyes and asks again, “What are you going to do when we talk with the aliens? The moment of truth is coming shortly. Are you going to ask if they are God? Are you willing to cross that line, admitting that thousands of years of religious belief is simply about ‘beings from another world,’ as Professor Schmidt said about these giant figures?”
Blinking in his so-methodical way, Jean-Paul replies, “Maybe the question should be, ‘Did God make them too?’ Peter, for all you know, we might be worshipping the same God together, mankind and your aliens.”
The skeptical gene in Peter pops up and asks, “Why did the pope commission a group studying extraterrestrials, anyway?”
The Jesuit teacher in the good Father comes out as he says, “One would like to believe that the idea we all evolved from one common source, or monogenism, is not in conflict with the theories of human evolution. We are truly special creations of God. But the question should be if we are His only creations. And if we are not, then can we learn from His other creations?”
Seeing the wheels turning in Peter’s mind, Jean-Paul adds, “Think about man’s history. As one culture expanded and met other cultures, most often this led to conflict and war. But what makes us great as a species is our collective growth when we can overcome conflict and share with other cultures. The Greek culture grew stronger as Alexander the Great brought them together with ancient Persia. The Romans passed this Greek wisdom to Christianity and the Byzantines. The Nestorians passed the Persian-Greek science, math, and medicine back to the Islamic Arabs, who had inherited the ancient Persian world. And in turn, the Islamic Arabs passed this back to the Dark Age Europeans in the intermingling of the cultures in Islamic Spain and even between the Franks and Saracens during the years of peace between the different Crusades. Why can this not happen again if we meet people of other worlds? Are they not special creations of God as well?”
Peter, still stuck remembering the preaching of his alien society colleagues, challenges the good Father again. “But isn’t the presence of aliens in conflict with the scriptures? Are you telling me that you believe the smoke and fire that Moses saw atop Mount Sinai were the other special creations of God simply dropping by to say hello to their distant cousins? Are the angels merely aliens visiting us providing messages of wisdom and guidance from their superior race? When Elijah went to heaven in a chariot of fire pulled by horses of fire, he went up into a whirlwind into heaven—was this just a UFO he rode in?”
The good Father merely smiles in his serene way, and methodically blinks as he replies, “Thomas Aquinas, the great Catholic philosopher, advocated natural law, the harmony between science and the scriptures. He said the scriptures can possess multiple interpretations in areas beyond current human comprehension and therefore one should leave room for future findings to shed light on the meanings.”
“So His Eminence wants you to be the Zefram Cochrane of our time,” Peter asserts, regaining his cocky self.
“Who?” asks Jean-Paul, a puzzled simple man from France who obviously did not own a television at home.
“The inventor of the warp drive in Star Trek. He makes first contact with the Vulcans, the pointy-eared aliens.”
“I am so flattered, Peter,” attests Jean-Paul. “Thomas Aquinas wrote, ‘Hence we must say that for the knowledge of any truth whatsoever, man needs divine help, that the intellect may be moved by God to its act. But he does not need a new light added to his natural light, in order to know the truth in all things, but only in some that surpass his natural knowledge.’ Thus, I am merely a simple humble man who, if given the chance, will ask God for his new light when we are faced with something which surpasses our natural knowledge.”
Happier than he was this morning after reuniting himself with his Catholic mysticism roots, Jean-Paul goes back to analyzing the EM data he has gathered today. Peter looks to find out how Zara is doing, for he really does care about her, how she feels, her well-being, in a way that he cannot explain. He sees her in the midst of Maghrib prayer in the evening, the second to last of the day. He begins to realize that her attentiveness to her faith, to her rituals, is vital to her maintaining her strength.
She comes back to the truck, not saying anything to either of them, takes her night vision goggles, and walks the perimeter, holding her rifle as a child does their safety blanket. Peter searches on his MoxWrap for something. Something special.
After Isha prayer, the last of the five daily prayers, Zara tells Jean-Paul she will take the first watch. The good Father, knowing how stressful last night and today have been for her, tells her to take the second watch, which she does not debate, for she could sleep standing up at this moment.
Later, as she takes the second watch, she comes over to check on Peter. She looks at him, utterly confused. How does this man of the banana slug play out in Xwedê’s plan? Closing her eyes, she envisions that image on the medallion, the woman touching the object, and the ancient text: “She hears the voice of God.”
She looks again at Peter’s lean, twiggy body and cannot fathom how he is the other half of the apple. Why did not Sara, Roza, or even her own mother tell her? Why did she need to find out among complete strangers?
Her thoughts are interrupted by this other apple half rolling over and murmuring something. And it dawns on Zara that he is not fighting something tonight. Why? She tiptoes closer to listen to what he is saying. “Amanta, please don’t go. Amanta, you mustn’t go. We need you. We love you.”
The next mornin
g, Peter awakes. And he is actually somewhat rested. This must be what a good night’s sleep feels like, he muses. And there is no fog in the Anatolian Kurdish State! He goes over to Jean-Paul and Zara to tell them about how great his sleep was. Jean-Paul says this may mean the object is very close.
Zara, knowing he had been dreaming, asks, “Peter, do you remember your dreams?”
Shaking his head, Peter laments, “No, that part of my head isn’t so clear. But I could get used to getting up every morning of my life and feeling this good.”
Zara looks at Jean-Paul suspiciously and asks, “And, priest, how was your sleep last night?”
The former priest blinks twice rapidly and says, “Um. It was good. I am refreshed. But the effect might not be as pronounced as it is with Peter, as I am less afflicted.”
Watching him, Zara now is certain she has only one person she can trust. Not her family. Not Alexander. Not Mei. And now, certainly not this lying priest. Only a silly man, half an apple, who does not know better than to lie to her.
Jean-Paul, very reflectively thinking, proposes, “Perhaps we can narrow down where the object may be by the two of us sleeping in different locations each night. Between our sleep barometer and the EM readings, we may be able to triangulate a narrow zone where we can dig.”
Zara, shaking her head, both at his veracity and his suggestion, says back, “Priest, maybe it could take a couple more days, but maybe it could take a few weeks. I just do not know how much time we have before we are found and attacked again.”
Encouragingly, her MoxWrap shows the AC focused around Sanliurfa and not coming across the Harran Plain to their position. She would feel better if she could call for more help here. She debates if she should call upon the Kurds to help her, weighing their own safety against the possibility of more security breaches.
Zara walks away, tapping her MoxWrap as she goes to higher ground to scan the horizon. Jean-Paul walks away to perform more EM scans, tapping his MoxWrap. And Peter smiles as he watches the animation of Sammy the Slug he finally found last night. Sammy is dancing, singing, doing flips, all things Peter hopes he can do soon, somewhere safer than here. Peter gets up to walk around the site, hoping he can “feel the Force” like Luke Skywalker and divine where the object is hidden.
At noon, he comes back to the truck, with no more of a clue about the object, the “Force,” or when he will bond with Mei again. Zara gives him fresh water, then takes him by surprise. She asks, “Tell me about your girlfriend, Amanta?”
“Who?” responds a very confused Peter.
Zara, knowing full well she can trust his answers, tries a different question. “Okay, so Amanta does not sound familiar. What were the names of your past girlfriends?”
Unsure of where she is going, Peter meekly answers, “Sarah was my last girlfriend, but you already knew that. And before her were Ciara and Tara. Do you need a longer list?”
Zara repeats him. “Sarah, Tierra, Dara, yes?”
“No, no, Zara. Sarah, Ciara, and Tara.” And as soon as Peter says this, he realizes what he just did in front of her. She does too, by the look in her eye.
Zara pursues her lips. She gets it now. “And Alexander knew the names of your last three girlfriends, did he not? He knew them before you told him.” Peter, head down, nods yes.
“And you saw the medallion, did you not?” Zara asks more forcefully, at which Peter nods.
She shakes her head and mutters, “I cannot imagine we are two halves of an apple. We are so, so entirely different. Alexander, he has no scruples about forcing two people to mate. No better than cattle are we. And my meddling family. They are like the old Kurds, trying to set me up with a man they want to have sire their next generation. Am I merely breeding stock for the world?”
Peter taps his MoxWrap, and Zara’s beeps. She looks at it and sees a banana slug singing, dancing, doing back flips. It hits her in the right spot, for it was something her silly little brother would have done to her when she was despondent at the world.
“I cannot understand you,” she admits. “You appear so innocent. You appear so weak, so silly. And yet you stood up for Mei. You were willing to take a bullet instead of her. And you couldn’t pull that trigger when I asked you to kill me instead.” She looks at his silly banana slug dancing, and for a moment, a wave of affection passes through her. Not long enough for her to mount a defense. But enough for her to notice. And she smiles.
Reading her body language, Peter holds his hands out to her in the same gesture Jean-Paul made to her on the plane ride out. She nods her approval, and he hugs her. She revels in the warmth. The same warmth she felt as a child, but here now with this banana slug man.
She whispers in Peter’s ear, “I am not marrying you. Not going to have sex with you. We are not right for each other.” She then strokes his face and says, “But let us try again. This time standing up, so if it gets too strange, I can run away.”
After Peter nods in agreement, she tells him to close his eyes as she takes his hands under her headscarf, removes it with him, and strokes her hair with him. She gently places his head to smell her hair as she strokes his head. She blows on his ear, licks his ear, and then lifts his head so she can brush her lips with his, licking his lips.
She unbuttons his tunic shirt, exposing his chest. She rubs his heart while holding his head into her neck, saying for him to smell her. While still rubbing his heart, she licks his forehead in circles, around and around. He begins to murmur, “Nanshe.” And then he stops.
And the moment arrives where she needs to close her eyes to find her strength. The strength to do what Mei did. Her hand hovers, shaking, above his bulging, burning crotch, in deep debate as what to do next. She sees their rough hands forcing her hand to rub their crotches. She shivers. She cannot do this. Not even to save the world. She cannot do this with Peter.
The image of their hands dissipates as she senses something. Something so very different from any feeling before. Peter is with her. But how? They are seeing together. She feels him taking her hand, to put not on his burning crotch but to his lips, and he kisses it so ever gently. And as if the spirit of her father has come, she senses the warmth of hands on her cheeks and kisses on her forehead. She remembers her father doing this from when she was so very little to the day before he died. How did he know to do this? And the terror of those men continues to fade into the past where it belongs.
He leans in to smell her cheek, and she pulls back, covering her scar with her hand. As if he was in her mind, he kisses and licks her hand, covering her disfigurement, and then gently moves it aside. He kisses and licks her scar and whispers, “Your face radiates with your inner beauty. You have no need to hide.”
He hugs her, squeezing and surrounding her, giving her that sense of safety, of security, of being his little Zara. Her mind reveals in the joy of the little Zara. Again, how did he know to do this?
Minutes later, he kisses her lips lightly and licks them as she did to him. He rubs her forehead, and her mind becomes completely clear of the negative images of the past, filled only with the joy and happiness she once knew. He lightly rubs her heart over her tunic shirt, and she feels his closeness to her, not just physically, but within her. She takes his hand and rubs her chest even more deeply.
She starts seeing a vision of many temples, with many pockmarks from lightning strikes. She kisses him, opening his lips for her tongue. And the vision becomes clearer. She sees the northern knoll of these grounds. She sees that he sees the same. She so wants him to know her heart. She wants to put his hand onto her left breast over her heart. Not to do what Mei had been tasked to do, but because she has grown close to him and wants him to. Once again, her fear of what she hides within overcomes her. She cannot let him know what has happened to her.
He senses her and whispers, “I see the knoll too. Let me help you.”
He puts his fingers on her shirt buttons around her bust. As she anticipates his intimate touch, to her surprise, his fingers trac
e up her clavicle, away from where she thought he would touch. Up along her neck, wet with perspiration, to her cheeks, and then to her temples, where he gently rubs. She can feel the radiance of his heat, his moisture emanating from his fingers down into her heart, her head, and deep within, even to where she hides her deepest secrets. She can sense her whole being opening up. She spots the place on the northern knoll, pocked where the lightning has struck over and over again.
He tries to put his lips upon hers, but she is frightened at where this might be taking them and puts her finger upon his lips. For she is deformed. They took her beauty away from her. Not what she shows on the outside, but inside. She pulls back, turning away from him. He turns her back towards him, puts his very, very warm hands around her cheeks, softly kisses her forehead, and hugs her. And after what seems like eternity, she is home again. She is Zara again. She feels family.
With a deep sense of bliss, with the rage gone for now, Zara slowly pulls back from her apple half and smiles, gazing at Peter with eyes with giant dilated pupils, so differently than she looked at him in Luxembourg. They both look over to the northern knoll and flag Jean-Paul. Peter helps her put back her headscarf and straightens out her tunic. She smiles and clasps his hands in hers, taking him to the truck to get the excavation equipment.
As the three of them walk over to the northern knoll, the good priest comprehends very well what has just happened. Just as the traditions said. Only man and woman together. They arrive at the place Zara and Peter saw together in their visions. Jean-Paul verifies the spot with science, not mystic visions, as he points out the shattered rocks engrained with straight parallel lines. These lines are usually associated with shock lamellae created by meteorite strikes, but have been known to happen with lightning strikes. This one spot of earth on this desolate hill is littered with pockmarks and shattered rocks from millennia of repeated lightning strikes.
The Matriarch Matrix Page 44