Travel Tales in the Promised Land (Palestine) Part 7

Having no idea that this girl was his son's new friend, the one Thar met just yesterday, Mustafa asked: "Which mother? What did she say?"

"On our way to the Grave of Lazarus, Mother told me that the Savior would resurrect you from the dead-just as He brought Lazarus back to life."

"Me?"

"Yes, you Daddy!"

Mustafa turned toward us: "She believes I'm her father! How strange! Who is this child?"

"My name is Schamah, the 'forgiveness,' and you'll find my Mother over there in the house." Once again holding up her outstretched hands, she pleaded: "Just like you used to, carry me in your arms as we go to her." His face lost its color. White as a corpse, he retreated a few steps backward. His voice faltered as he asked: "Schamah-the forgiveness?" He directed the next question to his son: "Was this really the small girl from yesterday?"

"Yes, it is she," he nodded.

"My word, oh my word! Do you know her father's name?"

Before the boy could answer, Schamah spoke up: "Truly, you are my Father! Your name is Achmed Bustani. Don't you know me anymore? If not, I can't help but cry. Lift me up and take me to Mother!"

It's impossible to describe what happened next. Simultaneously, Mustafa Bustani let out a cry and fell to his knees. He stretched out his arms to Schamah and pulled her towards him. Nonstop, he kissed her cheeks as he cried out: "Schamah-Schamah-the forgiveness! Just like he told me in my dream, has it happened? These were his words: 'I will send you my forgiveness- she comes here from the East. Every day, look for her!' I have done so, and now she has arrived!"

Suddenly, Schamah withdrew from his caresses. With both arms, she pushed him away, looking him straight in the eyes as she said this to him: "It's not true; it's not so! I like you, but you are not my Daddy. One more time, you must go back into the Tomb in order to be fully brought back to life."

He repeated her request: "Yet one more time back inside the Grave? Yes, I clearly understand. There is still something inside of me that must die. Until then and for the time being, I am your daddy's brother. Oh dear, dear child of my heart-from now on, you have my love, just as if I were your father." She smiled when she answered: "If you wish, then I'll do so. Now, carry me to my Mother!"

"First, please tell me something else."

"What?"

"Do you know the date when your daddy died?

"Oh yes, Mother and I certainly remember that day. I can never forget that date, because she recalls it so often. He died on the fifteenth day of the Month of Adar, one day after the Jewish Holiday of Purim."

Mustafa leaped to his feet. His face took on an indescribable expression: "Did you hear what she just said? The 15th day of Adar!

That's the same day of my dream. He told me that he had died and that he would send me his Schamah, his forgiveness. Allah, Allah! How wonderful all of this has turned out. I honor you. I treasure you. I adore you."

"To Mommy, to Mommy!" pleaded the child. What she saw and heard were all too much for her to understand just now.

He gathered Schamah into his arms and lifted her up: "Yes, I'll take you to your mother. Where will we find her?"

Clinging close to my side, Thar was ready to go with them: "At the home of Abd en Nom."

Still full of excitement, his father took almost hesitant steps in the direction of the house-where he soon vanished inside.

Thar thoughtfully pondered aloud: "If I may not go inside and hear what is said, I'll just have to speculate on what's taking place. Father is right; marvelous things still happen. I myself played a big part in today's miracle. Without my father knowing, the Donkey Driver and I came up with the plan that involved a note which would eventually lead Schamah to this place-and at this time.

Effendi, you and your wife have to agree that all of this could not have turned out any better. Wait for me here! As soon as I put all of this together, I'll ask you to hear me out."

He then left us. My wife and I went on to visit the ruins where we quietly shared our thoughts, almost as if we were in a church. We were completely alone. The site's guardian had already gone for the day. The entrance to the Tomb lay open. Oh what thoughts seemed to come forth from that wide-open door. Daylight began to wane. Oh what a pure and clean breath of fresh air drifted down on us from the heights of the Mount of Olives. Inside of me, I heard something-or was it from somewhere outside? Was someone standing behind us? No human presence could compare to this feeling of a powerful force that embraced us as it seemed to call out: "Lazarus, come out!" Yes, nothing is so surreal as the physical a.s.sociation with miracles that seems to connect the dead with the living.

From somewhere up above, softly sublime and aerial two-part harmony voices floated down to us-once again, the boys were singing "The Song of Bethany," recalling how the Savior went to visit His brothers and sisters. Per Thar's instructions, the boys had climbed behind the ruins and were now repeating the verses they had sung at the Pool of Siloam. It was the song of Christ, the one who caused the blind to see and the dead to live again. As I thought about this song, it almost seemed irreverent and profane to use common words to allude to matters of blindness and death. Such things are deeply rooted in feelings. Herein, I can't instruct you- I can only tell my story.

When the song faded away like an evening vesper from the time of Christ, Thar returned to us. He and his playmates had parted ways, and each had returned home. Once again, his father came out of the house. His sister-in-law and Schamah accompanied him. When I saw their expressions, these biblical words came to mind: "And their faces glistened brilliantly." Thar saw it too: "What an hour, what a blessed time," he said.

"Adding in the song, who could have arranged all this?" I asked.

Pointing to himself with both hands, the boy answered: "I was the one."

"Were you really the one who's responsible? To me, it seemed as if this was some sort of greeting from your mother."

The widow joined in: "It's also from my departed husband whose life ended, yet his spirit lives on as his dying wish now comes to fulfillment."

Mustafa Bustani turned to his son: "If all of this truly came about through your mother's and my brother's last requests-and not from you-surely you have done more than your share, and you deserve our thanks. Actually, Abd en Nom told us the name of the architect who orchestrated today's joint-ventures. The compa.s.sion which your mother planted in your young soul has born fruit and brought blessings upon us. Schamah, the forgiveness, will be living with us and-"

"In our house?" Thar quickly asked.

"Yes."

"With her mother?"

"Yes."

"For how long?'

"I hope it will be forever."

Upon hearing that, Thar shouted and leaped higher in the air than he ever had before: "Right away, I must hurry to tell them that they'e coming!"

"Whom?"

"Why, all of our household: Habakek, Bem, his wife, the coffee grinder, and our cook."

"We still have plenty of time, because my sister-in-law will spend this evening here with Abd en Nom. After all the preparations are in place to welcome them with a festival, we'll pick them up tomorrow." With a second joyful leap, Thar cheered: "Their reception will be wildly festive! May I invite my Lions and my Elephants?" From the look on Mustafa's face, he didn't approve. When my wife waved her appeal to him, he gave in: "Yes, invite them."

"The Hippos too?"

"Yes."

"And the Whales?"

"Yes, they can also come. They can sit in the backyard and be entertained there-but quietly. Before they leave this evening, please have them sing "The Song of Bethany."

"Halleluja! My dearest and loving father, thank you. I'll hurry to tell them right away!"

Mustafa Bustani tried to hold him back: "Why this very minute?"

"Because I still have time to catch up with them. They left just a short while ago." He pulled away, quickly shook Schamah's little hand, and sprang to his feet.

As she adoringly watched the boy, Schamah asked: "Will I be staying with him?"

"Yes, you will," her mother answered. From now on, you two will be together."

"I too want it to be so. I'm very glad about that, because I love him so-such heroes need someone to keep an eye on them. But for now, I'm tired from the long journey. May I soon go to sleep?"

Schamah's desire to sleep now gave us a timely reason to say "Good night" as well. When we also said "Auf Wiedersehen," truly we could eagerly look forward to seeing everyone tomorrow. One more time before nightfall, mother and daughter went to Lazarus' Tomb as they performed a very personal duty which the Grave now seemed to give way to.

My wife, Mustafa Bustani, and I departed too, climbing the steep and familiar path to Bethpage and on towards Kafr et Tur.

When we reached the height's Bread-bush of Jonathan, we paused for awhile. Now in the grasp of the distant horizon, the sun sank, then vanished. With its last beams of light, the sun embraced the earth's most holy city. Unless you yourself see and feel this marvelous sight that Jerusalem and The Mount of Olives offer at sunset, I can not describe its wondrous beauty. We stood there for a long time, completely absorbed in this vista.

Mustafa Bustani took a deep breath before he spoke: "Compared to this same time yesterday, it's even more beautiful, a thousand times lovelier. You know, this kind of deep appreciation comes from inside of us. I'm a completely different man than I was yesterday-I feel and I see things in an entirely better light. There is a world of difference between yesterday and today. I know that you don't expect me to talk for hours about events and my personal feelings. It's "OK"

with you when I feel the need to be silent. Please, go on without me.

Leave me here, alone with my thoughts and alone with the brother who forgave me today-even though I once disowned him.

So my wife and I went on without him. As we reached the next bend in the road, the evening bells of the Holy City began to ring.

An undulating sea of sacred music rose up to capture us-as if it wanted to take us towards heaven. When we looked behind us, we saw Mustafa Bustani on his knees-as church bells pealed, this Muslim was praying. Can I say more? No.

For those readers who can not tolerate gaps in stories, I'll tell you that I eventually received the Pasha-saddle. Mustafa Bustani made it all possible, and I believe he did so with a great deal of personal sacrifice. Even though this showpiece may seem to be an impractical item in my home, I nevertheless love and treasure it. It reminds me of those two days in the Holy Land when Thar, Schamah, the "blood feud," and "the forgiveness," all combined to send me a sign from above. I shall never forget that.

[Translator's Addendum]

To an unknown recipient of Karl May's signed copy of his 1906 drama, Babel and the Bible, the playwright penned this poem of dedication on the play's t.i.tle page. Unfortunately, the recipient of May's personalized, autographed copy is unknown. Possibly, this was Karl May's final poetic work.

"Widmungsgedicht" [Poem of Dedication]

By Karl May. 22 February 1912

On that day when the Great Spirit awakened, Where once He lay across world-dreaming waters And thought upon the Word of the Most High; Therein His Lord spoke this promise to Him:

"Now, I endow You with this thought: 'Earth, Go forth and humanely guide men's lives So that they may become righteous in the Love Which you receive from your Father's house!'"

In the East, the Light of Lights streaked forth- This Life-tide eternally, endlessly springing.

In amazement, the Spirit saw face-to-face G.o.d's holy-harmonic image emerge."

From Himmelsgedanken, Gedichte von Karl May [Karl May's Thoughts of Heaven Poems]

"Das Theater soll nicht ein Rendez-vous fuer bevorzugte Kla.s.sen, sondern eine Volksschule im wahrsten und besten Sinne dieses Wortes sein."

The theater should not be an elite meeting place for privileged cla.s.ses of people; in the truest and best sense of the word, it should be the "Peoples' School."