Chapter LXVII
All this time we had been riding along the valley of the Kidron but now, as it became more rugged, I guided our horses up out of the valley and rode along the flat ground above the valley. Soon we came in sight of two stone towers and I pointed to them.
"See, there is Mar Saba."
Brother Carolus crossed himself and gazed forward eagerly.
"What a place!" he murmured. "Surely only a true champion of God would live in such a place."
When we came to the towers, there was a wall built between them and in the wall was a gate. I dismounted and hammered on the gate and after a while a Greek monk came and looked down on us from the wall.
"What do you want?" he called in Arabic.
"Ya Papa!" I cried back to him. "There is one here who wishes to visit you, a pilgrim from a far land."
The monk looked beyond me and I saw his eyes narrow.
"Who is this man?" he demanded. "He looks to me like a Frankish heretic."
I don't know whether Brother Carolus understood his words, but at this he climbed down from his horse and walked near to the wall then, looking up, he spoke in a language I did not understand, only many times I heard the words "Ioannis" and "Damascou". After a while the monk replied to him and disappeared.
"Good," Brother Carolus said to me. "He goes to seek permission from the abbot."
We waited in the sun for the space of a long prayer and then I heard the sound of bolts being scraped back and after much time the door opened and the monk came out. He showed us where there was a stable for our horses and then guided us through the gate.
Wallah! That is an amazing place, for though I had seen it many times before from a distance as we took our flocks to graze, this was the first time I saw it from close up and from within. The buildings hang from the rock, rising up in layer after layer, and inside there is a constant bustle of black-robed monks coming and going. Also in the hills surrounding there are many caves and rooms cut in the rock where other monks live.
The monk led us down a steep path and in through a door and after that by many rooms and passageways until at last we came into a room where an old man awaited us. He began to speak to Brother Carolus in his language and Brother Carolus replied. I could not understand what they were saying but it was easy to see that the abbot became more friendly as the conversation progressed, for he began to smile and relax.
At last he rose and bowed to Brother Carolus and Brother Carolus also rose and bowed to him and then the abbot clapped his hands and a monk entered the room. The abbot spoke to him and the monk turned to leave.
"Come on," Brother Carolus said to me, smiling broadly. "This man is going to take us to see the cell of John of Damascus."
I followed them out of the abbot's office and down a flight of narrow stairs, then more paths, stairs, corridors and ledges until we came to a small chapel. The monk who was leading us gestured to us to enter and we saw a small room with a very obvious place where something used to be. Brother Carolus spoke to the monk and then crossed himself and bent to kiss the empty place.
"This is where the body of John of Damascus used to lie," he told me.
The monk then pointed to a flight of wooden steps at the back of the chapel and I followed Brother Carolus down the stairs to a small room, so low that I could not stand upright. Stone shelves on either side provided place to sit and there was a stone table at one end of the room, together with a stone bed. Brother Carolus sat down at the table and rested his elbows on it.
"This is where John of Damascus lived," he said, looking round. "This is where he wrote 'The Fount of Knowledge'."
I looked around in astonishment, for this was a most bare and uncomfortable place for a great one from Damascus to inhabit.
"Was he fleeing from the Khalif and hid here?" I asked.
Brother Carolus shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Rather he was fleeing from himself. You see, Fuad, for us Christians the only real enemy is inside us: other enemies may kill our bodies, but we, by the pride and selfishness inside us, can kill our souls. John came here and lived in this small room because he felt that he had been too proud in his previous life. This was a way of teaching himself to be humble."
We stayed in Mar Saba for three days while Brother Carolus read many books in the library of Mar Saba and spent many hours talking to the abbot. I ate and drank with the monks - and by God, their food was of the poorest and they drank nothing but water - and was made free of the place, able to wander from one chapel to another and from one cell to another.
In one of these places I found a great pile of skulls and while I stared at them in curiosity one of the monks of the place came in and saw me looking at them. He came up to me and said something, but I did not understand him. He went over to the skulls and beckoned to me then, when I went to him, he lifted some of the skulls and showed me great cuts in them.
Later, in the refectory, as we sat to eat the dry bread and old cheese that was set before us, the same monk came and spoke to Brother Carolus, who turned to me.
"I hear that you have seen the martyrs of Mar Saba," he said, then, seeing my puzzled look, he explained. "Those skulls belonged to monks of this place who were killed by the Persians when they invaded this country." He bit off a piece of the bread and I heard it crunch as he chewed it.
"John of Damascus praises you Muslims, you know. He says that whatever your heresies, at least you stopped the Arabs from worshipping idols - and I can praise you for the same reason, for you stopped the Persians worshipping their false gods of fire, something we Christians never managed to accomplish."
On the fourth day we set out to return to al-Quds and the abbot himself came down to bid farewell to Brother Carolus and dismiss him with honour. He turned to me also and said in my language, "He is not like the other Franks. If you have any more such men of learning, bring them to us."
As we rode, Brother Carolus began to ask me many things about our way of life, our customs and our laws and also about our religion. He listened with great interest when I told him about my visit to Mecca, though of Amalric I said nothing, for it was shameful to me that I was so disappointed in my Haj. After that I began to ask him about his religion.
"It seems to me, ya brother, that the chief cause of dispute among the Nasranis is this matter of the Trinity and of the Prophet Isa, peace be upon him."
"Alas, Fuad, I fear that you are correct," Brother Carolus said. "Which is strange, for this is one of the least important of our beliefs."
"Really?" I was surprised. "But it is also the chief disagreement between yourselves and us, for these matters of the qiblah and the haj and whether one should pray five times a day or four times are surely of less importance."
Brother Carolus shook his head. "No, I don't think that it is even the chief difference between you and us. The most important belief, the one that all Christians hold in common and which you do not accept, is that Jesus died for us and that our only hope of entering Paradise is through his death."
At this I was silent for a while, for I remembered the words of Brother Hildebrandt about how Allah had used Jesus to entrap Iblis and I remembered also Hamed's story which showed that Jesus, peace be upon him, had truly died - and I remembered also the church of the tomb, and the empty room where the Prophet Isa had been buried before God raised him to life again.
"There is one more place I would like to visit," Brother Carolus said as we came in sight of al-Quds. "I believe it is up on top of this Mount of Olives."
"What is that?" I asked.
"It is the Church of the Ascension," he replied.
"Come," I said, "I will show it to you."
We turned aside from the road and followed one of the paths that climbed up the mountain then, at the top, turned to our left and rode along the ridge to the small church.
"Have you been inside here?" Brother Carolus asked as we tethered our horses outside the gate.
I shook my head. "Always before I have been with a party of pilgrims and I have remained outside to guard the horses and other animals."
"Come inside with me," Brother Carolus invited.
I glanced around. It was nearly noon and there was no one around to endanger our horses, for everyone would be either eating or starting on their siesta. "Why not?" I said.
I stepped through the doorway and found myself in a large courtyard, in the centre of which was a small building with a domed roof. We crossed the courtyard and entered the building to where a single priest was standing with a candle in his hand.
"Welcome," he said. "It is over here."
He led us to the centre of the building and knelt down, holding his candle so that it illuminated one of the stones in the floor which was surrounded by a small wall.
"This is the footprint of our Blessed Saviour, left here when he ascended into heaven."
I stared in surprise, for it certainly looked like a footprint in the stone. Brother Carolus kneeled down and kissed the footprint and said certain prayers, making the Nasrani sign on his breast many times. The priest looked up at me.
"You are not a Christian?" he asked.
"I am of Islam," I said proudly.
"That is all right," he smiled. "We have many Muslims come here, for you also revere Jesus as a prophet."
"And when they come," I asked, "what do they do?"
He shrugged. "Some do one thing, some another. Most, however, touch the stone and kiss their fingers."
"Then, by your leave, I will do so also," I said and bent over to touch the stone with my fingers and then raise my fingers to my lips. "Bismillah," I muttered, "bismillah."
When we were back on our horses I asked Brother Carolus, "What is this place?"
Brother Carolus looked at me in surprise and then, seeing that I was truly ignorant of the matter, explained it to me. "After Jesus was crucified, he was put in the tomb and then, on the third day, God raised him up from the dead so that he lived again and was seen by his followers, both men and women. Then, forty days later, he came with his disciples to this place and as he talked to them, God took him back to heaven, so that the disciples watched as he rose up into the air, higher and higher, until a cloud came between them and after that he was seen no more."
"Wallah!" I exclaimed in astonishment, for I had not heard this before.
"That footprint," Brother Carolus continued, "is the last footprint of Jesus on earth, imprinted in the stone by the miraculous power of God and as a reminder both that he was taken up to God and also as a guarantee that he will return."
At that I was silent. I had always been told that the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, was the last and the greatest of the prophets, but now it seemed that although he was the last, he was by no means the greatest, for Jesus, peace be upon him, had not only been raised from the dead but also had been taken up into heaven by Allah, whereas the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, was still on earth and I had visited his tomb in Medina.
"Is Jesus still there?" I asked as we neared the bottom of the hill.
"Of course," Brother Carolus smiled. "He will come again one day soon, crowned with glory and honour to rule over all the nations of earth."
"Wallah!" I said and fell silent again, for I knew that the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, had also ascended up to heaven from al-Quds, riding there on the back of al-Buraq - but whereas the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, had returned that same night and by morning was back in his home in Mecca, the Prophet Isa, peace be upon Him, was still in Paradise. Truly Allah was showing great honour to Isa, more - though I hastily banished the thought - than had been shown to the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him.
