Tale In The Red Sand

Chapter Thirty One

Marco Rossi had been nothing but cruel for all these years, and yet out of all his children, Ercole was the one who took care of him with such vigour he'd never seen before. It didn't matter to him that his father was terminally ill and that his feeble life, sooner or later, would come to an end. Marco would seldom get vexed when the pain would override his sane mind and he would slowly find himself slipping back into his dastard ways that drove Ercole out in the first place. Nonetheless, Ercole was gentle with his father, and did every little thing asked of him, even if the request was within Marco's capabilities. His odd behaviour intrigued him, amused him even, and though he never cared to show it - it deeply touched him.

So on one warm Friday afternoon, after Ercole returned from Jummah dressed in his ivory thobe, freshened externally and spiritually; Marco finally asked the question that was burning in his conscience these past few days.

"Why did you become a Muslim?" Marco enquired, sitting up in his balcony deck chair.

Ercole couldn't answer straight away for there was no real reason than the fact that it gave him peace. A toothy smile broke out on his face, perhaps this could be a chance to soften his father's heart, and by Allah's will it could happen. If only he did the honours of providing the information he subtlety demanded. He could see in his eyes, how conflicted his father appeared by his chosen lifestyle and Ercole was determined to correct it.

"Islam brought me peace when I most needed it." Ercole answered, taking a seat on the deck chair beside him.

"What was wrong with Cristianesimo enough to make you leave it. Your mother used to take you to church every Sunday, there wasn't a mass she missed with you in the womb, and when you were born she would still take you along. I can't imagine how she'd react to you becoming a Muslim if she were alive today."

"Back then I didn't understand the significance of religion, set aside church on Sundays, and when I grew up I still couldn't understand the belief that fueled Madre; believe me I've tried. There may not be anything wrong with Christianity, but it couldn't clear up the many misconceptions I've had of religion, not like how Islam did. Everything instantly made sense the first time I picked up a Quran, it's beauty is unparalleled." Ercole began to elucidate, smiling a little more upon remembering the very first time he'd read the Quran and the snug feeling that wrapped around him like a warm hug.

Marco Rossi slowly nodded, confounded still by his son's life choice, but he couldn't say much for himself. His late wife may have been a devoted Christian, though Marco could count on his fingers the times he'd set foot in a church, and it wasn't many. He loved his wife with everything that he was, but just like Ercole, Marco couldn't get behind the belief system. He guessed the very religion that he berated his son for abandoning was abandoned by him a long time ago, therefore he couldn't really judge. The least he could do was to try and understand the force that propelled Ercole to Islam, and why he had remained so steadfast ever since. He could also try and finally accept that he was still his late wife's beloved boy, regardless of his chosen faith. Ercole was his boy.

"Why do you believe." Marco questioned as his first dig into getting to know this newly discovered Ercole. Little did he know, he'd sit there in astonishment with no words to say, but the single thought of how his boy had grown to be so perceptive and learned, it brought helpless tears brimming the corners of his eyes. Soon, regret had overtaken him for he had realised just how cruel he had truly been.

Ercole kept his father company until Asr came around, explaining a part of what he knew about the most amazing thing that could've ever happened to him. He answered every engaging question threw at him the best he could, one after the other. He noticed how gradually intrigued his father became the more they talked, until his enquires suddenly paused at the sound of the athan being called out from the masjid. It spread far and wide across Doha then into his ears in foreign waves. Marco pondered that this must've been the first time he had stopped and listened to the words that were recited five times a day, he didn't feel his eyes closing as the sound of the athan echoed in his head. It fascinated him.