The Pestilence

by Faisal Ansari

  Dalia tended her flock with care. She had known most of the animals since birth and it pained her to see that so many were missing. Dalia ran her fingers along the back of the nearest goat. The hair was coarse and singed in places from the destruction that had rained down on her life, a life which was slowly being pieced together with the love and support of strangers.

  Daylight was failing; in the distance, silhouetted against the village glare almost half a kilometre away, two people were approaching. Somehow Dalia sensed them drawing near. Perhaps the wind filtering over the scrub carried their oncoming footsteps, or perhaps Dalia was so attuned to her animals that she felt the herd’s unease. Later Dalia would say that it was simply a mother’s intuition that made her step out of the animal pens and sweep her gaze across the savannah.

  They were almost 450 metres away now coming slowly across the wasteland. Dalia squinted harder through the gloaming to distinguish the shapes before her. They were walking shoulder to shoulder, two people melting into one.

  At 400 metres, Dalia could decipher the profile of a tall man and with him a familiar broad-shouldered companion.

  At 350 metres, Dalia recognised one of the men. His outline, the structure and the gait of his walk, it was Samuel, her son, it was unmistakeably him. A smile of delight flashed across her face.

  At 300 metres, Dalia was still lost as to the identity of Samuel’s companion. He had a certain familiarity and she sifted through the fog of her memories straining to rediscover, knowing yet struggling to comprehend.

  At 250 metres, Samuel’s glee carried over the distance, his laughter was pure joy, pure, unbridled delight. Abruptly, like a jolt of consciousness Samuel’s voice was joined by one she knew. It was a voice she thought forever lost but one she carried always within her heart.

  At 200 metres, Dalia started running. She ran directly towards the two men, tears of disbelief coursing across her cheeks, sobs racking the breath from her. Her scarf slipped from her head and streamed behind her like a tail of an onrushing comet. She lost one shoe then another but she still ran hard, her bare feet churning up the dust of the desert.

  At 100 metres, she was sure. She didn’t know or care how this miracle had happened but she knew it was him. Dalia left the animal enclosures behind, she left the camp behind. In 100 metres, she was destined to leave fifteen years of grief and heartbreak behind.

  At fifty metres, the sight of his face was clear and distinct in the virgin moonlight; a face she had consigned to the earth, one that resided now only in her dreams. Dalia let out a guttural, primal scream of elation.

  They were watching her run. Samuel’s companion wore a bemused look at the sight of Dalia hurtling barefoot across the scrub. Samuel laughed in delight and stood back as Dalia thundered into the man’s arms.

  She was panting, breathless with euphoria. She kissed his face, she smelt his skin, and she held him with all the strength she could summon. Samuel was standing, smiling but uncertain. Dalia reached out for him and brought him close to complete the embrace with his resurrected brother.

  ***

  A few hours earlier Samuel had slipped quietly out of Mariam’s front door.

  “Sounds like they’re having a party,” said Stefano.

  “It’s a family reunion,” replied Samuel. “I thought I would leave them to it. I need to do one more thing before we head back to campus. You guys okay to walk with me?”

  “Ja.”

  Samuel tucked a small plastic bag under his arm and petted the Canaan as they passed. The dog regarded him briefly with one weary eye. Samuel led his protectors along the short path towards the main street of Haran. Stefano and Dressler automatically fell in a few metres behind him. Just past the village bakery/coffee house Samuel momentarily stopped allowing his shadows to catch up. Samuel offered his arm to Dressler, the plastic bag now dangling from his wrist. She accepted graciously and Stefano involuntarily stiffened. Samuel walked in between his giant protectors, for once feeling completely safe.

  “I need a favour from you guys.” They had cut through the ring of houses and out towards open land on the other side of the village.

  “What do you need?” said Stefano.

  “A promise to keep silent.”

  “About?”

  They had reached the entrance to the village cemetery which sat on a small hill behind the village. Like everything else in Haran, it was tired and ancient. Samuel navigated them through the Muslim section of the graveyard. The graves were neatly aligned, all facing north-west to ensure the dead could look over their shoulders towards Mecca. Samuel walked on past the ordered section to a smaller number of scattered graves.

  “I know Chaput sent you to keep an eye on me and I know you report back to him,” said Samuel. “I have no issue with that but what I’m about to do now needs to stay between the three of us.”

  Stefano looked uncomfortable; he hesitated, throwing a glance towards Dressler before answering. “It’s part of my role here. It’s difficult. If I don’t report and something comes out another way, I will be removed from this assignment. I, we,” he said gesturing to Dressler, “don’t want that.”

  “I know, and am grateful to you both for protecting me, for being here beside me, but I need you to consider what I’m asking.”

  Dressler moved over to read the name on the gravestone that Samuel was standing beside.

  “Ja, it’s fine. We won’t report,” she said immediately.

  Samuel looked over at Stefano, who scrutinised the floor. “You might want to give me some space,” he said dropping the plastic bag by his feet.

  Perhaps they had misheard Samuel or were still contemplating his request but neither Dressler nor Stefano moved. Samuel didn’t notice. His eyes were closed. He held out his hands and concentrated.

  Instantly, Dressler saw a shimmering spectre erupting from the grave. It hung between Samuel’s hands, spiralling and twisting in the air. The aura was dazzling in its luminescence, radiating colour and shimmering with energy. Dressler was mesmerised; the magnificence of the aura captivated her, drawing her in, her feet moving involuntarily towards it. She felt an overpowering urge to touch it, to push her fingers into it and feel its silken caress over her skin. Samuel’s concentration and focus deepened and the aura began to glow white hot. Dressler watched for as long as she could but the aura was raging with a terrible intensity. She shielded her eyes first with one hand then the other before finally turning away, the aura’s spell broken. Yet the light still seared into her retina. Unable to see and increasingly unable to think Dressler stumbled to the floor. Her body ached; her mind felt as if it was being overloaded, collapsing under the sheer, brilliant intensity of the fire that Samuel held within his hands. Dressler tried desperately to crawl away from the supernova her limbs wooden and her spirit broken. She collapsed face first into the dirt.

  The light stopped, Dressler’s pain and confusion ebbed. She slowly, gingerly flipped over onto her back blowing out the dirt between her lips. It took all the energy she could muster. She lay panting with one arm slung over her eyes. Dressler reached for Stefano and brushed his shoulder. She dug her fingers into him and was relieved to feel movement in response. Dressler felt Stefano’s hand reach for her and clasp onto her bicep. They clung to each other. After a few moments Dressler risked opening one eye, the world slowly came back into focus and she saw standing by the headstone a tall, naked man.

  “Who are you?” asked the tall man of Samuel.

  “I’m Samuel, your brother.”

  The tall man laughed. “Samuel is twelve.”

  “I was twelve when you died, but that was fifteen years ago.”

  The tall man didn’t seem to hear Samuel. He was looking at Stefano and Dressler lying on the floor. “What are they doing?” he said pointing.

  “I had to use an enormous amount of energy to bring you back. My friends here were too close for comfort. They are dazed.”

  The tall man considered this. “Am I dead?”


  “Not any more. You were killed and buried here. Look at the headstone by your feet. You will see I’m not lying.” The tall man squatted, his lips moved a fraction as he read and re-read the engraved marble, tracing his fingers along the letters of his name.

  “Hold on, excuse me, sorry, sorry,” said Stefano slowly rising to his feet and manically waving his hands. “Samuel, what do you mean he was dead? Who is this? Is this your brother? Did you just bring him the fuck back to life?”

  Samuel nodded.

  Stefano felt a chill rushing up his spine; he crossed himself and shot a look of wild concern at Dressler. “Samuel back at the river you weren’t joking were you?”

  Samuel shook his head.

  “So you were dead,” said Stefano to the tall man. “What, were you in heaven, with St Peter?”

  The tall man looked out over the cemetery and back down the hill to Haran.

  “What did you see? A white light? Angels? Anything?”

  “Nothing.” The tall man sighed. “One moment in the war, the next here with you. In between, nothing. It’s like I’ve been woken from a dreamless sleep.”

  Stefano crossed himself once more.

  Dressler cleared her throat pointing to the plastic bag lying at Samuel’s feet. Dressler stared down at her shoes.

  “Of course,” said Samuel. “Here take these, put them on.”

  The three of them stood in silence as Samuel’s brother dressed. Once he was fully clothed, he turned to Samuel. “Samuel.”

  “Yes Brother.”

  “I have missed a lot, haven’t I?”

  Sadness swept over Samuel like a black wave. He tried hard to keep from his eyes the reality of the wasted years. Their lives had continued to flow. The family his brother had left behind fifteen years ago wasn’t the same. They had changed, everything had changed, everything except him. Samuel stared blankly at his brother, his sadness robbing him of his voice, but Dressler came to his aid.

  “No sadness, please. You’ve missed much; yes, but think of the incredible things you are going to discover. The world is different. Better. Your family is safe.”

  “Yes, Dressler is right,” said Samuel brightening. “Do you remember when we were kids and we had to study by candle-light when the electricity went out, or queueing by the wall for hours to get through the checkpoint into Israel. That’s all gone now, no more war, no more occupation and the wall is coming down. The two countries are trying hard to live in peace.”

  His brother nodded.

  “And we are all still here. Khalid has kids, you are an uncle! And Mama would love to see you. She is not far away. So come Brother. Let’s go directly.” Samuel turned towards Dressler. “Why don’t you two return to Mariam’s and pick up the car? Meet me just outside the camp in an hour. I still want to head back to Jerusalem tonight.”

  ***

  DRESSLER’S phone rang. She used the standard ring tone that came preloaded with the handset. They were twenty minutes into their journey. Samuel sat in the back thinking of his brother. He hated leaving him, but he had no choice. Dressler mumbled something into the phone and passed it to Samuel.

  “Mariam.”

  Samuel reached forward for the phone shooting Dressler a look. She caught it out of the corner of her eye and smiled. “I gave her my number. It’s good to talk, ja.”

  Samuel grinned. “Hi.”

  “Hey,” Mariam laughed almost subconsciously. “My father is very disappointed in the current crop of heavyweights.”

  Samuel knew nothing of boxing. Mariam’s joy beamed through the phone.

  “He’s in the kitchen with Mama; they have a lot of catching up to do. You were right. It feels like he was never gone.”

  “Good.”

  “Dressler said you were heading back, not staying with your brother?”

  Samuel sighed. “I really wanted to, but I can’t spend any more time away. My brother has my mother. They are going to Haifa to see Khalid and the kids. They will come to Jerusalem in a week or so. I didn’t want to hang around in camp. It’s massive and I felt weird being there.”

  Mariam changed the subject. “You could have warned me about the nakedness.”

  Samuel chuckled. “Sorry about that, I had no idea that would happen. It was my first time. Anyway, your father has nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Don’t go there,” warned Mariam. “Was your brother okay?”

  “I think so, a little bit spaced out at first. He didn’t recognise me. Mama ran the 100 metres faster than Ben Johnson when she saw him.”

  Samuel took a breath before he asked the next question; it was the only one he had wanted to ask of her all day and finally the distance gave him the courage to do so. “When are you coming home?”

  Mariam answered immediately. “Tomorrow evening. There is a meeting. Ideally I would have wanted some more time with my father but I don’t think we can move the meeting.”

  Samuel was indignant. “Of course you can. You haven’t seen your father in over a decade. Take the time. Work can wait.”

  “It isn’t work and dad wants me to go.” It was Mariam’s turn to take a breath. “Shortly after everything started Dina’s father sent me the number of a trusted priest. I initially spoke to him but have been passed up the chain and now have been getting regular calls from the Vatican. They want to talk directly to us and are sending someone senior to meet us tomorrow.”

  Samuel responded immediately. “I’m not going.”

  “Please.”

  “What am I going to say to them?” In the driver’s seat, Stefano’s head instinctively almost whipped round. It was the first time he had heard Samuel raise his voice. “I don’t know why I was chosen and I don’t even know what I am supposed to do with this gift. No priest can answer my questions and I can’t answer theirs. Anyway, it is always the same questions. How are you doing this? Why are you doing this? I don’t know, I don’t know. I am just stumbling along, I have no clue Mariam. I have had no guidance. What more can I tell them?”

  “It’s not them; it’s just one man, a bishop.”

  “I don’t care if it’s a conclave of cardinals. I’m not going.”

  “Please Samuel. He has seen what you can do. I have been talking openly with him for some time. I trust this man and have explained the signs I have witnessed; the night of the lightning, your healing, what you did for Dina. I needed some guidance on what this could all mean. He could help us work it out. Please sweetheart. For me.”

  Samuel said nothing. For a few moments, the only sound in the car was the soft rumble of tyres on tarmac. Mariam knew Samuel well enough not to push for a reply.

  “Okay, fine I’ll go,” said Samuel finally. “We can meet him after work. I have a lot to do tomorrow. I’m behind.”

  “Thank you, I think this is important.”

  “Hmm, we’ll see; tell me, where is this man bishop of?”

  “Rome,” said Mariam.

  ***

  Timeline: The Pestilence minus 3 days. Information source: Email intercept between Stefano Grigori and Victor Pierre Chaput.

  Subject: Srour investigation

  Victor

  From the mirror we have set up on Mariko Tanaka’s email account we have strong evidence to suggest that the remaining members of the Church of the King of Light will return to Jerusalem in the next few days. We have no knowledge of the shape or form of the attack they are planning upon Mr Srour and so we have, as yet, no concrete evidence to present to the legal authorities. Our agents will, therefore, remain vigilant. We will attempt to use the mirror to lure the church into the open prior to the attack and will keep you updated on our progress.

  We have nothing further to report.

  Kind regards

  Stefano

  ***

  TRAINING was not going as well as Ashen would have liked. The toy quad-rotor helicopters they had purchased in Beersheba were robust and easy to manage, the perfect instruments to master the basics of remote-control flying. The
quad copters were flown via a dual-stick remote control: The left stick varying RPM, controlled lift and also acted as the rudder to rotate the copter on its axis; the right stick controlled direction; forward, back and side to side. Flying the toy involved dexterous and extensive hand eye coordination, practice and most of all patience.

  Ashen had devised some basic drills from his Internet research. They first learnt to hover, holding the copter a few inches from the ground using deft touches on the thrust. They practised understanding the orientation of the machine, how wind and thermals affected flight and could be compensated for by adjustments in pitch, thrust and rudder. They flew large loops, sending the radio-controlled copters out over the desert to the edge of their ranges and bringing them back to base. Ashen set up hop drills so the quads could be manoeuvred through the air to land at different designated targets. The team practised hour after hour until their necks and shoulders ached and their eyes were bleary from staring into the desert sky.

  For Black and Ashen controlling the quad copters was a skill that with application and diligence was learnt and perfected. For Red, it was an exercise in frustration. Time and time again Red struggled to perform even the most basic of manoeuvres. He couldn’t hold a simple hover, he was unable to master the natural rotation of the copter and his hop-landing practice was nothing more than a series of uncontrolled crashes.

  Red cut a forlorn figure. Grim defeat hung heavily in his eyes; the controller a toy in his huge hands. He completely lacked the skill and finesse needed to fly the drones. Ashen put a kind hand on Red’s shoulder. “Take a break. You’ve been working hard. Go back to the car and bring some more water out.” Red’s big shoulders slumped and he clumsily brought his copter to a semi crash landing. He threw down the controller in disgust and set off for the desert road. They had chosen a quiet Makhtesh some fifteen minutes hike from the road. As Red trudged off Black mischievously hovered his quad a few feet above his head, taunting him, compounding his frustration. Red glared back over his shoulder at Black as he slouched away. With Red out of sight, Black circled the copter lazily in the air and brought it down to land neatly beside Ashen.