The Truest Believer-Interfaith Love Story

Chapter Six

For the next week or so, Kalila's life adjusting to Texas wasn't all too easy. She tried to listen to Baraka– she knew he had good intentions, but Kalila just wasn't used to her brother's constant and wheedling attention.

The only positive Kalila could admit was that she had begun learning to cook now that it was just the two of them (and who knew if room service was halal?). She was starting to feel glad that Baraka had booked them a two bedroom, two bathroom, and one kitchen suite.

Baraka had also started bringing Kalila's food over to Mr. Ess' house during their business meetings, which, as time drew on, became less and less about business and more for casual meet-ups.

Kalila liked hearing what Baraka had to say about his meetings. Other than the compliments for food, Baraka explained how Joseph, Mr. Ess' son, would frequently and insistently ask about Islam and compare it to Christianity.

"He really thinks he can convert you?" Kalila asked one day over a slice of homemade chocolate cake.

Baraka shrugged. "Doesn't matter. He's finding faults all on his own when he can't rebuttal on what I say. It's weird, too," he went on, taking a bite of his own cake slice, "how John seems so interested. But hey, I'm not complaining."

"Interested?"

"Yeah, just last night I took him to the Masjid a couple towns over because he asked." Kalila nodded her head, taking another bit of cake. "Oh, and he just loves eating the food you make."

"Who doesn't?" Kalila grinned spooning out a piece of Baraka's cake and shoving it in her mouth.

"Hey! Get your own slice!" he said defensively, sliding his plate away from Kalila. She smiled. "There's a whole lot of cake left in the fridge," he added.

"Nah, I want you to take that to your next meeting."

Baraka looked at her suspiciously. "What will you do while I'm gone?"

"Buy a beer or two and party," she said, rolling her eyes. "I want to perfect a well-done steak, so make sure you buy some home after Jummah prayer today."

Baraka slapped his forehead, standing up.

"That's why I woke up early today!" he said, taking off the tie he had put on that morning. Kalila shook her head, taking the empty plates over to the sink. "I can't believe you didn't even stop me, Kalila. I'm supposed to take John today, too."

"Don't blame it all on me," Kalila said, "It's a Friday, you should've known. I'll have something made by the time you get home."

Kalila began washing the dishes, hearing her brother enter the bathroom to perform wudhu, the cleansing ritual done before prayer, in the tub.

Drying the silverware and her hands, Kalila pulled out her phone and flipped through the recipes she had saved onto it. What should she make today? Lasagna? Pizza?

"Be good, Kali," she heard her brother say as he buttoned his fanjabi, a traditional clothing a male would wear during prayer.

"In'Sha'Allah," she answered, smiling. Baraka glanced at her, scowling, making her smile grow.

"I mean it, Kalila."

"So do I."

She laughed as Baraka walked out of the suite in a huff. If she timed it right, Kalila could have lunch ready and still find some time to go outside and take a nice stroll through the autumn weather.

****

John had never felt so at ease with his life as he had now. The serenity, the overall goodness of the Muslim's house of worship astounded him. He had never stepped foot in one, let alone know what it looked and felt like.

The first time he had entered, Baraka had introduced that John was just a spectator wanting to know what it was like to be there. The elderly Imaam, the lead prayer, had just smiled and nodded, motioning for him to stay somewhere at the back so he would not disrupt the prayer. The Imaam's voice was strong and exuberant, his foreign words unsettling to John. What did the strange words mean? What did they teach?

Odd, he had thought, when John had first learned of Islam in his course to become a priest, the need for its knowledge was not there. But it was now. It was something about that place, something that flicked a switch in him that kept him craving for more of it. More of its peace, more of its solidity.

The prayer ended rather quickly and Baraka smiled at him as they walked out together.

"How was it?"

"Peaceful," John replied, looking up into the clouds. For a moment he thought he could see something beyond them, but then the feeling had gone. John looked back at Baraka. "Do you think you can take me there again?"

"Of course," Baraka said, as they took a turn to go to Richard's house for a quick chat before going home. "I can take you tomorrow for Jummah –Friday– prayer."

At Richard's house, Joseph took John aside and asked him, "What was it like, being in a Moslem temple? Did they chant stuff, like devilish things? Did they do any sort of black magic, that kind of thing?"

John laughed.

"No, they didn't."

Joseph's eyes widened, surprised. "So what did they do there?"

"An Imaam, the man who leads the prayer, said some things and they bowed to the ground a couple times and that was it."

"That was it," Joseph echoed.

"Yes, that was it," John said firmly. "It was quite nice." Joseph seemed confused, as if his mind could not quite understand the truth of John's words.

That night, John stared at the church he'd been running for the past decade. It looked so old, so hollow. The lit candles were obscured from view, giving the church an eerie cast to it. John had been used to seeing the small flames from within the windows.

When he went to bed, John closed his eyes, envisioning himself at the mosque, masjid as Barak called it, sitting quietly and enjoying the serene atmosphere there. What would it take to be there all the time, he wondered, to always feel that wholeness?

John thought hard that night, but it was quite simple. And if that means strivingfor something with the help of someone who lives by a world of difference fromyou, then so be it.