Muhammad Read Online Free PDF Page B

abbot said gravely. “And don’t come home until this is your winding sheet.”
    I smiled to myself, wrapping the scarlet cloth around my narrow shoulders. Moths had chewed small holes in the wool, but the gold embroidery twinkled in the dimness of the cave. The cloak was still a fine thing. I sat in the midst of the feast I had spread out and waited for sundown. Once or twice I nodded off—the aftermath of my great excitement—until I heard men’s voices coming up the hill.
    â€œBashira. Are you he?” the head man said when he got to the mouth of the cave. These Arabs are horrible unbelievers, but they speak formally when they come as guests.
    I lit an oil lamp and held it close to my face. “Is there another cave waiting for you that is set with a feast?” I asked.
    The glow from the lamp illuminated my scarlet robe, giving it what seemed like an inner light. The Arabs looked at each other doubtfully. They believe in all kinds of spirits, especially those who roam the desert after nightfall to suck humans dry of their souls. But the lead man didn’t falter. Seeing the food and drink all around me, he stepped inside with a bow.
    They sat in a circle and began to eat. None of them said a prayer or cared two beans that I did. A couple of them splashed the floor with wine as offerings to their idol. The name didn’t matter. Idols were more plentiful than horses or cattle. If you climbed a tree to escape a prowling jackal, you could turn that into your god if you wanted to.
    Being guests, the men didn’t attack the food like ravenous beasts, but ate with dignity. I sat silently and watched. Which one was the prophet? It wasn’t long before dignity grew thin. As the wine flowed, the talk grew louder and coarser. To them I wasn’t a holy man, so they spoke freely of women in the streets and their many conquests. The hours wore on. Tongues wagged, then heads nodded. But I kept my gaze alert. Which one? The full moon had sent slanting light into the cave for the first hour, but it had long set under the stark, treeless horizon. I turned to the head man, who had seated himself on my right. He wasn’t sober, but he was still coherent.
    â€œIs there anyone here I should know in particular?”
    He looked puzzled, and why not? I had no words for what I wanted to say. I tried again. “I am looking for someone favored by the gods,” I said. “Does any of your clan have a mark upon him?”
    â€œWhat?” He shook his head in confusion and asked foranother cup of wine. I gave it to him and sank back into my gloomy thoughts. Not for the whole evening had I seen a sign of God’s intentions. These were coarse, ordinary traders, drifters across the face of the desert. Someone was toying with me.
    The men rose to leave, each helping the other to his feet. They staggered out into the night, which had grown dark and thick without the moon. Torches were lit, and the head man bowed to me. He was about to turn away when he said, “I have put some dates and figs in my bag without asking your permission. They’re for my son. Forgive me.”
    I tried to keep my voice from trembling. I asked him why his son stayed away. I had explicitly invited every man of the caravan. He said that they had left behind no men. His son was still a boy. They’d left him behind to guard the animals and raise the alarm at the first sign of raiders.
    â€œSend the boy to me,” I said. “My Lord Christ bids me to offer food to every stranger tonight, without exception.”
    To his superstitious mind this was logic enough, not that he had any regard for the name of Christ. The head man gathered his homespun skirts about him and sat down on the ground after barking orders at one of the others. His men bowed and departed down the hill.
    â€œActually, I’m happy you called for Muhammad,” he said. “I felt guilty leaving him alone when one of the slaves