They stood from their seats until Tariq said:“Wait, just wait, please,” and Tariq smiled cordially. “America must be a very different place, you’re right. Obviously my Saudi tactics don’t work very well with foreigners. I didn’t mean to build the child up so much, but please understand it from my point of view.”“We’re just trying to be honest with your holiness,” said the husband.“This child,” said Tariq softly, “is an Imam.”“There are many Imams here and elsewhere. So what?”Tariq controlled the urge to smack the husband outright.“I know that,” continued Tariq, “but there’s a difference between the Imams who are everyday clerics, and a twelfth Imam spawned from the blood of our Caliphate Ali.”“You mean?”“Exactly. I wasn’t sure whether or not to tell you such a secret, but now you know. This child, Allah’s child, the greatest of grandsons of Ali, is indeed the twelfth Imam Al-Mustafa, returned to this earth in flesh and in blood.”A silence crept into Tariq’s study. The couple neither. .. Pain causes me to drop the map and stagger a bit against the cabinet... You reach out to help me but it is too late the canister of coffee, condiments and such things we kept on top for easy access all go tumbling to the floor and a cloud of fine powder rises up and envelops me. I take a breath and instantly my eyes tear up and I feel that need over come me... There is nothing I can do... I start to sneeze over and over... Coughing... sneezing. My body tense and shaken from head to toe with each one... Leaning up against the cabinet racked with this... I notice you standing still looking at me... such an intent look... Your poised as if to leave... But suddenly you reach forward and pat me on the back; coming closer your arm goes around me... You feel my shudders. My helplessness... I grab for some tissue but none is close by... you walk over and get me some... handing me a handful watching me. I feel you brush my hair from the side of my neck... I look at you and step away....
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