Muhammad Read Online Free PDF Page A

that circle our cave. There’s no help from there.
    Or so I thought.
    One day Celestius seemed to take longer than usual to unfold his creaking limbs in the morning. I poked him but he didn’t move or let out a grunt. He had died sometime after midnight prayers. From the way his arm lay outstretched in the direction of my pallet, I suppose he had wanted the last rites. A bit late on that one, my brother. I put him in the earth with a rough marker on his grave. He would keep a long time, what with the lack of rain. Eventually a caravan would pass by carrying a Christian, and then the body could be taken back to Damascus for a proper burial.
    I didn’t fear loneliness. Actually, it was good to be rid of him. I love my fellow man, as Christ commands me to, but toward the end Celestius was too mad to remember to dress or clean himself. I saw his bony behind once too often. After I buried the old monk, a trader from Tyre came by one day who could read, and I showed him a stack of pages from Celestius’s “Bible.” The trader laughed and said it was complete gibberish. No surprise. The only thing of interest was the last page. On it Celestius had written the same line over and over until his hand faltered and the letters turned to faint squiggles:
    When the sun’s face is hidden, God will bring his last prophet.
    â€œAre you sure that’s what it says?” I asked. Because he was my guest, the trader had no reason to lie. I will grant the pagans one thing—they hold hospitality sacred. I had invitedhim into my cave for food and drink—a proper meal, not just flatbread and grasshoppers. I sell religious trinkets to travelers (with a little work a goat’s shinbone can be made to look very much like a saint’s), and with the money I buy supplies from the caravans. Dates and figs, usually, but also honey, olives, hard cheese, and dried meat. Wine, of course, in clay jars sealed with pitch.
    The trader assured me that he had read the line just as it was written, but to be certain he took the page outside, where the setting sun still imparted an amber glow to the hills. When the sun’s face is hidden, God will bring his last prophet . Celestius wasn’t sure about the spelling of the word “prophet,” so he had put in three versions and one of them was right, the trader told me. The trader said he’d be glad to read the other gibberish to me too, but that just meant he wanted more wine. I gave him another cup out of charity, even though my heart sank inside. This man from Tyre had delivered me a world of trouble without knowing it.
    God will bring his last prophet . Impossible. The old monk was simply delirious. God has already sent his only begotten Son. The prophecy of Isaiah is fulfilled. Unless…
    Unless Jesus has forsaken us.
    Unless God has changed His mind.
    Unless the Devil has found me in the smallest, darkest, dirtiest cave on the face of the earth.
    What a curse when the mind hits upon that tiny exception— unless . It appears like a black mote on the far horizon. And no matter how hard you struggle, the speck grows and grows until one day it swallows up the sky. What could I do? I prayed. I asked God for a sign. One night after thrashing in bed covered in sweat, I rose and burned all the pages theold monk had scribbled. Yet when I got to the last one, fear gripped my heart, and I couldn’t put it to the flame. So either God or the Devil has power I couldn’t resist.
    After that I spent my days watching the sky, waiting for the face of the sun to be hidden. A stranger found me that way, squatting on the ground outside my cave.
    â€œWhy are you staring at the sun, old one?”
    I looked up to see a tall, turbaned man who was as dark as his shadow. Perhaps an Abyssinian. They say that if you cross the sea to their kingdom, which is Christian by the grace of God, there are many Bibles, some covered in cloth of gold. Maybe here was a man I