The Haj - Leon Uris [173]
‘But if there is only one true heaven, where do the people go from all those other planets?’
‘They all have their seventh heavens. One set per planet, that’s the rule. But I came to help you with your problem, Ishmael,’ he said, changing the subject of heavenly politics abruptly. ‘You will soon see the golden ladder,’ Jesus said. ‘Climb it and you will find the answer.’
‘But that is an impossible riddle,’ I protested.
‘Everything up here is a riddle. If we did not talk in riddles, no one would understand us.’
Just beyond him, the mighty golden ladder appeared. I was now terrified. ‘O Jesus,’ I cried, ‘help me! What is the truth of heaven?’
‘The truth is that Allah is one. He is all-good and also all-evil. He has planted an equal measure of both in all of you. You have been given a mind, in order to wage the war within yourself and to satisfy only yourself. Hang onto your own soul. Don’t give it away. Find your own answer and you will be free.’
‘That is the most terrible riddle of all!’
‘Someday you might understand it Now climb, Ishmael. In order to answer your problem, you must climb to a level you have once climbed and you will find it’
‘But ... but ...’
‘No more questions. Use your mind. I must go. I still have a long journey and I have no horse.’
At first climbing the golden ladder was euphoria, a miracle. But as I kept going up, each new rung began to make my body heavier and my hands and feet less secure. I slipped! The ladder was gone! I was scaling a cliff—an impossible cliff—struggling and sweating and grabbing and grunting with fear. I fell exhausted on a ledge, bleeding and weeping.
There was a strange door before me. As I reached for it, it opened. I was in a room as great as a king’s palace, but it was bare except for a tiny little ancient pot that bore an inscription: ASHES OF THE PAST.
At that instant, I began to plunge. I was falling and all the strange sights and scents and noises I had heard were jumbled together and mocking me. I could see the planet earth come into view. I fell faster and faster. The lights of Aqbat Jabar appeared as a distant spark that grew larger and larger. I would be smashed into a million pieces! Down ... down ... down. ... O Allah, HELP ME!
A slit of sunlight pried my eyes open. I knew! I knew! I rushed down Mount Temptation to Aqbat Jabar, falling in my speed and skinning my hands and knees. I ran into our hovel breathlessly and grabbed Haj Ibrahim’s hand and pulled him outside.
‘Father,’ I whispered into his ear, ‘I know how to contact the Jews!’
3
I COULD NOT TELL Haj Ibrahim about my journey to the first paradise. The family would have believed me and would have been terribly envious that I had received a personal visit from Jesus.
When he had been the Muktar of Tabah, my father heard many strange stories at his table at the café. We do not scoff at something that appears to be fantasy. In fact, it is difficult for us to tell where fantasy ends and reality begins. My father alone usually doubted these stories, but never to the face of the storyteller, for that would have offended him.
I was certain my journey had taken place and had solved a baffling mystery. Yet I didn’t want to take the chance of appearing foolish in Ibrahim’s eyes. I decided to attack the problem with logic, for he was one of the few men who could respond to it.
‘Look!’ I cried, pointing to a sign below a second floor window across the street. The sign read: DR. NURI MUDHIL, PROFESSOR OF ARCHAEOLOGY.
‘In the name of the Prophet, will you tell me what is going on?’ Ibrahim demanded.
‘Remember in Tabah, when the children hung around down by the highway? What did they do?’
‘They begged,’ he answered.
‘What else?’
‘They sold drinks and produce.’
‘And what else?’
‘The son is not supposed to give riddles to his father. It is the other way around.