Jean-Paul puts his hand out for Zara’s hand. She first refuses, but then relents and allows him to hold her hand. “It has never been about the object for me, Zara,” the good priest insists.
He puts her hand on his chest, over the medallion. “I am here for you. From the very start, this has always been about you.”
Chapter 41
If words come out of the heart, they will enter the heart, but if they come from the tongue, they will not pass beyond the ears.
—“Shahāb ad-Dīn” Yahya ibn Habash Suhrawardī,
twelfth-century Persian philosopher and mystic
8:00 a.m. GMT+3, June 6, 2021
Hills overlooking Tigris River, southeast of Siirt, former Turkey, now Anatolian Kurdish State
Now it is Zara’s time not to sleep well. She tossed and turned all last night worrying about Peri. Zara stands weary-eyed, staring down the road into her cave of refuge in smoldering self-doubt. Did she get careless again? Did the rapture of the voice cloud her judgment? Did she just get her last best friend Peri hurt, by rebel Jesuits of all people? But what bothers Zara the most is whether she got close in the wrong way to a man again. Every time in her past, her dalliances always led to something bad. If Peri was okay, she should have gotten a message from her by now.
She closes her eyes, hoping to hear something. Will she never hear the voice again? A hand touches her shoulder. A soft, gentle hand. The kind a mother has with her daughter. And Maryam says, “We are safe here because of your foresight and planning. We thought the days of fleeing from helicopters, planes, and tanks were over. But you insisted we be prepared. And here we are, safe because of you. I love you, my daughter.” And Maryam hugs her, knowing her worried little Zara needs her mother at this moment.
Zara cries into her mother’s arms. She has cried more since meeting Peter than she has in the last five years. She mumbles through her tears, “I brought this bad situation upon my family. If I had not been swayed by Sasha to embark upon just one more mission, you all would be safe in your home. I told him three years ago, no more missions, but he is so conniving and got me to commit to just one more. Had I stayed my simple, pious self, you would all be safe.” And she cries in the warmth and safety of her mother’s arms.
Maryam pets her daughter’s head as she says, “You must not blame yourself. There is nothing bad here. All is by Xwedê’s will. All your family is behind you, supportive of you, and thankful you have saved them.” Maryam kisses her daughter. “We are so proud of you, my daughter. You have become the woman we would all have liked to have become. You are fiercely independent and strong. And yet so full of compassion.”
Zara cries more. “So much bad has happened in my life. So much suffering. How can anyone want to be me?”
The wise mother she has become, Maryam pets Zara’s hair and says, “Adversity is part of life, part of Xwedê’s plan for each and every one of us. It is what shapes you to be who you are destined to be.”
Maryam holds her Zara as her tears subside. She picks the right time to say what is truly on her mind. “My dearest daughter. I am so happy you have come to the decision to bring the right man into your bed.” Zara stares at her mother, incredulous at her last statement.
Maryam continues, “I can only hope you have a daughter as wonderful as you have been to me. A granddaughter as wonderful as you have been to Roza. A daughter who someday will have the same blessed fortune as you to find a man like Peter.”
Zara hugs her mother, who means well, and searches inside for the courage to tell her again what is unspoken. “Mama, we have discussed this before. I was punished for my bad behaviors, such that I will never be able to have children. Forever.”
“My little Zara,” replies Maryam. “You have not been punished. Only blessed.” She hugs her doubting daughter. “There are other ways for a woman to conceive. Some by those fancy doctors. And some by the providence of Xwedê.”
Maryam kisses her Zara’s forehead and recites a poem:
Every child has known God,
Not the God of names,
Not the God of don’ts,
Not the God who ever does anything weird,
But the God who knows only four words.
And keeps repeating them, saying:
“Come Dance with Me, come dance.”
Zara smiles at her mother. “Hafez, the fourteenth-century Persian mystic and poet. Why not your favorite Rūmī?”
“Oh, Hafez’s poem is more appropriate for this moment. Come dance with me as we did when you tried to get me out of my depressions,” replies her mother.
“Then let me quote a Rūmī poem that you recited to me when you tried to get me out of my depression after I returned from my captivity,” Zara answers.
Dance when you’re broken open.
Dance when you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance when you’re perfectly free.
And mother and daughter perform the Sufi whirl together. Just as Maryam’s grandfather taught. Or to Zara, just as her great-grandmother taught. And Maryam smiles inside, knowing her daughter has become that much closer to Xwedê.
Standing guard at the entrance road to Zara’s safe spot, Jean-Paul watches, hoping, maybe even praying, he did not misjudge his friends, his comrades in so many acts of salvation of souls and lives. At his side, the formerly silly banana slug man from the redwood forests of a now-so-distant land tries his best to emulate and repeat every step told to him by his Zara on how to load, aim, and shoot her cousin’s 10mm gun.
Jean-Paul notes with fascination how Peter will follow Zara word for word with utter obedience, just as he predicted from his studies of the traditions. Historical records are obscure concerning the full role of the matriarch in this genetic descendancy. The good priest wonders what else is not yet understood about the role of women and their command over their male partners and sons in this tradition. He wants to meet Peter’s mother, spend quality time with her, and learn how she ingrained in her son to be so obedient to women of the afflicted lineage.
Normally exceptionally adept at hearing approaching footsteps, Jean-Paul’s ears strain to discern a familiar faint pattern, for Zara’s soft steps are nearly silent, the sign of the great huntress. He braces for her verbal onslaught over the Jesuits, for he understands how much the past days have strained her. Not only the stresses of constant combat attacks from unknown and unanticipated sources, not only the strain which the object and the voice place on her, but the emotional upwelling from her developing relationship with Peter, as foretold by the traditions, which has thrown her over the edge.
He feels her hand on his shoulder and is ready to counter with a throwing movement. But she strokes his shoulder and neck. He turns and sees the most serene Zara he has ever seen since they first met. She puts her warm hands on his cheeks. Is it possible? Her hands seem softer than they were days ago. She kisses him lightly on the lips, much to the good priest’s surprise, and to the surprise of Peter, who keenly observes from a few meters away, playing with his gun.
Zara smiles. “Know that your friends will burn in Jahannam for their attempt to conceal the words of the voice by stealing the object from us.” Still smiling serenely, she points to Jean-Paul’s MoxWrap. “You should make the Vatican aware of this.”
With a strained, serious face, Jean-Paul asks, “And me?”
This very different Zara touches his chest over the medallion. “I trust that you are not complicit.”
Jean-Paul methodically blinks, but is not so serene at this moment, and puts his hand on Zara’s hand over his chest. “I did not know what they were going to do with the object. They brought words from my former superior, instructing me not to interfere. But as to what, I did not know. Forgive me, I should have told you as much earlier.”
She touches his forehead, lightly and softly. “Do not worry. It would not have changed God’s will.”
Mystified ove
r what she has said, Peter asks, “Have you heard the voice again?”
Zara turns to her Peter, places her hands in his and says, “No. Without the object, it is over. No more voice. We three have failed her. But I am okay with this. It is okay to fail. It is God’s will.” She puts hers and Peter’s hands to her chest. “The Prophet said, ‘It is better for a leader to make a mistake in forgiving than to make a mistake in punishing.’”
She turns to Jean-Paul. “And I forgive you.”
Jean-Paul puts his hands on her cheeks, kisses her forehead, and says, “I am so happy for you. It has happened. You have happened.”
Zara glances at Peter, with her cousin’s gun. Peter is expecting her warrior woman mission leader eyes to return. Instead, with her large dilated eyes, she says, “We should put your gun to good use.” Peter is puzzled as she takes his hand. She looks at him in a new special way. “What is wrong? We need to get lunch.”
An hour or so later, Zara leads Peter back into the cave. He is carrying four rabbits with their heads intact. One shot by him, so proudly so. The other three by Zara, the huntress.
After lunch, Peter waves Zara and Jean-Paul over. He points to his MoxWrap. “Watch this. On the news is a report about three nearly naked men found bound in a park in the middle of Siirt. Police have identified them as Catholic priests. A spokesperson from the Vatican states they have no knowledge of why they would be there. Authorities suspect their abduction may have something to do with the recent mysterious paratrooper attack on Batman and Siirt. An attack in which the Turkish government denies any involvement.”
Peter adds, “It’s good to know the Turkish government is not trying to take the object. Maybe they actually are the good guys here?”
Jean-Paul studies the picture of the priests in the news report on his MoxWrap. “Petrus is not among them.”
Entirely relieved, Zara leans over Jean-Paul to see the photo and just shakes her head. “I told Peri no touching the merchandise.” She looks at Jean-Paul very apologetically. “I am afraid for your friend.”
Very puzzled, Jean-Paul asks, “Why? Is he in mortal danger? From whom?”
Grimacing first and then with a silly smile, Zara replies, “If he is still a priest, then his chastity vow has been broken.” She checks the time on her MoxWatch. “And by now, broken a dozen times.”
The good priest looks at her wryly. “You knew all the time. You knew exactly what was happening all the time.”
Very sanguinely, Zara responds, “I trust no one. Except him.” And she points at Peter, who is aghast at the thought of priests having their chastity vows broken under duress, and maybe not under duress. Zara smiles mischievously. “Peri should have been here late last night. I thought the worst befell her. Now I am afraid she has been obsequiously sidetracked by your friend, Jean-Paul.”
Dinner arrives with four more rabbits who came in with their heads intact. To Peter, it is now clear Zara no longer feels compelled to blow the heads off cute animals. Something has profoundly changed in her. And more, Peter is very proud he can finally shoot; albeit, the rabbit he shot is missing most of its meat compared to Zara’s. But he is proud nonetheless. More importantly, he no longer feels the need to go back to Sarah and show he can carry a gun as well as Sam. Something has changed in him as well.
As Peter cleans the rabbits with Maryam, Zara glances at her MoxWrap, now getting very worried about Peri. The perimeter alarms sound, and the threesome exit the cave armed to the teeth. Up the road comes the Jesuits’ truck. Out pops Peri, who runs up to Zara and hugs her, saying the plan went perfectly. Firya, Beri, and Sana ambushed them perfectly at the right spot at the right time, taking those priests totally by surprise.
Zara looks at her best friend sideways. “I got so worried about you. I thought you would have sent a message at least. What took you so long to get here? I thought you would be here by morning at latest.”
Peri glances back at Petrus, meekly getting out of the truck, and with a maliciously playful smile, she replies, “Oh, that priest needed a little extra convincing to let me take the object here.”
Jean-Paul walks with Petrus, making sure his old friend is truly unharmed as he notes the rope burns on Petrus’s neck and wrists. He asks softly, “Were you mistreated?”
Petrus, very flushed and embarrassed, answers, “No. Not at all. Quite the contrary. Zara’s friend, she is really kinky. Do you think Zara is like that?”
Of course Jean-Paul shakes his head with a definite no.
Looking back at Peri, Petrus asks his old and trusted friend, “What did you say to the Father General when you told him you wanted to leave? I think my turn has come.”
During dinner, Peri sits next to her new beau, who is trying to hide his rope burns as Roza keeps staring at him. Peri tells the latest news. “The invasion of Siirt was short-lived. Once the men in black uniforms realized they could not find the object, they left. It should be safe for all to return to Siirt.”
Zara appears very pensive and then says, “It is very bothersome that these soldiers were without insignias. Who sent them? They timed their attack for just after the same style of attack was made by the Turks in Diyarbakır and Batman. The helicopter, also without identification, looked American, but the AC uses American equipment that ISIS captured from the Iraqis.”
She pauses to think while Peter serves her more of his rabbit. She says, “Peri, if you would go back and let us know if it is truly safe to return, I would feel better about the security of my family.”
Peri nods as she smiles and squeezes Petrus’s thigh. Petrus says, “Good thing, Zara, that you had Peri pull me aside that day you came to see Jean-Paul in the hospital.” He peeks at Peri. “I barely lived through her ‘interrogation’ that night where she convinced me to play along with your plan.” He glances back at Zara. “You truly do care about Jean-Paul.”
That evening after Maghrib evening prayer, Zara and Peter go to sit together with the object. As Peri and Petrus observe them from afar, Jean-Paul explains to them that something very divine is happening to them.
Petrus asks, “This is all about the medallion from your redheaded girlfriend, isn’t it?”
Turning a noticeable shade of rose, Jean-Paul says, “From the good Sister Magali, if that is who you mean.”
Peri, getting warm from being a voyeur, spying on her best friend Zara seemingly making out with her new man, pinches Petrus’s lower cheeks and whispers in his ear with a little lick to boot. Petrus turns the same shade of rose as Jean-Paul and says, “You must excuse us. I am clearly still this woman’s prisoner. And it is time that I must go back to my captivity tied to her bed.”
The next morning arrives. Peter awakes to see Zara staring at him with large eyes. He finds once again they are covered by a blanket. He says, “Did you notice how each morning we are covered?”
Zara peers over into the cave at her mother and says, “My mother did that to me all the time when she would find me asleep on the couch or floor with a book open on me.” She touches Peter’s nose. “You must be like a good book for me.”
They sit up next to the object and Zara asks him, “What did Maryam say to you? Do not hide it. I saw in you that you talked with her.”
“She said she was so happy that her little Zara has come back,” Peter answers. “You two enjoy a very special relationship. You are so fortunate.”
“That is not all, Peter. Tell me all. Why does she think I have changed? The object?”
Peter is a bit embarrassed to have this conversation, but is ultimately faithful to Zara and replies, “No. She thinks it is because you took me into your bed.”
Zara pauses, looking over to her mother, and then says, “She said the same to me too. And what else, Peter?”
Peter gulps and touches Zara’s heart. “She hopes that you and I have a daughter as nice as you.”
And to Peter’s surprise, Zara puts her hands on his over her heart and gently says, “She said the same to me.” She peers into Peter’
s eyes with all seriousness. “Would you be happy if that could never happen?”
He kisses her lightly and gently and says softly, “I will be forever happy and in peace just being with you.” He puts her hand on his heart. “And you know this to be true.”
Her hand upon his, forehead against his, she stares down and says, “If only it could be true. Us together. Forever.”
She kisses his forehead. “We need to see your dream. She said it would tell us what is next to come.”
They kiss, embrace, rub temples, touch bumps, and their minds once again clear with that peace, harmony, and beauty that comes with the union of two halves of an afflicted apple. They envision the last high priestess of the Cult of Illyana, Amanta, who buried the object after rejecting what the people of her lands had distorted in the words of the voice and the perversions they asked of the women who heard the voice. They hear her memory of her last conversation with the voice: “Ones that could bring peace to her people and her beloved children. And if not, they would find the means to return the object to her.” As Amanta walks off, leaving her priestess life behind her, she morphs into Zara, aiming her gun in between her sister Rona’s eyes. And Rona is begging, pleading for Zara to kill her.
Zara flinches and tries to pull away from Peter, who holds her even tighter, for they must see this dream no matter what. And then Rona morphs into a tall dark man who is begging her to kill him. Then Zara in the dream morphs into Orzu, aiming his arrow between his sister’s naked breasts. Illyana begs and pleads for her brother to kill her. Kill her now. And then Orzu morphs into Peter, aiming his gun at Alexander, who has his gun at Zara’s head. And Zara is begging, pleading with Peter to let him kill her.
Peter pulls back in horror, crying, “No. No. This cannot be true!”
Zara, knowing how true this will be, stares down, knowing that her time has come, knowing why her time has come, knowing the voice told Amanta as much, knowing that the world is not yet ready to listen to the voice.
She puts her hands on Peter’s cheeks and gazes into his eyes. “Listen to me, Peter. If the time comes when I must die for the good that the voice asks of us, then I am ready. Listen to me. You must kill me. You must let me be killed.”
The Matriarch Matrix Page 51