“Islam explains the world of the Djinn.”

Through the front windshield, an aurora brushed traces of red and green streams of morning light on the road before them.

“Islam provides us with many answers to the mysteries of things seen and unseen.”

Ja’far had a theatrical flair.

“The Djinn are beings created with free will, living on earth in a world parallel to ours. They are invisible to us. This makes it easy to deny their existence, but their origins can be traced from the Qur’an and the Sunnah. The Djinn were created from fire, and they live in the deserts and wastelands. They were created before man. Before the angels. Allah speaks of this. And God does not lie.” He caught Julian peering at him in the rearview. “What it is?” Ja’far asked.

“You speak English very well.”

“Since I was a child many foreigners have come to this land. Especially the British.”

“The Anglo-Iraqi war.”

“Yes. I was five years old in May of 1941 when they re-occupied The Kingdom of Iraq.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Oh, yes I am. But don’t let my age distract you from my youthful heart, my sharp mind, and my expert abilities. I knew even at five that I must learn to speak the language of the enemy.”

“Yet, you’re being helpful to us,” Dominique said, charmed by him.

“In the hope of what we find, and what you’re able to decipher, that you will remember this kindness and know we’re not all savages. And use it to help more than yourselves.”

“That we will, Ja’Far,” Dominique said.

“Good. Because you will discover much more than you believe possible.”

They were on the edge of town when Ja’far ran out of words. He stopped the pickup. Took a crumpled pack of Mikado cigarettes from his jacket pocket and jumped out of the truck.

“Wait,” Julian said, following him out.

He pulled out a pack of Marlboros from his jacket pocket and handed it to Ja’far.

“These are much better than that crap.”

“Thank you,” Ja’far said with a smile. He took a Marlboro from the pack; Julian did the same and offered one to Dominique, who passed.

Ja’far rolled his thumb down the wheel of a battered Zippo and took a drag of the smoke. He lit Julian’s cigarette.

“Hashim’s grandfather, Qadir, told me what happened to Hashim,” Ja’far said. “They spoke in a dream.”

“A dream?” Julian said.

“Yes. Do you not dream?”

“I dream,” Julian barked, and turned away.

“Did Qadir tell you what they spoke of?” Dominique asked.

“He told me about the butterfly and the words Hashim saw written in the air. And of the ground that stopped opening beneath you. Is that not what happened?”

“Let’s move on,” Julian said, making his way back to the truck.

“Wait,” Ja’far said.

Julian stopped, impatient.