The Other Son

By Allan Avidano

“In this compelling debut sci-fi pastiche of existential crises, millennia-old religious prophecies and modern-day fanaticism, the supernatural aspirations of a Muslim scientist collide with the modest, earthly aims of a secular American couple.

When the empires of reason and faith collide, the authority of each is called into question. … Masterfully told from its benign beginnings to its tragic end in a Jerusalem cemetery, this novel charts the intersection of men and women made anxious by the question of life’s purpose and its seemingly paltry answers. Fantastic in its arc, the story nonetheless roots itself in moments of genuine psychological discord, revealing itself via anachronistic chapters that flit between past and future.. A study in the ethical limits of science, the novel also traces the blurry line that divides sanity from insanity, as Jal’s views degenerate from philosophically reasoned convictions to sadism and self-delusion.”
—Kirkus Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Dec 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483423784

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Avidano

Copyright © 2014 Allan Avidano.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2377-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2378-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922475

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 12/29/2014

CONTENTS

BOOK 1

Part 1 :    The Demiurge

New York City, U.S.A.: April - 2000

Chapter 1    Tehran, Iran: 1977

Chapter 2    New York City, U.S.A.: Early September – 1999

Chapter 3    Oxford, England: 1971

Chapter 4    New York City, U.S.A.: Mid-September -1999

Chapter 5    London, England: 1975

Chapter 6    New York City, U.S.A.: December - 1999

Chapter 7    Tehran, Iran: 1978

Chapter 8    New York City, U.S.A.: Late December - 1999

Chapter 9    Helsinki, Finland: 1996

Chapter 10    New York City, U.S.A.: April - 2000

Chapter 11    New York City, U.S.A.: 1998

Chapter 12    New York City, USA: April - 2000

Chapter 13    New York City, U.S.A.: September - 1998

Chapter 14    New York City, U.S.A.: April - 2000

Chapter 15    New York City, U.S.A.: May -1999

BOOK 1

Part 2 :    Sheol

Chapter 1    New York City, U.S.A.: March - 2001

Chapter 2    Calcata, Italy: 1983

Chapter 3    New York City, U.S.A.: September - 2001

Chapter 4    London, England: 1986

Chapter 5    New York City, U.S.A.: September - 2001

Chapter 6    New York City, U.S.A.: June - 1999

Chapter 7    New York City, U.S.A.: October - 2001

Chapter 8    New York City, U.S.A.: September - 2001

BOOK 2

Part 1 :    Ouroboros

Jerusalem, Israel: June - 2024

Chapter 1    Jerusalem, Israel: May - 2024

Chapter 2    New York City, U.S.A.: June - 2010

Chapter 3     Jerusalem, Israel: May – 2024

Chapter 4     New York City, U.S.A.: October - 2020

Chapter 5    Jerusalem, Israel: May - 2024

Chapter 6     New York City, U.S.A.: April - 2023

Chapter 7     Jerusalem, Israel: May - 2024

BOOK 2

Part 2 :    The Thorn in the Flesh

New York City, U.S.A.: August - 2024

Chapter 1     New York City, U.S.A.: September - 2001

Chapter 2     New York City, U.S.A.: November - 2024

Chapter 3     New York City, U.S.A.: September - 2001

Chapter 4     New York City, U.S.A.: November - 2024

Chapter 5     New York City, U.S.A. and Tehran, Iran: November - 2001

Chapter 6     New York City, U.S.A.: November - 2024

Chapter 7     Tehran, Iran: January - 2002

Chapter 8     New York City, U.S.A.: March - 2025

Chapter 9     Isfahan, Iran and London, England: March - 2006

Chapter 10     New York City, U.S.A.: October - 2027

Chapter 11     New York City, U.S.A.: April - 2006

Chapter 12     New York City, U.S.A.: September - 2032

Chapter 13     Sudan: December - 2018

Chapter 14     New York City, U.S.A.: October - 2032

BOOK 2

Part 3 :    Ω

Chapter 1    Lod, Israel: April - 2033

Chapter 2    Lod, Israel: May - 2033

Chapter 3    Lod, Israel: May - 2033

Chapter 4    Jerusalem, Israel: May - 2033

BOOK 1

Part 1

The Demiurge

New York City, U.S.A.: April - 2000

S ean’s finger glistened with blue paint. He trailed swirling lines of seawater along the surface of a flesh-colored canvas. He traced the curves and inlets where the oceans of the world would crash against or calmly ebb away from the shorelines of lands and nations. He worked diligently, his eyes set on his finger as if his finger were following the movements of his eyes rather than the other way around. Beneath his finger was an entire world in the midst of creation—round, and blue, and beautiful.

The plump canvas began to tremble. The drying paint split into fine lines, then cracked open, forming a web of chasms and valleys. All across the painted globe, land separated from land, oceans shook and rose, white ice melted and seeped down into blue waters.

Stop laughing, he said, you’re causing an earthquake.

I can’t help it, said Maddy, her globular belly jiggling. It tickles. She burst into laughter.

Sean looked up. He was lying prostrate on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows beside Maddy, who was resting comfortably with her back propped up against an avalanched mountain of pillows. She was pregnant, expecting anytime—anytime, that is, because her child had failed to make his big entrance (or exit) when he had been scheduled, three days prior.

See what you made me do, Sean said. The eastern U.S. coastline is all smudged with blue paint now. I was almost done, too.

You’re painting around my belly button. It tickles. Why did you paint the world upside down anyway?

I was trying to make a social statement, said Sean. No, no, I’m just … I painted it upside down so you could see it upright, right? It doesn’t matter how the rest of the world sees it.

Maddy squinted. But you and I are the only ones who’ll see it.

Mmm, right … Sean looked at his fingers, stained with the colors of the world, while rhythmically tapping them on the air. Well, I also wanted to put New York on this little mountain of a navel. I didn’t know how else to do it other than painting it upside down. I mean, without skewing the whole world off balance. He inched up on his elbows. Hold still and try not to laugh. I’m almost done.

Maddy’s shirt had started to inch downward. It was draping over Antarctica and smearing some of the continent into the Atlantic and Pacific. Sean carefully pulled up her shirt again, making sure not to reveal even a glimpse of her breasts. He frequently had to readjust his position on the bed since he began running his fingers along her skin earlier that evening.

Maddy leaned deeper into the pillows. She tilted her head back until it touched the headboard and looked up at the ceiling with tear-filled eyes. Maddy had the strange ability to cry tearlessly at the typical sorrows of a young woman’s life. Laughter, however, tapped a seemingly ceaseless source of saltwater from somewhere inside her.

Like nearly every other flat surface in their Soho apartment, the ceiling had been painted by Sean. It had once been a midnight blue speckled randomly with stars and exaggerated figures of the zodiac. But since the night when the man upstairs left his bath water running, flooding three floors and causing the ceiling to warp, blacken, and partially flake off, only the rearing Taurus and handholding Gemini remained complete. In the center of this painted infinity, which was still gradually peeling and descending in tiny black acrylic cocoons to the floor, hung a solitary light bulb, brightly governing the shadows of the bedroom. Maddy stared directly at the light.

Hey, Sean said. You’re laughing again.

No, I … oh! Did you see that? It feels like he’s doing somersaults in there.

Sean placed his palette on the floor. My God. He put his hands on either side of her bulging belly so as not to smudge the paint. That’s incredible! Look at that. He’s gonna be a great kid.

Yeah, Maddy said, her eyes now fixed on a papier-mâché sculpture of a donkey standing next to the bed. She tickled it under the chin. The wire skeleton of FDR was on the kitchen table, just starting to be wrapped in paper flesh. He would soon be astride a donkey, jousting with Ronald Reagan, who was riding an elephant.

I’m sure he’ll be great, said Maddy.

What’s the matter? said Sean. You don’t think I still care about the … that?

Maddy responded plainly without turning. No.

Sean shook his head and looked out the window at nothing. Without thinking, he placed his paint-stained hand against Maddy’s forehead.

You know I don’t care about that, he said. I don’t see why you still do.

Maddy’s expression had changed. Her eyes were full of fear. Fingers dug into the bunched-up bed sheets that surrounded her like a nest.

I think I’m going into labor, she said through gritted teeth.

CHAPTER 1

Tehran, Iran: 1977

W hy am I back here? Dr. Khodadad Jal looked through the rolled-down window of his uncle’s Volkswagen. The streets of Tehran raced beneath the spinning tires, extending from the tightly wound residential districts like long gray tongues hoping to catch a drop of rain.

These people aren’t happy, Jal said, I don’t see anyone smiling. In Oxford, people would always be smiling and laughing … of course, alcohol was coursing through their veins more often than not.

Jal’s uncle flinched, You didn’t drink any … drink any?

Jal looked at his uncle. Uncle Pejman’s entire life was a chip of gravel on the ground during a relentless earthquake. When he spoke he would blink to help annunciate every syllable. He would often repeat the last two or three words of his statement because they had trailed off in a whisper. Like gravel, his actions were determined by the larger forces around him. Jal knew that his uncle feared the unknown and the unknown to Uncle Pejman was everything but his family and the Qur’an - though he feared them too if truth be told, but in a different way. It was as if the things he didn’t know (art, history, science, the world outside Tehran) were the things jabbing him in a pitch black room. While family and the Qur’an were the enormous monsters he could see once he turned the lights on.

No, uncle, of course I didn’t drink. Jal missed England, he could not deny it. He missed his only real friend, Felix. He longed for the intellectual stimulation of his studies. He fondly recalled his summers at Sir Landsworth’s mansion and wondered at the health of the old man.

Jal continued staring out the window briefly latching on to familiar sites from his youth. The world racing by his window stirred up a barrage of memories replacing those of England. While driving back to his home for the first time in years he began remembering the events that had led him to Oxford and back.

Khodadad Jal was raised by three fathers: his biological father, his uncle Pejman, and his grandfather Hesam, all of whom were deeply entrenched in the study of the Qur’an and Hadith. Khodadad’s biological father had so fully devoted himself to a proper understanding on how to live his own life that he neglected his son’s. Uncle Pejman took up the slack and along with Khodadad’s grandfather Hesam, had raised Khodadad the only way they knew how: in the shade of the Qur’an.

Khodadad was often told of the joy he inspired in his uncle and grandfather during his toddler years when he awoke the entire house by what was thought to be a high pitched call to prayer. The name of God reverberated through the house, rattling the trellised windows. A wailing Allah ripped the inhabitants of the house from sleep until Uncle Pejman and Grandfather Hesam tracked down the mysterious muezzin and discovered that it was little Khodadad proclaiming his first word to the world. From that moment onward they doubled the time he spent listening to the Qur’an’s recitation. Such a boy would become a great leader in the faith if properly trained. By the age of seven, Khodadad had the whole Qur’an committed to memory. By the age of ten, he could recite the entire Hadith.

Among his teachers, friends, and relatives, Khodadad knew he was regarded as something extraordinary. He would squirm at all the praise. He was often told that the manner in which he chanted the Qur’an was heavenly; that he had the kindest and most sympathetic face any of them had ever seen. Some even joked that he was an angel sent to keep them all in line. There was no doubt that he was on the path to becoming an important spiritual leader. Those whose voices mattered even speculated that he could become a force in the religio-political sphere.

Grandfather Hesam believed this long before anyone else. Since the night that he had heard little Khodadad shouting Allah at the moon he began guiding the course of his life like a skiff through water by bending, uprooting, or cutting down the reeds that blocked his way. What he did not know however, was that once Khodadad started reaching his pubescent years he began discreetly looking for other materials not found in the maktab. Khodadad would seek knowledge of anatomy the way most other boys his age would seek knowledge of a woman’s body; similar in one way yet vastly different in intent. It was not solely the woman’s body that Khodadad craved knowledge of but the man’s as well.

Through all the years of repetitive scholarship in the Qur’an, the only thing that offered variation to his hungry intellect was the bodies around him. Some students rocked back and forth while chanting the Qur’an. Others didn’t. Why was that? What controlled that motion? When holding the Qur’an in his hands he would recite from memory while carefully studying his thumbs overlapping the page. Each of his fingernails contained a white half-moon. The pores on his hands looked like a tiny camel’s footsteps on his sandy skin; golden hairs grew like desert weeds amidst the dune-like veins. Outwardly, Khodadad undeniably seemed like an Imam-to-be but hidden from the eyes of all but a few Tehrani bookstore clerks was a burgeoning interest in the interior mechanics of the human body.

It must have been quite a surprise then to his teachers, friends, and relatives when one day he proudly announced that he was going to Oxford Medical College. At first his family objected but Khodadad outlined his case and so convincingly supported it with evidence from the Qur’an, the Hadith and with historical insight nucleating Islam to medical advancement, that by the time he was done making his case his family asked why he wanted to be a doctor and not a lawyer.

Khodadad had succeeded in turning his education on his educators. There was hardly anyone who knew the Qur’an as well as him and without someone to offer a convincing counter argument it was only a matter of time before he found himself on a plane bound for London.

*   *   *

CHAPTER 2

New York City, U.S.A.: Early September – 1999

F or the briefest moment, the Frisbee eclipsed the sun. Sean’s squint found the red disc against the expansive blinding blue backdrop. Keeping his eyes locked on it, his slowing steps once again gained speed as he chased the descending Frisbee. He couldn’t let it touch the grass.

His fingertips stroked its spin as they closed around it. Before he could complete the catch, a sudden smack of pain interrupted him. The moment of impact was somehow long enough to let Sean know he had collided with another person before he collapsed unconscious on the Great Lawn.

Seconds, maybe minutes passed before Sean regained consciousness. Not having checked his watch at the time of collision he had no way of telling. Enough time had passed though, for a fairly large crowd to gather. He put his hand to his head, half out of expectation for the spectators. He noticed that most of them, including his friend Chris who had tossed the Frisbee, were looking just beyond him. He turned to look over his shoulder. His eyes met with those of a girl. In her open hand was a spool of string leading to a colorful kite lying in the distant grass.

They’re both awake, Sean heard someone say.

That’s kind of weird … same exact time, another said.

Do you need to go to the hospital? a third said. Sean could not turn his attention to find the varied speakers. He continued looking at the girl.

No, thanks, she replied to one of the men who was making an awkwardly forceful attempt at yanking her to her feet.

Really, I’m fine, she said, I’d just like to stay here sitting down for a minute. Her hands mirrored each other as they caressed her flat belly.

Sean was looking at her so intently that it took him a while to notice she was looking directly back at him. The absence of blood and shouting soon dispersed the crowd. A few stragglers remained - all young men who stood jostling uncomfortably around the girl, seemingly in an attempt to be the first to help her to her feet.

Sean’s friend Chris helped him up. You alright? Chris asked, That was a pretty bad hit. Do you want to go to the hospital? See if you got a concussion or something? Both of you were out for like a minute and then boom, just like that you both sat up.

I’m okay, Sean looked at Chris and a little too loud given his friend’s proximity said, I’m just gonna stick around a bit here, you know. Make sure she’s okay.

Yeah, alright, Chris nodded, I gotta get back to … I’ll give you a call or something later.

The few remaining young men continued circling round, pumping out their chests and cooing, ready to extend a hand when she was willing to take it. Sean squatted down on his haunches, rubbing his head to highlight their shared trauma.

I’m really sorry about that, he said, I should have watched where I was running.

Yeah, no, it’s alright, she answered, I wasn’t looking either. I was trying to get my, um, kite over there … she pointed distractedly at the multicolored patch and continued running her hands over her stomach.

Did I hit you in the stomach? Sean asked.

Uh, no. It’s just I’m … she stopped rubbing herself and extended a hand to Sean.

Sean jumped to his feet and took her hands in his, slowly lifting her off the ground.

I’m Maddy, the girl said while being helped up, causing them to awkwardly fumble with their hands, releasing their grasps to allow a proper handshake.

Sean, he replied.

The orbits of the other young men spiraled further and further outwards until detaching from Maddy’s pull, cast off into the green vastness of the Great Lawn.

Are you sure you don’t need a hospital? Sean asked, I can get a cab.

No, no … I was gonna head home soon anyway before, so …, said Maddy.

Which way’s home?

Um, I live on 33rd.

I’m heading downtown too, Sean said, I’ll come along, if that’s cool? Make sure you’re okay and everything. My friend got a concussion playing soccer this one time. Same exact thing - ran right into a girl. Except she was like twice his size though, and right after it happened he got right back up and kept playing. Later on, when he got home he started throwing up and eventually blacked out. His mother had to rush him to the hospital. Not good. It’s unpredictable.

God, you’re scaring me, Maddy smiled and made an attempt at swatting at Sean’s chest but fell short, What about you then? Same thing could happen to you.

Well then, why don’t we look after each other so you can make sure I don’t start spewing everywhere either, Sean clenched his jaw, wishing his teeth would have had the sense to chomp down on his last few words.

Okay, Maddy answered, We’ll probably do better taking the train instead of a cab because if we do throw up, it’ll be easier to blame it on someone else.

While riding the number 4, Sean and Maddy sat side by side talking while looking everywhere but at each other. ESL advertisements suggested learning English in eight languages but primarily in English. Dr. Zizmore’s less than confident smile guaranteed less acne. A colorful array of tourists chattered while locals read novels or newspapers or just silently clung to metal bars staring vacantly out windows at the grimness of the subterranean transit world.

Approaching Grand Central, Sean decided that their conversation had been going smoothly enough to suggest getting coffee sometime.

This is you right? he rushed through his words. I was wondering if you wanted to get a cup of coffee or something …

The doors of the train had already opened and Maddy had started standing up just as Sean asked the question. Oh … ah, I’m just gonna go home right now. Maybe lie down. But …

Oh, yeah. No, I didn’t mean right now. Like, at some point.

The tide of people getting off had already reversed to an inward push. Maddy struggled past them while nodding at Sean.

Yeah, okay, she said, Coffee sounds good.

The intercom garbled a static Watch for closing doors and Sean and Maddy were divided by a thin wall of metal and glass. They waved at each other as the train jolted into motion. Sean smiled to himself. She said yes, he thought. He allowed his excitement to thoroughly seep through him until he reached Union Square when he realized they had not exchanged numbers.

*   *   *

CHAPTER 3

Oxford, England: 1971

G od created us with intelligence, with the ability to reason. It’s what separates us from the animals. What you are suggesting is irrational. 2 + 2 can never equal 5. It is the law of the universe. The universe is built on logic. God created the rules to which He is also bound. If He were to defy His own rules where would that leave us? He gave us the ability to reason in order to come to understand His creation and to come to know Him. If God takes that away from us He strips us of the only tool we have of coming to know Him. Man is limited by his very definition, contained in a time and place. God is limitless by His definition. How is it possible that something be two diametric opposites at the same time? It’s not.

Khodadad Jal was visibly fired up but maintained a pleasant air while arguing. His recently appointed roommate Felix Besy was sitting opposite him.

Felix responded, For God, anything is possible.

"No, you’re not listening. If everything were possible then we would be betrayed by God. Isa … or as you say, Jesus was a prophet, not God. You Christians botched everything up. That is why you have such a problem allying your faith with your reason. Religion and science are not at odds, my friend. They should be best friends if we are to have a truly developed understanding of the world. Look at yourself … you are the very evidence - ‘The proof of pudding’," said Khodadad.

Though Khodadad had nearly mastered English he knew that his use of expressions sounded somehow off. His roommate Felix, whose mother tongue was Russian, made no indication of catching Khodadad’s possible error.

You are human, Khodadad continued, "Deeply spiritual, you have a soul - undeniable. But, my friend, you also are a mechanical instrument. You have a body - the greatest machine in creation but still a machine. You, yourself, my friend, you are, I am, we humans are all evidence that faith and reason are two halves of a whole. Science and religion, my friend, this is how God wants us to understand His creation."

Felix reddened. In the short week that Khodadad had gotten to know Felix he had come to understand quite a lot about him. He knew that Felix’s embarrassment was the result of being unable to offer a stronger challenge to Khodadad’s logic. As if he was standing there naked, his beliefs being stripped from him like clothes.

Several nights before, while sharing a bottle of vodka with Khodadad, Felix explained that he had grown up within a strict Russian Orthodox family but had found his faith constantly challenged by everything outside his family life. In his native Leningrad, he felt his beliefs uncomfortably stifled under the Communist heel and his strictly secular state sponsored education. Under this constant pummeling of arguments counter to his faith he found the occasional crack in his beliefs yet he could never fully understand his doubts.

Towards the end of the liter of vodka of which Khodadad had only had two small glasses, Felix talked about his life. He confided that as a boy some doctors had diagnosed him as autistic. He said that though this mis-diagnosis had caused him much grief it was determined from the fact that he was consistently among the high scoring students in science and mathematics in the whole of the Soviet Union but an inimitable imbecile in the humanities. While listening to this, Khodadad noticed that Felix’s physical features manifested this mental peculiarity with a large sloping forehead rooted by a set of conjoined eyebrows suspending like a crow in flight over his keen and penetrating stare.

Given that Felix’s mind sensed a problem with his faith but could not conceptualize it in terms that he could understand, he felt his faith reducing in size but never altering in appearance.

Similar to one of my mother’s matryoshka dolls being opened to reveal an identical smaller version of itself inside, he said while fumbling for the souvenir on the refrigerator.

Now, however, as Khodadad sat and talked to Felix in terms that he could finally understand, Khodadad knew that his friend was opening the final doll and finding nothing inside.

It’s not something to worry about, my friend, said Khodadad. Revelation is not a scary thing. It is a step in the right direction. Once you start to understand this you will be able to accept all scientific knowledge as clues to the creator’s plan. You see, my friend, many people in history have found science the challenge to their faith,

Khodadad waved his finger in front of Felix who appeared to want to offer a rejoinder. He continued before giving Felix the chance, I know, I know, it is not just you Christians forcing Galileo to sign or the American puritans with their Scopes’ monkey problem … it is a problem of all people and all time.

But to these hardheaded people I ask, where would your religions be without progress? Eh? Without … and listen to me now, Felix: science is progress, progress is God’s plan. Without scientific knowledge there are no technological advancements. True? Khodadad didn’t allow time for a response. Without technological advances man does not break from the ancient hunter-gatherer lifestyle and form a community where ideas are shared. Without communal living there is no civilization. No civilization means no writing. You’re following me?

Felix nodded hesitantly.

Khodadad continued, "And where are we without writing? We can’t record ideas. There is no Qur’an, my friend, without writing. There is no Bible, no Bhagavadgita, no Confucist texts, no … no anything. How does this religious knowledge … how does God spread to all without printing presses? Gutenberg was a scientist, an inventor. Sure religion was everywhere before Gutenberg but it was limited to ritual and speaking. It could not reach the common man in any meaningful way, allow them the full glory of his religion as contained in the sacred texts.

I’m jumping ahead of myself. Let’s go back again. If humanity never advanced, matured, God would never mature - a perpetual infant creator. Look at the uncivilized peoples’ religions and how infantile they are. Why are the major religions in the world linked to the development of the major powers in the world? Why, my friend?

Felix said nothing and nodded again.

"I’ll tell you why: because scientific progress is religious progress. The most developed powers, the ones whose scientific knowledge allowed them to create the best swords, the finest catapults, the strongest walls, the fastest ships, these, these are the powers that spread their religion around the world.

And then, after all science did to support their God, some have the nerve, the gall to say ‘Here is where it ends, science and religion are now divorced’. No, no, no one can say that if they truly understand it. What I am trying to tell you is that there is no end to their bond because the bond is unbreakable.

Felix nodded somberly and said, Then where does that leave God if science is gradually explaining everything?

A fair question, replied Khodadad, "What we cannot forget is that God has revealed Himself through different people and in different times in history: the Old Testament, the New Testament, and lastly in the sacred Qur’an. The events of this world, were, are, and will be determined by these revelations. Mankind has gone too long without any subsequent prophets and many have lost their faith as science has explained more and more. The thing that people do not understand is that the more science explains creation, the greater it is a testament to the creator. Like I said, God has made a logical world, a perfect world and has given us the ability to understand it. He has also invested us with the intelligence to continue His creation. There is nothing, nothing we can do which will break from His plan. If it can be done, it should and will be done. Otherwise we will be betraying that very Godliness He invested in us." Khodadad paused a moment before continuing.

Tell me Felix, my friend, what does your Christian faith require of you?

Felix seemed confused by the question, How do you mean?

Khodadad considered for a moment and rephrased the question, That is to say, what are you supposed to do … how are you supposed to act?

Act? I suppose I am to act rightly … is that what you mean?

Yes, exactly. And why? Who is your model for this righteous life you are supposed to live?

Jesus Christ? he said hesitantly. This reply was met favorably by Khodadad’s nod and Felix repeated himself with more confidence, Jesus Christ.

Yes. And who is Jesus Christ to you Christians?

The Savior … Felix said.

Khodadad’s head tilted.

God, Felix blurted out.

That’s right, my friend. As Christians, you are meant to act like God. This is the ultimate goal, is it not? To be like God? To remain ignorant is not to be like God. God is omniscient, and therefore knowledge is what God wants most from us.

Felix was nodding.

Khodadad continued, So we are in agreement then? We are to be like God. God the Father, God the Creator and God the Destroyer.

Felix squinted but continued nodding nonetheless.

And so, Khodadad said, "To use this knowledge, the fruit of our scientific progress, is in no way a break from God but in actuality a way of continuing His creation. Listen to me well here Felix, our knowledge, granted to us by God would never let us do anything that is outside God’s plan. Playing God my friend is precisely what He wants us to do."

*   *   *

CHAPTER 4

New York City, U.S.A.: Mid-September -1999

T hough autumn, Sean’s most productive time of year was approaching, he found focusing on his work difficult. Prior to his chance encounter with Maddy, Sean had been living with little other company than the specter of solitude, immersed, in his own world of artistically altered reality. Sean rarely ventured from that molded and melted, brushed and carved existence of his apartment. He did not allow distractions to impede his work because as he knew from experience, distractions led to less work and less work threatened his financial stability.

Aside from finances however, Sean found contentment in his self-imposed detachment from the world. His senses would allow the world in, his mind would let it back out, chiseled or painted, shaped as he saw fit. Perhaps a shade of conceit in this, he knew, but it kept him working. Now, however, the scales had been tipped, weighed down by something that was not of his mind’s creation. He had witnessed a beauty that was complete even before he had laid his hands on it. Knowing he could not force a return of inspiration, Sean decided to read a book to pass the time.

While standing in The Strand’s D section flipping through The Idiot to see whether he liked the translation Sean heard a voice behind him.

"I see you like John Dos Passos. Is that U.S.A. you’re looking at?"

As Sean looked up to see it was Maddy, plucked from his memory and speaking to him, his face tried to reveal the spectrum of emotions coloring his mind.

Oh yeah, I love Passos, he responded while making a mental note that he needed to read something by this Jaundice Passos character very soon, preferably that You Say book she just mentioned. How about you? he asked while subtly closing The Idiot and holding it spine down near his thigh.

Maddy shrugged, I never read anything by him. Her cheeks’ turned a deeper shade of pink, I’m more of a fan of … she turned to scan the shelves, Dostoevsky. I loved everything I read by him. Did you ever read anything by him?

Oh, yeah, I love Dostoevsky. I loved everything I read by him too, Sean said, realizing he was adding few new words to the conversation. "I read all his novels, except The Idiot," he added. His white knuckled grasp on the book grew whiter.

How’s your head, by the way? Sean asked.

Oh, yeah, it’s fine. I did end up going to the emergency … Maddy stopped suddenly, Are you thinking of buying it? she asked, pointing to the book in Sean’s hand.

You went to the emergency room? Sean asked, You did hurt your head then?

No, my head was fine. Really I felt fine, Maddy looked at the floor, I just wanted to make sure. It’s just that I’m, I was, you know worried after that whole concussion thing you said. Anyway, everything checked out okay so …

The sudden awkward lull in their conversation prompted Sean to ask, Are you doing anything right now?

No, Maddy answered, blushing again,