The Names

Half the room was filled with light. He sat up, a little unsteady in his movements. I don't think I'd fully realized how exhausted and ill he was. The only strength was in his voice."That's a question I always dread being asked," I said. "It's a question that seems to be waiting for me wherever I go in the Mideast. I don't know why it carries such force.”"It's a terrible question in a way, isn't it?”"But why?”"I don't know," he said."Why do I think it exposes some terrible weakness or failing?”"I don't know.”"You can answer it. Five, six.”"Counting Sanskrit. Which comes pretty close to outright cheating. In my own defense I'd have to say there was never anyone I could speak it with, except that boy on the embankment. They're teaching it again in the schools.”"Did you speak it with them?”"On and off.”"How did you know they were there? From the group in the Mani?”"They said there was a cell in India. They'd gone there from somewhere in Iran. I was to look for a place called Hawa Mandir.”"You took your time looking.”"It was my view, my sentiment that India would cure me of the fascination. Is there more water?”"The jug is empty.”"You have to fill it in the street. There's a tap two houses down.”When I returned he was asleep, sitting up, his arm dangling over the side of the bench. I woke him without hesitation.