The Atheist's Messiah: Yanif

by Saul Dobney

  As he left, Eshe turned and hugged her pillow perhaps as if she was hugging him.

  57. BBC interview

  Eshe and Yanif were already at breakfast when Tremus and Riaz came down the next morning. Riaz groaned, rubbing his head as poured himself a strong black coffee. Tremus held a small white bag beside him and he placed it sheepishly onto the table. Eshe tried to see what it was, peering at the package trying to get a glimpse of the contents.

  “Close your eyes… ,” said Tremus watching Eshe. He took a parcel wrapped in blue paper out of the bag. “…and put out your hands.”

  Eshe did as he asked, jiggling in her chair and biting her lip.

  Tremus placed the parcel on her outstretched palms. “Now you can look.”

  She unwrapped the paper and lifted the lid, her eyes sparkling as she saw what was inside.

  “Oh Tremus it's beautiful. Look Yanif. Look.” She turned the box to show Yanif a pearl necklace. “Isn't it divine?” She stood up and threw her hands around Tremus hugging him, before kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you Tremus. Thank you.”

  “I have wanted to get you something for a long time,” said Tremus. “Steve and Riaz helped me choose. Is it good?”

  “It is better than good,” she said.

  She lifted the necklace out gingerly, examining it and watching the light play on the lustre of the pearls.

  Tremus took it from her and undid the clasp then lent across her brushing away her hair and linked the necklace around her neck.

  Eshe walked over to one of the long mirrors on the dining room walls. Tremus stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders as she swung her hips and turned to see the patterns of light against her skin.

  “You like them don’t you?”

  Eshe smiled and gave Tremus another hug. “They’re perfect. Oh how I wish I could show them to Angelie.”

  “I spoke to Angelie last night,” said Riaz. He took another sip of coffee. “Kwasi and Mosi got out yesterday evening. They have a few cuts and bruises, but it could have been worse. Angelie was happy they were out. She said Nairobi centre is like a ghost town. Everyone is expecting more trouble.”

  “We should be in Kenya,” said Yanif. “They need us. We should not be here with this glitter.” He gestured towards the gold and cream décor.

  “Yanif,” grouched Riaz. “Why is it that when you are here, and famous and can do almost anything you want, you want to go home and go back to having nothing? We have to stay with Heather now because of you.”

  “Riaz,” growled Tremus.

  Eshe put her arm on Yanif's. “We came for Tabitha and Mr Coombe too,” she said. “You do want to see them this afternoon? Everything else is just a price for seeing them.”

  “Work first though,” said Riaz. “We have an appointment at the TV studios for an interview this morning. Eshe, that means you need to move our things to Heather's.”

  “Just me?” asked Eshe.

  “We will be helping Yanif prepare,” said Tremus. “So he knows exactly what he has to say and won't make any more mistakes.”

  Yanif looked out past the cameras into the clutter of the studio where Riaz, Tremus and Steve were standing. Riaz gave Yanif a thumbs up.

  “I bring you a message from Kenya. God is with you. He is listening. Ask me and I will help. I offer everyone a blessing.” Yanif's voice was flat without intonation.

  “Oh stop. Please,” said Bishop Thomas interjecting. “What utter banality. God is a serious matter and here you are treating it like a celebrity interview or promoting a breakfast cereal. I’ve spoke to fellow Anglicans in Kenya and they are quite clear that you are a dangerous fraud Yanif, misusing the Bible for your own ends. Where is the real intellectual and spiritual depth. What does he have to tell us about the soul and the nature of God? What about the transubstantiation of the soul? Or the Arian question? This is all flimflam and opportunism.”

  Yanif said nothing and Liam Jones, the presenter, leaned back in his chair letting Bishop Thomas continue.

  “See. Nothing. He says nothing about real religious issues.” The bishop took out a Bible, opened it at a pre-marked page. “They say you know the Bible. Then read this will you. Read it and tell the world what the Bible says will happen to false prophets.”

  Yanif pushed the book away, but the bishop pushed it back at him. “Read it. I’ve marked the passage.”

  “God is not a book,” said Yanif taking the Bible in his hand and waving it to the camera. “Studying words that men wrote is not studying God. God is always talking to us, why do we only listen to what was said so long ago? Only when things touch you and connect with the God inside do you really listen to God.”

  “Please,” said Bishop Thomas. “Just read the passage. You can read can’t you?”

  “This book is not God,” repeated Yanif.

  “Read it. I want the viewers to hear what it says from your own voice.”

  Yanif slammed the book against his hand.

  “There you have it. He refuses to read God’s words. That’s how much of a prophet he is.”

  Yanif took the Bible with both hands and pulled it apart at the spine breaking the book into small sections each with a handful of pages. Then he took each section and ripped the pages, throwing the torn scraps into the air. “You should not worship books or words, but God.”

  Bishop Thomas gawped stupefied, immobile in shock. When he came to his senses he grabbed at Yanif, trying to stop him and to retrieve the book. “You cannot be a prophet if you rip up holy books. These are God’s words. You can’t do that. You are nothing more than a vandal. You—”

  Yanif didn’t hear the rest of the Bishop’s response. He walked past the cameras and past Tremus, and Riaz without stopping, then out of the studio into the corridor.

  “What did you do that for? You can’t leave like that,” said Riaz catching up with Yanif. “You’ve gone crazy. Do you want to destroy everything? Who’s going to want to you to help them now?”

  Steve rubbed his chin and grinned. “Riots in Kenya and now destroying one of the most sacred books in the world on TV and walking off an interview. I don’t think selling books or t-shirts is going to be a problem Riaz.”

  “But he’s crazy, Steve. It’s getting out of control. He might say or do anything,” said Riaz.

  “So long as he does it while I’m selling the tickets, I’m not going to be concerned.”

  “Is all you care about money?” asked Yanif.

  Steve shrugged. “Yeah. What else is there?”

  Yanif slumped against the wall. “You tell him Tremus,” said Yanif. “You know this isn't right.”

  Tremus shook his head. “Riaz is right, Yanif. We are making our mark and you are throwing it all away.”

  “You are being led astray,” said Yanif.

  “I am not a puppet Yanif,” said Tremus. “I make my own decisions.”

  58. Tabitha's birthday

  Yanif sat glum-faced in the minivan watching the Essex countryside roll past, a blend of greens and browns screened behind hedges and farm gates. They pulled up alongside a red-brick house, the bricks shaded and toned by age, the eaves bowed by the weight of the roof. As they stopped, Tabitha ran down the path. Yanif stepped out of the car and she jumped into his arms, squeezing him like a teddy bear.

  “I’m so happy you have come. I have told everyone about you. And we’ve all saw your picture on television.”

  Yanif kissed her on the cheek and as soon as he put her down, she dragged him by the arm past the bunting and her family and straight through the house to the back garden.

  “He’s here. He’s here,” she called to a gaggle of children playing tag among the streamers and balloons that hung between the apple trees.

  The children stopped and studied Yanif, curiosity on their faces.

  “Are you a wizard?” one of the younger girls asked. “Tabitha said you did magic and it made her better.”

  Yanif smiled and shook his head, then crouched down.
“It’s not magic, it’s real.”

  A host of small hands touched him on the back and shoulders. “Tabitha said you can heal people just by touching them,” said the little girl again.

  Yanif dropped to sit on the ground and held out his hands. The children sat around him and formed a ring and Tabitha snuggled up to Yanif. Her hair had grown back and she resembled all the other girls at the party.

  “You don't look African. Do you have a spear and hunt lions?” asked one of the boys.

  Yanif laughed and shook his head.

  At that moment Eshe caught up with them. “We have a present for you Tabitha.” She handed Tabitha a white rose. “It comes from Kenya. Happy Birthday from Yanif and all of us.”

  Tabitha smiled and took Yanif's hand. “You can help me plant it. I know just where. It will go next to Mummy’s tree, where we go to remember.”

  The group of children followed as Tabitha led Yanif to the flower beds.

  Yanif knelt down and dug out a hole with his hands. He picked up a worm and it twisted and elongated trying to find its way back to the soil. The children squealed as he passed it around to show them. Then he made a small hole and let the worm wriggle its way back into the ground.

  Yanif took the rose from Tabitha, but as he did so he pulled his hand away sharply, shaking his finger.

  “You’ve pricked yourself,” said Tabitha. “Should I go and get a plaster?”

  Yanif shook his head and put his finger in his mouth to suck it clean, then put the rose into the hole. He patted the soil down around the base and straightened the flowers. A small dot of red blood appeared on the petal.

  “Children, Tabitha,” called a elderly woman’s voice from near the house. “It’s time for some food. Come and wash your hands please.”

  “Yes Grandma,” shouted Tabitha and she and the other children ran into the house leaving Eshe and Yanif by the flower bed.

  A small plaque stood by the tree. Eshe read it out loud for Yanif. “In memorium. Teresa. Dearly beloved wife and mother. Never forgotten.”

  Yanif closed his eyes and made a silent prayer. As he finished, Eshe tapped him on the shoulder. Riaz and Tremus were walking across the lawn with Mr Coombe accompanied by two middle-aged men and a woman with a headscarf over her head.

  “Yanif,” said Mr Coombe reaching out to shake Yanif’s hand. “Tabitha’s been jabbering about you incessantly for the last month. She almost lost her voice when she saw you on TV all the screaming she did.”

  “She looks well,” said Yanif. “Joy is with her again.”

  Mr Coombe smiled and nodded. “Now this is a friend of mine, Nicholas. He's a chaplain in Cambridge and these good people are James and his wife Jill. Long-standing fans of yours I've been told.”

  Yanif bowed slightly.

  “More followers than fans,” said Dr Hill holding out his hand. “Angelie sent me an email some while ago. You know her?”

  Yanif nodded.

  “You’re the prophet hunter?” said Eshe. “You're the man Angelie found.”

  “You know, you're not at all what I expected,” said Jill. “I was expecting someone more radiant. With a halo or something.”

  Riaz laughed. “Yanif left it in Kenya, didn't you Yanif?”

  “Why did you want to meet Yanif?” asked Eshe.

  “Because—” started Dr Hill.

  But behind him Tabitha ran up and took Yanif by the hand. “Come with me. You need to get some cake or it will all be eaten before you get there.”

  “Hello Tabitha,” said Jill. “We have a present for you, for your birthday.”

  Tabitha stopped and watched as Dr Hill took a parcel out of the bag he was carrying. “Happy Birthday.”

  Tabitha ripped open the wrapping and took out a small brass tube with a lens at each end. “What’s this?”

  “An aurascope. Some people say it shows peoples’ auras so you can see what they’re really like,” said Jill. “If you believe that.”

  “Wow,” said Tabitha. She peered through the tube. “Everyone is in different colours. It’s like a rainbow maker. Except Yanif. Yanif doesn’t have an aura.”

  Tabitha pointed the tube at Jill. For a moment she was silent and let the tube drop to her side. “You’ve lost your hair haven’t you? Is it radiotherapy? Have you got leukaemia too?” she asked.

  Jill breathed deeply. “It’s a cancer, but not leukaemia. The doctors are helping me.”

  “Then you should asked Yanif to help,” said Tabitha. “Is that why you wanted to come? So you could ask him?”

  “If you want a prophet, then Yanif is the man you have been looking for,” jumped in Riaz.“Yanif has done all these miracles in Kenya and now he is here. You know it was his miracle that cured Tabitha?”

  “Hold on,” said Dr Hill. “Niall said that the hospital cured Tabitha. Yanif only provided some reassurance.”

  Riaz gaped at Dr Hill wide-eyed. “She was in hospital, yes. But without Yanif she would have died. Yanif made the miracle.”

  “Tosh and rubbish,” said Dr Hill. “There are no such things as miracles. Niall, you said it was the hospital.”

  “I don’t know about Tabitha,” said Mr Coombe. “I’m sure Yanif at least accelerated it. But I do know he cured someone of HIV. That was a real miracle. That I saw that with my own eyes. So it’s possible he cured Tabitha too, but I didn’t see it that way at the time.”

  “Niall. Are you sure?” asked the chaplain. “Miracle is a very strong word.”

  “Nicholas, the truth is, if you pushed me, then I would say it was a miracle. I mean I spent so long hoping and praying for Tabitha to get better, and then Yanif came along, and she did get better. And quickly too.”

  Jill shook her head. “What Yanif does is not real. It’s make believe,” she turned to Tabitha. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

  “Yanif can help, can’t you Yanif? He cured me,” said Tabitha.

  “Wouldn’t it be worth taking the chance if there’s a hope of improvement?” asked Nicholas.

  “False hopes are fool’s gold,” said Jill quietly taking hold of her husband’s arm. “I wouldn’t want any of that mumbo jumbo thank you.”

  Yanif smiled at Jill. “If you believe you can be cured,” said Yanif.

  Dr Hill shook his head. “Medicine not faith is what Jill needs.”

  “But Yanif can cure you,” said Riaz. “He has healed so many people. You saw him saving Heather Cross no? She supports our Chama now.”

  Jill shook her head another time. “It’s just a game to you. Preying on the weak and sick.”

  “But Mr Coombe has seen it,” said Riaz. “You have seen Tabitha with your own eyes. Ask and Yanif will help you.”

  “He will,” said Tabitha. “Really. He was sent to earth by God to look after people.”

  “And all the suffering in Kenya? All the sick and poor people. Is that God too?” asked Dr Hill.

  “It is God’s test,” said Tremus joining in. “How are you to find a great warrior if you do not test them. We have to be worthy.” He stood tall, bearing over Dr Hill.

  “But God is love too,” said Eshe. She linked her arm with Yanif. “Love is why he sent us Yanif. So we know he is still with us. I still don’t understand why you don’t ask.”

  “I can help,” said Yanif. He reached out and touched Jill on the shoulder. “You just need to believe.”

  Jill shivered at his touch then shook her head. “We don’t need that kind of help. It is better to be honest when you don’t believe, than to be dishonest and pretend to believe something false.” Jill pulled at her husband’s arm. “Please James, we should go. We shouldn’t have come.”

  “Why did you come if you did not want Yanif to heal you?” asked Riaz, but Jill was already leading her husband back towards the house.

  59. Trouble with Heather

  “Eshe, can you get a snack for the boys? They look so exhausted,” said Heather as Tremus, Riaz and Yanif came through the front door of Heather's Kensing
ton mews house. “Children's hospital's are such hard work.”

  Eshe glared at Heather, propped the mop she was using to clean the bathroom into the bucket of water, and yanked off the rubber gloves she was wearing.

  “You’ll find extra sugar in the cupboard if there's not enough in the bowl,” continued Heather. “There are a couple of extra plates that need washing too. I think you missed them earlier.”

  Eshe was about to complain, but Yanif caught her by the arm and the two of them made their way along the hall to the kitchen.

  “I think I’m going mad,” said Eshe. “We've been here for two days and now Heather expects me to do everything, all the cooking and all the cleaning. It's so unfair.”

  Yanif took the mugs out of the cupboard, but was interrupted by Heather's voice from the lounge.

  “Yanif,” shouted Heather. “Eshe can do that. You come and sit by me. I've been so waiting for you to come back so I can play my new song to you.”

  “I wish Kwasi and Mosi were here,” whispered Eshe. “I want proper music with sunshine and smiles and Kwasi’s jokes and real blue sky.”

  Yanif squeezed her shoulder in sympathy and returned to the living room.

  Tremus and Riaz were slumped into the couch and sat half asleep from the day at Saint Ormond Street. Heather was holding her guitar and she tapped on the sofa to get Yanif to sit beside her. She strummed the first chords and started to sing. Riaz rubbed his eyes, forcing a tired smile as the music began.

  As the song finished, Eshe carried the tray with tea into the living room and was putting the cups on the table when a clatter came from the front door.

  “The newspaper's here,” said Heather. She bounced in her seat in excitement. “Eshe, be a dear and get that will you. They're reviewing the single today and I so want to see what they say.”

  Eshe sighed and trudged to the hall, returning with a copy of The London News.

  “You have a message too, Heather,” said Eshe, handing an A4 piece of paper to Heather along with the newspaper.

  Heather put down her guitar and took the piece of paper from Eshe and turned it over. On the reverse was a picture of two hands at prayer holding a sword between them and the words, “A sword against false prophets – The Hands of God”.