You go into a Christian church during the day, and the windows are all alight with colors. At night the windows are black if you are inside the church but brightly lit if you are outside. As if the church is calling to those outside in the darkness.
"So beautiful," Daoud said, "even if the images were idolatrous."
"You should see some of the new cathedrals up near Paris. The windows are much bigger, and the figures are more lifelike."
"Do you admire the Christian churches?" Daoud asked.
"I admire beauty wherever I find it. On Sicily, there are beautiful stained glass windows in many synagogues."
"We are building a mosque in El Kahira that will be the wonder of the world. But when were you in Paris?"
"Four years ago, on a mission for King Manfred."
Four years ago I was battling Tartars in Palestine.
As they passed the open front doors of the cathedral, Daoud looked up the steps. He saw the bright yellow light of massed candles and heard a chorus of male voices raised in song. The voices seemed thin and high, as if reaching up into the night sky. He had heard such singing before—a long time before. He felt a catch in his throat.
"Why are the priests singing so late at night?"