When the preachers’ last words had been uttered and the casket finally lowered mother and I were the last ones to turn away from the dark hole in the ground and start back down the slippery grass towards the limousine. The mist of the light rain that was on our faces and running down our cheeks effectively covered the remnants of our tears as mother and I stepped inside the black Mercedes Benz and sped off towards our home, my father and my mother’s husband was dead and buried at 55. The ghosts of his 80 plus hour work weeks at the law firm that bore his name was now behind us all and yet mother and I were left alone, alone in a 6 bedroom, 4500 square foot home in the most prestigious country club community in the city.The limousine finally stopped at the top of our circular driveway and I helped mother from the car and we slowly walked up the front steps and into the cold and lonely house. Even before we entered we could hear the buzz of the myriad of guests that had shown up for. He gave a brief sermon in a stadium which served as one of the many cultural centers in Iran. He led prayers for five thousand at the Teheran University mosque. Twenty thousand pilgrims prayed outside. He traveled to Kerbala. The bodyguards gathered more pail-fulls of soil, adding to Tariq’s collection back home. At the most sacred tombs he presented a sermon to a small, privileged audience. He said that a new direction for Islam was taking shape, a theme he had stuck with throughout his tour of Iran. At Kerbala, however, he included a note about Western nations, a quick note which left the audience confused. He claimed in his ramblings that Islam should prepare to adopt the West as a mother does a bastard son.Most of the believers from Mashad, Teheran, and Kerbala insisted he stay longer. But Tariq had nothing left to explain. His words were mysterious as he told a final group to look to the West for Allah’s message. He did not say more. He then returned to Mecca.He arrived in Mecca.
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