Achmed Bustani! Surely, you can imagine the impact this name had on us. Just think—the brother of our friend. As soon as the widow made this disclosure, both women intuitively knew that they had been drawn to each other—both outwardly and inwardly, sensing a bond of confidentiality between them. In spite of the few short lines that I now use to report this surprise, naturally, it took several hours for us to grasp what we had just learned. During the time she talked with us, her heart’s restrained agony peered out from her moist, poignant eyes. Not wanting to increase her sadness by asking insensitive questions, it was especially hard for us to repress our normal curiosity about the details.
Quite simply, Achmed Bustani died of homesickness. At most, his love for his wife and child delayed his death, but nothing could prevent his dying. Knowing the inherent importance of very close family relationships among Semitic people, it cost him his life when he could not bear the thought of his father and his entire family banishing him and forever refusing to give him their support. Practically moments from death, he asked his wife to promise him that she and Schamah would make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. If possible, she was to find his brother and seek reconciliation with him.
Originally, she had only wanted to hike from Abraham’s Oak to Bethlehem. Her plans changed at the Hospice, where she received a slip of paper from an anonymous benefactor in Bethany, a village on Jerusalem’s eastern slope of Olivet. The note assured them of free room and board in the Good Samaritan’s house. At the same time, he had arranged for our Donkey Driver to take them to Jerusalem. From there, someone would pick them up and accompany them—all free of charge. It pleased her to recall the kindness of this man’s heart. Likewise, she was thankful for the humanitarian aid they received in the Russian Hospice that stood near Abraham’s Oak. They never suspected the truth, that our “Hero of the Blood Feud” was the one to whom they owed their thanks.
They did not go into the accursed Valley of Hinnom where the god Moloch was once worshipped. Nor did they ride straight to the house of their anonymous benefactor. They first wanted to ask if we thought it was “OK” for two lonely, Christian pilgrims to accept this man’s invitation to stay in his home. We gave them as much information as we could and offered to accompany them to their host’s house, for we too wanted to meet this man. They gratefully accepted our offer. Just as we were ready to depart, there was a fourth knock at our door—in stepped our lad Thar.
He was completely out of breath. When he saw Schamah and her mother, he excitedly called out: “So, what the Donkey Driver told me is true! Instead of riding straight to your host’s house, you first stopped off here. But why are you staying here longer? Why didn’t you travel directly towards Bethany, following the Hinnom Valley, just like I told the Donkey Driver to do?” He was coming close to revealing his other identity. I placed my hand on his shirt collar and brought him into the adjoining room: “I believe it’s best that Schamah and her mother don’t know that you and the Donkey Driver secretly instigated this part of their visit to Jerusalem. Are you now ready to tell everything?”
He seemed startled: “Allah, Allah! You’re right—that was dumb of me! Still, put yourself in my shoes, Effendi. There I was with all of my Lions, Elephants, Hippos, and Whales, standing near the Pool of Siloam as we waited for Schamah. We were all set to provide a festive, multi-stage-parade as we escorted her to Bethany—“
“With the Hippos and Elephants?”
“Yes, of course!” he nodded. “I called them all together, because I wanted them to help me welcome my new friend with a grand reception. They all wore their best costumes. We had decorated the entire neighborhood with flowers. We even took branches and swept the streets of the parade route. Upon her arrival, we had all planned to bow at the same time. Next, Firdusi was going to recite a poem. Thereafter, it would be my turn to give a good speech in her honor. Following this, there would be more bows, along with a song that included both singing and blowing our horns. Busiri’s poem would come next. Finally, there would be a triumphant bellowing ‘Huzzah!’ At this point, our festive procession would begin to move—half of us ahead and half trailing. I would be riding between Schamah and her mother, leading both of their donkeys.”
I laughed as I exclaimed, “Yes, you planned a delightful surprise!”
“You’re right. Now, imagine how we waited for hours, yet no one came. When Schamah and her mother separated from the Donkey Driver and rode here to your door instead of taking the pre-arranged route, we agreed to modify our plan. Since this thought came to the Driver later on, it was just a few minutes ago that I realized how I might find them waiting here at your place. I hurried here to urge you to come right away—I don’t want my Lions and Whales to lose patience!”