City of Peace

by Henry G. Brinton

  Sofia nodded. “He’s not a bad man, but he always puts business first. Have you met him?”

  “No, not personally,” said Harley. “But I’ve gotten to know his daughter, Tawnya.” They talked about life in Occoquan for a few more minutes, and then Sofia invited the two of them to move to the dinner table across the room.

  As soon as they sat down, Youssef offered a prayer. “Be with us, Lord Jesus, as you were with your first followers in the breaking of the bread. Bless this food to our use and ourselves to your service. Amen.”

  Sofia passed him a plate of lentils and rice with tomato sauce and said that it was called kosheri. She followed that dish with stuffed grape leaves, which she called warah enab. Youssef refilled Harley’s glass of iced tea and noted that they ate mostly vegetarian meals, which came from the Coptic practice of abstaining from meat during periods of partial fasting. He said that they were allowed to eat fish through most of the year, but the two of them found that they were satisfied with a largely vegan diet. From a spiritual point of view, it took them back to the Garden of Eden, said Youssef, where plants were the only food that humans were permitted to eat. Harley nodded, remembering that according to the Book of Genesis, meat was allowed only after the time of Noah and the ark.

  “This food is delicious,” said Harley to Sofia. “Thank you very much. It all seems very healthy.”

  “Food is important to us,” Sofia said. “Think of the many times that Jesus sat down to eat with people—even tax collectors and sinners. Christian hospitality is very important to Youssef and me.”

  “I do appreciate it,” Harley added. “Think of how much better the world would be if people actually sat down and ate with each other.”

  “No doubt about it,” agreed Youssef. “The Bayatis have become some of our closest friends here in Occoquan, largely because we have shared so many meals. Back in Egypt, Christians and Muslims are getting together less and less, which has caused the animosity and violence to increase. Did you hear about the attack last December in Cairo?”

  “No, I missed that,” admitted Harley.

  “A suicide bomber attacked St. Mark’s Coptic Orthodox Cathedral. More than two dozen worshipers were killed, including a ten-year-old girl.”

  “It was horrible,” Sofia said, shaking her head. “The worst attack on Copts in years. The Islamic State claimed responsibility.”

  “How did the Copts respond?” asked Harley.

  “With increased security, of course,” said Youssef. “But also with prayer—prayers for the victims, and for their attackers.”

  Harley was impressed that the Coptic community could respond with prayer for such evildoers. Thinking back over the past year, he hadn’t said a single prayer for the terrorists who killed Karen and Jessica. And yet he knew that Jesus commanded his followers to pray for the people who persecuted them.

  “A Coptic bishop set just the right tone,” continued Youssef. “He has a diocese south of Cairo. He challenged us all to love our enemies, to forgive them, and to pray for God to extract evil and darkness from their hearts. This has been my prayer since the bombing, although I admit that it is not easy to do.”

  “It is the only Christian path,” added Sofia. “We need to focus on heaven, and practice heavenly values in this world. After all, our life here is a preparation for heaven.”

  Harley was aware that the Coptic Orthodox Church, along with most Orthodox churches, had a very heavenly orientation. Their worship was much more otherworldly than Protestant services, which tended to be very orderly and rational, and even more mystical than most Roman Catholic services. He found himself drawn to these two Christians who dared to take the words of Jesus literally and personally, and said to them, “One of our great civil rights leaders had a similar approach. He said, ‘Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.’”

  “Well said,” noted Youssef. “Whose words are those?”

  “The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.”

  “He was killed, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes,” said Harley. “Gunned down in 1968.”

  “Such is the fate of so many Christians who live by their beliefs,” said Youssef. “Fortunately, life in heaven is better than life on earth.”

  Harley felt himself wanting to push back against Youssef’s words because he knew that such a focus on heaven had been used to oppress people in the past. Across the South, in the years before the Civil War, plantation owners had told their slaves that Christianity promised a heavenly reward, and that all of their suffering in this life would someday be replaced by a pain-free life in paradise. They would quote the apostle Paul to them, “Slaves, obey your earthly masters with fear and trembling,” while assuring them that obedient slaves would receive the gift of eternal life. Harley hated that the Bible had been used to enslave and abuse an entire race of people, but at the same time he realized that Youssef was not speaking out of that particular history. For Coptic Christians, the promise of heaven was not used to oppress people but to strengthen them to endure oppression.

  “I heard that when the funeral was held for that ten-year-old,” said Sofia, “her mother asked everyone to wear white. She said that black would have made her more depressed.”

  “In my church, white is the color of resurrection,” noted Harley.

  “That should always be the color for a funeral,” Sofia agreed. “When a person has died, we should always celebrate the resurrection. They have new life in Christ.”

  For Harley, the conversation began to feel a bit otherworldly, like a waking dream. After the deaths of Jessica and Karen, some of his dreams felt more real than his waking life, and now this wide-awake conversation with the Ayads felt like a vision. He found himself entering a state described by psychologists as “flow,” when a person became energized, focused, and fully involved in an activity. For athletes, flow was described as being “in the zone,” while musicians called it “getting into the groove.”

  As Harley talked with Sofia and Youssef, he felt a deep bond to them and to their Christian convictions, a link that he wanted to maintain for as long as he could. As they talked, everything became perfectly clear and deeply connected. Perhaps Youssef’s dinner prayer had been answered, and the risen Christ was truly present in the room.

  “I feel as though God has been talking to me through dreams,” Harley said to them, confessing something that he had not revealed to anyone else.

  “Really?” asked Sofia. “There is a long history of that in the Bible.”

  “I’d be interested in hearing about your dreams,” said Youssef. “Such communication has always been fascinating to me.”

  The name Youssef was the same as the name Joseph. Harley remembered that in the Book of Genesis there was a man named Joseph who had been an interpreter of dreams. The experience of flow between him and Youssef was getting stronger.

  “It happened on a Sunday night,” Harley explained. “I dreamed I was napping in a student dorm in Israel, the summer I did an archaeological dig there. In my dream I had a dream, and a supernatural messenger told me that my friend Leah was pregnant. I was shocked, since we had not been together in that way. Then the angel said, ‘Harley, do not be afraid to take Leah as your wife.’”

  “Ah,” said Youssef, “the same message that the angel gave Joseph.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” agreed Harley. “The New Testament Joseph. Not the Genesis Joseph.”

  “There are lots of us Youssefs.” Harley’s host smiled.

  “I was stunned,” Harley continued. “I couldn’t understand why this message was being given to me. I woke from sleep in the dorm, and wondered whether the angel was speaking the truth or not. I tossed and turned, wanting Leah to be held accountable for her unplanned pregnancy, but not wanting to do anything to embarrass her.”

  “That was Joseph’s struggle as well, wasn’t it?” said Youssef. “The tension between justice and compassion. He chose compass
ion, and look what a difference it made.”

  “So, what is it that God is saying to me?” Harley wondered. “Is he sending another miracle child into the world? How can that be? Leah is still my friend today. She has not had any babies, and she is not having any babies.”

  “Sometimes God speaks through symbols,” Sofia suggested. “Remember that when Pharaoh dreamed, he saw seven fat cows and seven thin cows. Joseph told him that the fat cows were symbols of seven good years and the thin cows were symbols of seven years of famine. He helped Pharaoh to store up food in the years of plenty to help his people to survive the years of famine.”

  Sofia’s name, like Youssef’s, had Biblical significance. It meant “wisdom.” Appearing as a character in the Book of Proverbs, Divine Wisdom called the people of the earth to follow Sofia.

  “What I am hearing is this,” said Youssef. “God is asking you to make a choice between justice and love. You can judge the people around you, or you can show them compassion. Did the friend in your dream deserve to be judged? Yes, probably. But the angel challenged you to make a compassionate choice and marry her.”

  “Okay,” said Harley, “I get it. But Leah is not pregnant and it wouldn’t make sense for me to marry her.”

  “Where else is new life coming into your world?” asked Youssef. “Where else are you challenged to take a chance and show compassion toward someone who deserves judgment?”

  One name jumped immediately into his mind: Omar Bayati. But he didn’t say anything about him because he didn’t want to break his promise of confidentiality.

  “Yes, I can think of someone,” he replied. It suddenly occurred to Harley that Joseph and Mary had fled to Egypt soon after the birth of Jesus. They found safety in that foreign land before returning to their hometown of Nazareth. Am I making a similar sojourn in the home of these two Copts?

  “Go to that person,” recommended Sofia. “Step out in faith and show them the compassion that Joseph showed to Mary. It is always good to approach people with love, because they have no defense against it.”

  “You won’t regret it,” added Youssef. Harley struggled with how to respond, and as he did he felt the feeling of flow dissipate. The presence of Jesus, which had felt so real, was no longer something he could perceive. Suddenly, he was simply sitting in a warm upstairs apartment with two short and heavy Egyptians. He felt a sense of loss and wanted so badly for the flow to return.

  “I really want to thank you for the meal and the conversation,” said Harley, not wanting to overstay his welcome. “You have shown amazing hospitality, and you have helped me figure some things out.”

  “You are very welcome,” said Sofia, also sensing that a meaningful moment had passed. “We hope that you will return to our home soon.”

  “Wherever two or three are gathered,” Youssef added, quoting scripture, “Jesus promises to be in the midst of them.” They walked him down the stairs and through the jewelry shop. Harley said goodbye, stepped into the street, and then turned around to wave. For a split second, they looked like angels. Then they reverted to being a couple of immigrants with light-brown faces and big smiles.

  Harley walked north on Washington Street and then west on Mill, enjoying the daylight that continued to illuminate the summer evening. For some reason, the biblical verse “out of Egypt I have called my son” popped into his head. Sure, he had just spent an evening with two Egyptians, but he had no idea who the son in his case was supposed to be. A refreshing breeze blew in his face as he walked along Mill Street, a harbinger of an approaching cool front. He wanted to talk with Omar and hoped that he would be able to find him at home.

  The lights were off in the Riverview Bakery, but it appeared that people were moving around in the apartment upstairs. He rang the doorbell at the front door of the bakery and waited for someone to respond. In a minute, a door opened behind the counter and a figure appeared. It was Omar, and he looked surprised to see Harley at the door.

  “What’s up?” Omar asked, trying to appear cool.

  “Can we talk?” Harley asked.

  Omar looked out the door to see if anyone else was around, and then gazed behind him into the empty bakery. He finally turned back toward Harley, shrugged and said, “Guess so.”

  “Let’s walk toward the water,” suggested Harley.

  Omar stepped outside, locked the door behind him, and followed Harley toward the dock where his boat used to reside. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans and kept his head down as he walked.

  “I hear you went to the police with your suspicion about Matt Carter.”

  Omar looked surprised that Harley knew this. “Who told you?” he asked.

  “Tim Underwood.”

  “Well, I think Matt Carter is guilty.”

  “Any evidence?” asked Harley.

  “Tim saw him in the area, going in and out of the building behind our place. And I saw him.”

  Harley looked at him, hoping that he would have something more solid. “Is that all?” he asked.

  “I think that’s enough. I went to the police this morning, made my report, and they said they would look into it.”

  The two of them approached the river, and Harley looked over to the rocks on the other side. The breeze picked up, stirring the water. “I’m glad you made your report. I trust the police to do an investigation. I certainly hope that they find your sister’s killer, whether it is Matt or someone else.”

  “It’s got to be him,” Omar huffed.

  “I want the killer to be found, just as you do, I really do. But when the case is solved, your family will still be in danger. These Woodbridge guys want to do some serious damage, and they will hurt anyone who gets in their way.”

  Omar looked fearful. “I can slow them down, but I cannot stop them.”

  “I think you can,” said Harley. “I will help you. As soon as the killer is caught and your father is released, we will go to the police, you and me.”

  As a Christian, Harley had always believed that God took human form in Jesus, and he preached that members of the church had the responsibility to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world today. He had accepted this concept in theory for most of his life, but his visit with the Ayads drove the idea from his head to his heart.

  “We will say that you were pressured to take the pictures, and we will describe how the Woodbridge guys threatened your family.”

  “All of that is true.”

  “When you realized they were terrorists, you came to me,” Harley continued. “We will take the pictures to the authorities, and describe their connection to the Belvoir plot.”

  “But how can I trust the authorities? Look at what they are doing to my father. The system is not fair to people like us. Won’t I be accused of participating in the plot?”

  “Not with me by your side,” promised Harley. “I will do everything I can to protect you. I promise you.”

  Omar looked at him with confusion. “Why would you to do this for me?”

  “Because I want to see justice done,” said Harley. “And because I have compassion for you.” Perhaps Omar is my son, he thought, called out of Iraq. The son he never had, and the only child left to him after Jessica’s death.

  Omar gazed out at the water and then back at Harley. He was defenseless. After taking a deep breath, he said, “I’ll do it. I’ll turn on the Woodbridge guys—as soon as my father is released.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Dirk and Harley sat on the third-floor porch, drinking coffee and looking down on Mill Street. A slight breeze rustled the dark-green leaves of the trees along the street, and the pedestrians doing Saturday morning shopping moved from one patch of shade to another as they progressed from store to store in the bright sunshine. Dirk had brought his plumber’s snake to Harley’s townhouse, which he used to clear a drain in the master bathroom. In a matter of minutes, the drain was flowing freely and Harley invited Dirk to join him on the porch for coffee and cinnamon rolls. Sitting in wrought-
iron chairs beside a small round table, they sipped their drinks and watched the traffic below.

  “Nice view you’ve got from up here,” Dirk said as he took a bite of a roll.

  “Great for people-watching,” noted Harley. “When I was in Sterling, we lived in a typical suburban cul-de-sac. The only traffic was cars driving in and out of garages, and the occasional dog-walker.”

  “But here it is people everywhere, constantly out and about.”

  “Most of the time I like it. Except for maybe late at night, when the drunks are yelling in the street.”

  As they gazed westward, toward the Riverview Bakery, they saw a woman walking down the street, suspending a child by one arm and spanking her repeatedly. The little girl was shrieking and struggling to break free. Dirk winced.

  “I hate to see a mother do that,” Harley said.

  “You’re telling me,” Dirk responded.

  For a second it looked as though Dirk was going to reprimand the woman over the porch railing, but she stopped hitting the child and the little girl began to trudge along, sobbing instead of screaming.

  “Reminds me of my own mother,” sighed Dirk, settling back in his chair. “She had a fiery temper and would beat me for minor infractions. One time, when I was probably five or six, I was trying to help her by clearing the table. I knocked a vase off the table and it shattered on the floor. She slapped me hard and knocked me to the ground.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Harley. “That would be considered child abuse today.”

  “Well, it was a different time. Made me feel like I had to walk on eggshells all the time. I never knew what would set her off. She really scared me.”

  “Where was your dad in all this?”

  “He was around, but never intervened. Maybe he was afraid of her temper as well.”

  “I bet that made you mad at your father.”

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” admitted Dirk. “Mad? I don’t know. Disappointed, yes. He could have stepped in, but he didn’t. I always got the feeling that he expected me to take care of myself.”