Comprehending fully now that Peter does this out of respect for her father’s and brother’s love for her, Zara hugs him back. She leans them both gently down to the ground and pulls the blanket around them. She so wants to tell him she loves him. And maybe she did, but she is too enraptured to remember. And they fall asleep once again in each other’s arms.
Maryam tiptoes out and covers them in their blankets as a good mother should with her sleeping kids. She hears Zara saying in her sleep, “I have beauty inside, Mama. Yes, I do. Yes, I do.” And Maryam knows that this man has truly brought her little daughter back to her. The beautiful little Zara, full of love and joy.
For the next number of nights, the same pattern happens again and again as the two sneak out each night to bond in presence of the object. And Zara’s love reemerges and grows. In the daytime, Zara is now willing to teach Peter the Sufi whirl. He tries to whirl but keeps crashing into her, finally knocking her over. He flinches, thinking she is going to hit him, but she just laughs and teases him for his lack of balance.
The next day, the next and next, they try again. This time with Sara, Roza, Leyla, and Maryam in attendance, laughing with Zara at his attempts to spin with dignity and grace. Peter lets them laugh. Their joy is at the expense of his dignity, but it is the least he can do for his new family. Much to Sara’s and Roza’s chagrin, Zara sports a dress without leggings. She twirls and twirls like she did as a girl, no longer afraid to show her calves and their deep, invasive scars. She stops and whispers to her mother, “I have beauty within. I do.” And she goes back to whirling, showing her scarred calves to all. For Zara knows, she can show to all what she has hidden within herself for all these years.
That evening, Zara knows she has followed the words of the voice. She has let Peter in. And she senses something has grown in her. She tells Peter, “I have let you in. I hide nothing. You have touched me and truly know all there is to me. The horror in my brother’s eyes as he was forced to watch my rape. The horror in my heart as I killed Rona. The darkness in my soul as I brutalized and mutilated her tormentors. The hundreds I have killed for my lovers.”
She kisses him, and pets his hair. “And you have been with me without judgment, only seeking to comfort my soul. And in that, you have brought peace, joy, light, and warmth back into my soul.”
She knows that with this Little Boy, this man, she finally can share and talk about her darkest secrets. She so needed to let these out, to verbalize her fears, her anger, her doubt, her guilt, and not be judged. And she now knows what halves of the apple truly meant. He would listen to hear each night, see with her as they touched. And listen again he does as she takes him hiking in her mountains, little baby lambs and all.
And then one night as they touch, seated at the object, she says, “What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Peter says back.
“Shhhh,” she says sharply to Peter. “Yes. Yes. I am listening.” She pauses, then says, “You are right. I see and understand. Thank you.”
Another pause and she asks, “But how can I? Yes, I will. Yes, I understand.”
So curious about her ability to talk with this voice, Peter asks, “Was that the voice? What did she say?”
“She said we, all her people, all her creations, must exercise greater patience with each other. For true peace will only come with patience, which leads to understanding, the basis of tolerance.”
Taking his hand into hers, she gently rubs her thumb along his palm. “In combat, you must make instantaneous decisive judgments. But in normal life, you have the liberty to wait before making judgment. I jumped to conclusions about Mei because of how she looked. I thought the worst of Jean-Paul because he was a Jesuit. And you. I thought you superficial because of where you came from. And the prejudice, the stereotypes, the intolerance I despised as a teen, I find that I have done. It stops when you stop and show others how to be tolerant.”
Peter bites his lips and then rubs her hand back. “I see the same in my little editorial world. Too often, a reader or viewer reacts early to a notion, a phrase, a style, and shuts down, having decided what the piece is about. I disliked my experience trying to be an editor in Manhattan. To ensure their novels will sell, my publishing house plays to this weakness to judge early, and our works of fiction, our films, miss a certain depth. People are like novels. If we would be patient as you said, we might see the layers unfold and a different story would appear. And Alexander is successful because he plays off of people’s tendency to jump to a conclusion and remain closed thereafter. They give him power through their own lack of tolerance.”
She kisses him on his forehead and peers into his eyes with hers, so soft, large, and brown. “And you. That is one of the reasons I have come to love you. You are special among the special. You judge not. You watch, you probe, and you seek to understand. You did with me. And you see me, know me, and share love with me.”
Zara hugs him. The kind of hug you give your savior. She then adds, “She said I need to forgive myself as she has forgiven me. To forgive is to be tolerant. She said I did well allowing you to touch me in those places I needed to forgive. And she knows you have forgiven me.” Zara kisses Peter. “And she says we should keep doing what we do with each other. Your dream tonight will tell us the rest.”
She takes his hand and leads him back into the house, to her room this time.
As Zara closes the door to her room, Maryam peeks out of her own room, so happy that her little Zara has finally brought this nice Peter to her bed. She prays, Let Zara bear a little girl as nice as she has been.
As morning comes, Peter awakes, seeing Zara looking at him. He knows this look. Sarah did that with him the morning after their first night of passion together. But he is sure that did not happen last night.
Zara touches his face, kisses him, and pulls his head to her neck, asking him to smell her essence. Much to his surprise, she pulls up her nightgown and puts his hand upon her naked mounds. She guides his fingers over the deep indentations in her left breast where those monsters seared her tissue away in anger over her obstinacy about fulfilling their pleasures. She does not want to hide anything from him any longer. Neither outside nor in.
He feels her loss, much like partial mastectomies he saw in a book he edited. As he continues to rub his fingers over her heart, he looks her in the eyes and says without saying how truly beautiful she is to him. And their minds begin to clear.
The images from Peter’s dream last night appear to them. The two halves of the object were put back together. And sheer, utter devastation happened.
They break their embrace and look at each other. They cannot let Alexander have the object.
Chapter 40
To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible.
—Saint Thomas Aquinas
5:45 a.m. GMT+3, June 5, 2021
Siirt, former Turkey, now Anatolian Kurdish State
In shock. Once again. He lies in Zara’s bed next to her. She has let him in. Another step in their growing intimacy. But that intimacy together only led to a vision of the ending of the world as they know it. They both gaze at each other in silence. Not the gaze of lovers, but the stare of the bewildered, assimilating what they envisioned together.
Peter slowly gets up, straightens out his nightclothes, and tries to sneak out of her room and back to his. But as he silently closes Zara’s door, Maryam comes around the corner on her way back from the prayer room. He freezes, but she takes his hand and leads him back to her son’s room, closing the door behind them.
Maryam whispers, “My future son, I thank you for bringing back my little Zara. She is once again my girl full of joy and happiness. She is who she has wanted to be again. Thank you.” She kisses his cheek. “I am so happy you are sleeping together finally. She needs that in her life again too.”
Hands waving in front of him and shaking his head side to side, Peter says, “No. No. No. Roza told me that was off-l
imits. We aren’t sleeping together that way.”
Taking his hands into hers, Maryam grimaces and says in a reassuring motherly voice, “It is okay. I will talk to Roza. My little Zara needs you to be with her in that intimate way.”
And to their surprise, someone knocks on the door. Maryam says, “Quick, start twirling.”
Zara comes in and sees Peter twirling with her mother chanting. Peter stares at Zara with tremendous apprehension. Maryam says to her daughter, “Forgive him, please. He wanted me to teach him to whirl more correctly.”
Zara simply smiles, kisses her mother good morning, and takes Peter’s hand to show him how to balance better.
Late that morning, the family welcomes Jean-Paul, brought back from the hospital by his Jesuit friends. Zara has spent the morning preparing lunch. Peter comes up behind her in the kitchen, puts his hands around her waist and teases her about preparing food for the men. She turns and puts her arms around him and says, “I will when I want to apologize to holy men for mistrusting them.” And she pecks him on the lips and returns to preparing the food.
After Zara’s sumptuous lunch, the Jesuits leave. Leyla offers to go back to her apartment to allow Jean-Paul to stay at the house. He is too humble and says he will sleep with the object outside. Leyla says this is not proper and she will leave after spending dinner with the family.
That afternoon, the trio gather around the object. Zara discusses the dream Peter and she shared with Jean-Paul. They agree they should contact Alexander, all three together. Zara sets up a 3-D projection call.
Alexander appears. His back is turned to them. He lets them wait, then slowly he turns and demands, “Why have you been out of contact for so long? This is not normal.”
Zara says, “We had nothing to report. Many unforeseen factors have intervened since our last message.”
The tall Russian with the long face and piercing dark eyes glares at each of them in turn. “My team retrieved another object from the ocean floor.” He peers at Jean-Paul. “I saw your findings and was extremely disappointed you did not communicate them to me personally. I had to use my own initiative to learn that this was another object.”
Alexander turns away from them, looking upwards. “I had a dream. In my dream, you three conspired against me to keep the object for yourselves.” He turns and glares again into each of their eyes. “Is this true? I would be so disappointed with each of you if this were so. I have monitored your movements. Who wishes to be truthful with me about what is really happening?”
“Sasha, we were attacked three times, and the object was destroyed at the temples of Karahan Tepe.” Zara aims her stern eyes into his. “Our deal was that I get them there, object or no object. You will deliver my requests of you.”
“Zara, Zara, Zara,” Alexander bemoans. “You should not lie to your Sasha. Did the priest teach you how to do that? Or was it your new lover, Peter?”
Not amused, Zara states back, “The deal is the deal. Do not renege. You should know more than anyone what I can do to those who fail to deliver what they have promised.”
Alexander stares straight into Peter’s eyes. “You know you should not lie to me about what happened.”
Peter, clearly mad at how Alexander has treated Zara, asserts, “You never said I would be attacked in your jet. Nor anything about being bombed three times by unknown aircraft, and then taken captive by radical assassins—much less your Mr. Ivy League HR guy ratting on us. Mr. Giant, you tell me what is happening.”
Like a proud father, Alexander smiles at the backbone his boy has developed, but like the proud father, he pushes his boy again. “Whatever happened to that meek boy I interviewed in San Francisco? The one who knew how to speak properly to his elders.”
Alexander glances at Jean-Paul. “I am not talking with the priest, who is a traitor to you all. I have monitored his transmissions with the Vatican. Zara and Peter, do not trust him.” He turns back to Zara. “Contact me when you have decided to be honest with me.” And the transmission ends.
Quivering, Peter says, “Mei said Alexander is always many steps ahead. He knows everything.” He turns to Jean-Paul. “Was all of this really for your Sister Magali and her medallion? Or is this all about the Vatican wanting to hide the object three hundred yards down in the catacombs?”
With her stern maternal face, Zara admonishes Peter. “Peter, stop it. Alexander is only trying to play us off each other. He is expert at this. We fail to stand together and we lose. And we can lose big.”
The good Father speaks up. “Zara, Peter is right. I have to earn your trust. Please, judge me by my actions. I will have your backs as you did mine outside Harran.”
Zara nods and excuses herself to change into her Sufi whirling dress. Jean-Paul makes his first close examination of the object. He sees the pitting all around this black stone, softball-sized and larger indentations.
Peter says, “It resembles a meteorite.”
John Paul concurs. Peter glances around to see if Zara is back yet. “I wouldn’t say this in front of Zara, but is this just a rock? Or is there something hidden inside that connects to the aliens?”
John Paul smiles, which turns into a quizzical expression. “After all you have seen and been through with Zara, you still think this is all about aliens?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Peter tries to hold back his cheeky monkey gene as he answers, “I believe you told me about Thomas Aquinas. Something about multiple interpretations in areas beyond current human comprehension, and therefore one should leave room for future findings to shed light on the newfound mysteries. I’m simply being open to multiple interpretations.”
Zara returns with the full complement of women of her matriarchy, Maryam, Leyla, and Roza, dressed for dance. She and Peter demonstrate the Sufi whirl, with Peter still wobbling and the onlookers apprehensive he will crash into them. Maryam extends her hand to Jean-Paul to join her in whirling as Peter and Zara step back to admire them. She joins her mother, spinning her dress up as she did as a child, no longer feeling the need to hide, deep scars and all.
That evening, Zara and Peter sneak out again to sit with the object. As they complete their touches, kisses, and hugs, they enter their zone of peace, bliss, and clarity. And much to Zara’s surprise, she hears her again. “Yes,” says Zara. “I understand. What? Now?”
Zara breaks away from Peter, who reaches to touch her forehead. “I felt her presence in you,” he says.
She takes his fingers from her forehead and kisses them. “She said we need to be together very closely so we can be her agents of peace. And this must happen right now.”
And Zara peers up and around. “Listen.”
Peter glances at her and says, “I can’t hear the voice, remember?”
“No, not Her. The buzz,” says Zara as the child in her starts to shake, remembering the terror Saddam’s helicopters brought upon her village and her family. She gets up and runs to the house, saying, “We need to get everyone out and flee now.”
With much effort, everyone is rapidly loaded into Leyla’s car and Zara’s pink truck. Sara was very distraught about leaving her family heirlooms and history. She refused to leave, but with Jean-Paul and Roza’s help, they collected most of her most treasured items into Leyla’s car. Zara fretted about how to move the object, but the Jesuits arrived with Peri and loaded it into their truck. Peri told Zara that paratroopers were landing at key strategic locations in Batman and Siirt, exactly like what happened in Diyarbakır, or so she thought.
Their vehicles are just ready to leave when Zara hears the buzz again, and she fights the frights of the fearful child within her. She stares up, and the helicopter is almost upon them. She signals to Peri and grabs her AK-9 with the bulletproof-vest-piercing rounds. She unloads an entire magazine, knocking down the black-clad soldiers rappelling down from the helicopter.
In the back of her mind, she stores the information that there are no insignias on these attackers, nor on the helicopter. Peri fires a grenade l
auncher at the helicopter, which flames from the hit, twirling around out of control. The three vehicles with Zara’s family and friends zoom out a dirt backroad as fast as they can without killing great-grandmother Sara in the process.
A taxing forty minutes later, Zara and Jean-Paul stand overlooking the Botan River valley. She gives Jean-Paul her night scope as she goes into the safe spot cave she provisioned when they first moved to Siirt. Inside, Sara is very exhausted, and Zara shakes her head, thinking maybe she should have honored her great-grandmother’s request to be left behind. The curious Peter is searching about, seeing how well equipped this cave is, with cots, blankets, chairs, canned food, stainless steel drums of water, elevating his respect for Zara even further. Evidently people here take fleeing very seriously.
Assured all is under control in the cave, she reemerges outside to join the good priest. She laments, “Still no sign of your friend’s truck? And our object?”
Jean-Paul shakes his head no.
And for the first time since they left Luxembourg, Zara loses it with Jean-Paul. She yells at Jean-Paul, her finger pounding on his chest. “I trusted you. I trusted your friends with my best friend Peri. You priests, you stole the object. And I trusted you.” And she breaks down into tears, the emotional stresses of the past few days finally catching up with her. He offers to hug her, but she flat-out refuses.
Jean-Paul simply says, “I played no role in what just happened. I have been with you at all times. I am still here with you as I promised.”
Zara just wants to deck him, but she knows he’d use some strange Franco-Asian martial art to deflect anything she could throw. Instead, she cries, “We have nothing. After all this, we have nothing.” She stares at him with her dark, angry eyes. “Why are you here? Peter was right. Why are you here? To taunt us? To watch us suffer while you and your Vatican friends play with us like we were pawns in some grand game against Alexander?”
The Matriarch Matrix Page 50