Petals Of Blood

The tall one who so far had not spoken hastened to add: It is nothing much, Mr Munira. Just routine questioning.

Don t explain. You are only doing your duty in this world. But let me put on my coat.

They looked at one another, surprised at his cool reception of the news. He came back carrying the Holy Book in one hand.

You never leave the Book behind, Mr Munira, said the short one, impressed, and a little fearful of the Book s power.

We must always be ready to plant the seed in these last days before His second coming. All the signs strife, killing, wars, blood are prophesied here.

How long have you been in Ilmorog? asked the tall one, to change the subject from this talk of the end of the world and Christ s second coming. He was a regular churchgoer and did not want to be caught on the wrong side.

You have already started your routine questions, eh?

No, no, this is off the record, Mr Munira. It is just conversation. We have nothing against you.

Twelve years! he told them.

Twelve years! both echoed.

Yes, twelve years in this wasteland.

Well, that was you must have been here before New Ilmorog was built . . .

2 ~ Abdulla sat on a chair outside his hovel in the section of Ilmorog called the New Jerusalem. He looked at his bandaged left hand. He had not been kept long at the hospital. He felt strangely calm after the night s ordeal. But he still could not understand what had really happened. Maybe in time, he thought but would he ever be able to explain this fulfilment of what had only been a wish, an intention? How far had he willed it? He raised his head and saw a police constable looking at him.

Abdulla?

Yes.

I am a policeman on duty. You are wanted at the station.