The road, although not very long, took her back in time by a fast train of memories. She remembered how her newborn son had caught his dad’s finger in an unbreakable grip as he was whispering the call to prayer to his little ear. She saw her son waddling his first steps and her husband clapping his hands for joy. Every curve of the road took her to another stage. His first day in kindergarten was unforgettable. Seeing him walk in line behind the teacher had made hide her tears behind her husband. Separation, though a short one, had been hard to bear. Then she saw herself sitting on the sofa by her son’s side, teaching him how to read the Holy Book. She remembered her son’s excitement when she told him the prophetic tradition that the parents of those people who read the Qur’an a lot in this world would have shiny faces on the Day of Judgment. “Mommy,” he said, taking her face between his hands, “You and daddy will have the shiniest faces of all people, I promise.” Aisha had laughed at his genuine promise and kissed his head many times. One of the memories she cherished most was going on a bug hunt with him, to return home with a jar full of creepy crawlies for his science project. Her son had been fascinated to see all the different shapes and colors of life around him. She had reminded him to be respectful to every creature. She once overheard him pray to God to grant him a flying dinosaur in paradise. Aisha caught herself smiling in the rear-view mirror. “Life is a journey,” she thought. “My son reached the destination and he is waiting for us. O God, please reunite us in your paradise and give us patience meanwhile,” she prayed.

She parked the car in the graveyard’s little parking lot. Aisha took her copy of the Qur’an and got out, not minding the cold at all. “It is always so quiet here,” she thought. “I can even hear my own heartbeat.” She stopped by her son’s grave, bent over to touch the ground, and felt the knot in her chest tie up again. “Now, now, hold strong,” she ordered her heart. “It’s just a temporary separation. Just like in kindergarten, only a lot longer. O God, I am thankful for my faith in You. How would I have endured all this pain had I not known You will raise the dead and then everyone will be with their beloved forever. Thank you, thank you very much,” she whispered, feeling the knot loosen. She opened her copy of the Qur’an and started reading the chapter “The Merciful.” The first time she read it in this graveyard, it sounded as if it was being read from heaven. One verse repeated thirty-one times in this chapter had kept her from rebelling in her grief: “Then which of the favors of your Lord will you deny?” She had never understood its message better before. Aisha finished reading and opened her hands in prayer. “Our Lord, grant us bounties in this world and in the hereafter and save us from the torment of hell. Do not let us go astray once you have guided us to the truth and grant us mercy from Your Presence. Surely You are the Most Generous One. Amen.”

She rubbed her hands over her wet face and was preparing to go when she suddenly heard someone sobbing not too far from her. She turned to her right and saw a woman crying over a grave. Her black hair touched the ground and hid her face completely. Next to the grave, a big balloon was waving in the wind. Something was printed on it. Aisha read it and was stunned. The white letters materialized the pain of a mother’s heart: Happy birthday, son! “The grave is new. Her wound must be still bleeding,” Aisha thought to herself. “It took two years for mine to cover with a thin layer.”

Aisha went close enough for the woman to sense her presence. The woman stopped crying, looked up, and then tried to stand up, but her knees would not hold her. Aisha reached out her arm and kept the woman from falling. They looked at each other. It felt like looking in the mirror. The same tears formed traces in their faces resembling riverbeds in summer. The same longing to go back in time for one more chance to live the past could be read in every line and wrinkle. A small shiny pendant cross hanging below the woman’s chin caught Aisha’s eye. For a moment, neither spoke. Aisha looked at the cross, becoming aware that the woman was staring at her white scarf. After that short moment of bewilderment, Aisha spoke first.

“I’m Aisha. I just want to let you know that I understand how you feel.”

“You do?” asked the woman.

“Yes, I lost my only son two years ago.” Then with empathy, she added, “It’s OK to cry, and if you need a shoulder you can cry on mine.”

“But how can you…?” The woman could not finish her words as her eyes met the warmth of Aisha’s face. Then something wonderful happened that only angels witnessed. She hugged Aisha and both of them cried. The two women hugged for a long time despite the white scarf, despite the pendant cross. Had they met in a store or at gas station they might not have exchanged anything more than a wry smile, they might have thought that they belonged to different worlds. Yet here they had become indivisible in their maternal pain.

“This place helped me understand better not only my Holy Book,” thought Aisha, “but also my humanity. Praise is to you, God,” she whispered with the delight of someone who has just found a lost friend. The two women, leaning on each other, walked toward the parking lot, realizing with great surprise that the wind was not chilly anymore.

‘He died so young’ they said, and added: He had so many things to do’.

It was true, that I had left a great deal of work half done; I had not set up a good business for my son, completed the payment of the instalment of the car and TV. Winter was around the corner, I had not prepared the leaking roof or bought the fuel. Now the dream to establish a big firm and employ my friends had dispersed to nothing.

Suddenly, I was irritated by a noise, as if coming through a microphone echoed in every remote cell of my brain:

‘It is all over!’

I wished it had not been all over, I did not know why the accident happened. I was a good driver.

As I was trying to recall the events that had taken place, I realized that my friends surrounding the coffin were covering it by putting the lid over me. No matter how much I wanted to shout, I could neither move nor speak. I was in complete darkness and turned my eyes towards the light coming from the gaps in the coffin.

I said to myself in horror:

‘Oh my God! What am I going to do now?’

Seized with fear, I could think of nothing. Later, I was lifted on to their shoulders as they began to carry the coffin. Hearing the noise coming from outside understood that it was raining. The noise of the raindrops mingled with the creaking of the coffin. We must have gone to the mosque for the funeral prayer.

I remembered that although the mosque was so close to my home, I had never paid it a visit. I had planned to start prayers after the age of fifty and I would quit the bad habits everyone complained about. If the accident had not occurred, I would have been a good fellow.

The voice that I heard before repeated, ‘It is all over!’ A little later my funeral prayer was completed. The Imam was asking people’s opinion, as to ‘what kind of character I was’. I knew that among them were some eight or ten persons did not give an opinion. I accepted that I had given them some evil and harm, but if the accident had not occurred, I would have been pleased to make amends and duly compensate them for the equivalent of any harm done. After the prayer in the mosque was completed, I was lifted on to the shoulders again. Due the inclination of the coffin, I understood that we were on the road uphill to the grave. I was aware that it was pouring rain and the rain was seeping through the cracks in the coffin on to the shroud, making it damp. Nevertheless, I tried to listen to the conversations coming from outside. Some of my friends were talking about the stagnation of the market, some were commentating on a Western film they had seen the previous evening on the TV. Another, carrying my coffin whispered:

‘What a bad day the deceased chose to die, we have got wet through and through’.

I could not believe what I heard and I thought that I must have misunderstood. Were they not the ones for whom I had sacrificed my wealth and my health?

A little later my journey finished and my coffin was put down on the ground. The lid was removed again. The arms holding my weak and lifeless flesh put it into the hole where a little water had collected. Lying on the ground, I looked around:

‘Oh my God, was it a grave?’ I did not know why I had not thought until then that I would be buried in a grave. No one heard my silent cries and my best friends seemed to be competing each other to cover my body with thick boards.

I was in complete dark once more, I began to pray with all my cells;

‘Oh my merciful God’ I said, ‘Is there another chance to be a real servant of Yours?’

The same voice repeated,

‘It is all over, everything has finished.’

I was shaken by the noise of the earth, which clammered like thunder as it was been thrown on the boards. With a final effort to get up, I opened my eyes. I was lying on my comfortable bed and it was all a nightmare. One of my neighbours, a doctor, was standing at the bedside.

‘It is all over,’ he repeated, ‘You are all right’.

I sat up slowly from the bed, I was dripping with perspiration, feeling I had lost twenty kilos weights. It was raining heavy in the outside and the whole house was shaken by thunder.

While I was trying to recover myself in front of the bewildered eyes of the others, I whispered:

‘Oh my Lord, a thousand thanks to You. What would I do, if You had not given me another chance to be an obedient servant to You?’