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Back The Occurrence Save as PDF
Chapters (117)
  1. Cover
  2. Title
  3. Copyright
  4. Contents
  5. PART ONE: Up From Buried Light
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. PART TWO: Re-Entry
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. PART THREE: Convergence
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. PART FOUR: Surrender
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. PART FIVE: The Tablets
  67. 58
  68. 59
  69. 60
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. 63
  73. 64
  74. 65
  75. PART SIX: The Trial
  76. 66
  77. 67
  78. 68
  79. PART SEVEN: The Cave of Memory
  80. 69
  81. 70
  82. 71
  83. 72
  84. 73
  85. 74
  86. 75
  87. 76
  88. 77
  89. 78
  90. 79
  91. 80
  92. 81
  93. 82
  94. 83
  95. PART EIGHT: Guardians
  96. 84
  97. 85
  98. 86
  99. 87
  100. 88
  101. 89
  102. 90
  103. 91
  104. 92
  105. 93
  106. 94
  107. PART NINE: Into Buried Light
  108. 95
  109. 96
  110. 97
  111. 98
  112. 99
  113. 100
  114. 101
  115. 102
  116. 103
  117. Acknowledgments

“That’s all right. They were a gift from a friend. Do you pray?”

He stared at her, unsure what to say.

“Now, I’m sorry. That was too personal a question to ask.”

He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to engage with her. But his heart beat in a different rhythm now, and had opened a place for strangers.

“Yes. I do pray. Five times a day.”

“I love the Qur’an. But I don’t understand how…”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not my place.”

“Tell me.”

He could see she was troubled with what was on her mind. He knew the Qur’an raised many questions. He also saw she knew she could talk with him about it.

“I don’t understand the violence that comes in its name.”

His answer was a tender question, not an accusation.

“That same violence has also come from readings of the Bible, has it not?”

He saw her take in what he said, and hold her rosary tighter.

“Yes. I’m afraid so.” Her voice was quiet and thoughtful. “We all have so much to learn.”

The announcement came over the speakers that the doors had been shut and the plane was about to take off.

They each smiled to the other, buckled their seat belts, and went back to their inner lives.

In his relating with her, he’d forgotten he had a fever. But his forehead still burned.

19

19

Friday, September 11

Julian stood at Dominique’s door. Her tiny apartment was in the Mosul Green Zone. It didn’t mean insurgents wouldn’t send in missiles from time to time. There were no safe zones in war. His rumpled clothes and bloodshot eyes let her see he hadn’t slept.

She smelled the booze.

“You need to sober up and take a shower.”

She moved back into the apartment.

He followed her inside.

“Got anything to drink?”

“Like you need it.”

“I do.”

“There’s nothing much here in the way of anything. Take a look.”

He took in the space.

“Jesus, you’re spartan.”

She went into the kitchen, and opened the freezer door. The only thing there was a bottle of vodka.

“Anything in these boxes you’re packing?” he called from the living room.

“Nothing you’d be interested in.”

He rummaged through an open box. It contained books on the Middle East, an Atlas, some small bags of spices, a few pieces of locally made fabrics, a worn copy of the Qur’an.

“You’re taking back memories. How quaint.”

“Fuck you, too, Julian,” she said from the kitchen.

He saw the day’s calendar on the living room table.

September 11.

She came back into the room and saw him staring at the calendar.

She raised the glass of vodka she’d brought for him, toasted the memory of that day, took a sip, and handed him the glass. He toasted the memory as well.