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The mosque provided a temporary shelter in more ways than one. Sunlight was almost biting in this part of the world at this time of the day. Even with a combination of a dark complexion and a body that rapidly healed sunburn, Joe still felt the sting wherever his skin was exposed. The cool interior of the mosque brought Joe some relief while the Friday prayer, words and motions that had resisted changed for far longer than his body had, comforted him. The familiar verses filled the mosque and seeped into Joe’s restless mind. Few knew as well as he did how rapidly and drastically the world could (and would continue to) change. It felt good to find himself an anchor, a piece of constancy in the ever altering world, a place to return to when everything around him got to be too strange and unfamiliar. Joe’s quiet “Amin” was lost to the chorus of reverent voices of the men around him. But, volume was unnecessary to take off the weight of his long and violent existence off his shoulders for a moment.
After the prayer, Joe rejoined the bustling crowd of Marrakech with a clearer mind. It wasn’t the part of the world he had grown up in, although the people, culture, and nature were similar enough to awaken a sense of nostalgia within him. Joe was no longer a part of these people – or any people – for centuries now, but he still relished walking among them, admiring the ever expanding cityscape, listening to languages he still recognized, taking part in scenes that were at once the same and different from how they had been when he was still only a man. However, the world had changed – more rapidly today than ever. The first sight of a cellphone had him tensing and rerouting to avoid its lens, a relatively new habit that nevertheless caused a deep uneasiness to rival the feeling inspired by the sight of weapons.
It was getting harder and harder every day to remain in the shadows in the blindingly bright modern times. Joe made his way through the sea of people with considerable difficulty, carefully avoiding both cellphones and security cameras. He had his glasses on, but perhaps should’ve also worn a hat. Nicky had told him to bring one, but Joe wanted to feel the stinging heat of almost-home. Regretting this decision, Joe slipped into a small alley. There was no shop here and therefore no tourist with their cellphones and no security camera to capture his movements. It meant he could relax marginally, but never fully. Technology had spread to the far corners of the earth, including this small alley. There were some locals with cellphones in their hands. Though they weren’t taking any picture, Joe still walked quickly past them with his face turned away just in case. He thought in chagrin of news of governments employing cellular technology to keep track of their citizens’ movements and wondered if he and his friends had done enough to cover their tracks. Booker had often assured them that they had, but Andy wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with the rapid development of technology. They used illegal channels to move around and do their works, taking advantage of people who were deeply interested in staying under the radar. But, complete anonymity was becoming harder and harder to achieve. Joe quietly wondered how much longer they could enjoy its freedom.
Eventually, Joe reached a house at a quiet side of Marrakech, far from the very healthy tourism industry and curious neighbors. With sunglasses hiding his eyes and a jacket covering the tension strangling his body, he covertly looked around. Only once he was sure he wasn’t being watched (or worse, recorded,) did he come inside, exchanging stinging heat for pleasant coolness and the relentless sun for merciful shade. The interior of the house was a picture of homely comfort where the vibrant colors characteristic of the region brought life to the modestly-furnished space. Sketchbooks, drawing utensils, stacks of books and magazines and dishes on the drying rack told a small part of the long stories of the temporary lodgers. Although it looked safe, Joe didn’t let himself relax just yet. He looked for any unusual change – displaced items, moved furniture, odd scent in the air, unnatural stillness in the atmosphere – but the only change he noted was a particular absence that called Joe not like a flame beckoned a doomed moth, but a lighthouse called home a ship lost in storm. Joe left his sunglasses and jacket behind on the couch, and went through a door that led him back out of the shade, but not out of peace and quiet and home.
The sight of rich green plants in an inner garden protected by tall walls from the dry dessert climes was still a pleasant shock to Joe even after all these centuries. He had to pause to take in the staggering difference between the world outside –even the friendlier interior of the house – and the verdant garden almost bursting with life. The scent of orange permeated Joe’s senses and refreshed his mind, freeing it from the troubles that had weighed it down. The sound of trickling water from a fountain at the heart of the garden cooled the effects of the harsh sunlight and even harsher world. The chaos and latent threats Joe had seen just moments ago seemed a world away, although they were only separated from this sanctuary by some layers of bricks. Joe had never seen paradise in any of his deaths, but he was convinced that if ever God let him through the gate of heaven, the sight he saw wouldn’t be too different from the one before him. He leaned against the door, basking in the peace of the inner, almost secret, garden as tension gradually evaporated from his world-weary body.
Near the center of the garden, Nicky sat on a bench with a book in his hand. Joe had seen grand courtyards with colorful flowers that changed with the seasons, tall trees that loomed, lush leaves that whispered with the winds, grander fountains from which life-giving water erupted and flowed ceaselessly. But, what was a garden of life without the reason to keep living itself at the center of it? What was a paradise garden without the one who made every day – even the bloodiest and most difficult days – felt like God’s grace and blessings? Merciless centuries wore down even the sturdiest people continuously denied from both the eternal peace and unimaginable splendor of the afterlife. Rapid healing didn’t cure the mind tired of fighting and hiding. But, seeing Nicky surrounded by rich lives, secluded from the world that too often demanded deaths, Joe remembered that for all its cruelty, the world had love, too, and it was worth protecting with his ever-returning life.
Nicky looked up, smiling as he met Joe’s eyes. “Are you going to join me?”
Joe returned the gentle smile with something a little more roguish just to see a twinkle of fond amusement in Nicky’s eyes. Over the courses of their long lives, their characters had changed, forcing them to adapt to one another constantly, fell in love with each other all over again frequently. But, some things remained the same. Of the two of them, Nicky was always the one more reserved in showing his affection, telegraphing it instead in attentive care, silent devotion, and wordless gazes, smiles, and touches. Even in times and places that allowed boldness, his explicit proof of affection was reined in. It was therefore Joe’s self-appointed duty to draw out any reaction to his unconcealed love and devotion, to slip through the cracks of Nicky’s armor of propriety and modesty, to speak and display what Nicky wouldn’t show but Joe knew he felt keenly. Every smile, every warm gaze, every quiet sigh of amusement was a personal victory. Joe catalogue this one carefully, to be immortalized later on paper to add to his growing compilation of captured images of the reasons he loved Nicky.
“I’m enjoying the view,” Joe said with a wink, earning a small snort from Nicky. Joe pushed himself off the door and made his way to his love. “Though the view is much better up close.”
The book was temporarily forgotten when Joe sat down beside Nicky, his hand finding Nicky’s automatically. Less than a day of separation was barely a blink of an eye for them, but that didn’t mean Joe’s heart didn’t soar at the sight of Nicky nor did it mean he wasn’t filled with contentment now that he back at Nicky’s side where he belonged. Joe breathed in the scents of the garden and Nicky, pulling them deep into his lungs in vain hope of drawing them deep into his soul to keep safe and close to him forever. The long centuries had taught him that peace was unfortunately transient. They were warriors before they were lovers. Battles always loomed before them, one seemingly coming too shortly after another with barely a moment’s reprieve to love, to remember why they fought in the first place, to give themselves reason to fight harder and survive so that they could see each other again., be in each other’s arms again, kiss, love, share limited eternity again. Even now, a new battle was approaching. Joe wasn’t the only one made anxious by the world. Although they didn’t talk about it, Joe knew Nicky well enough to know he was bracing himself, counting the hours to their meeting with Booker and the beginning of another job, another mission, another time of putting the gift given to them to a good but violent use.
It was for this grim reason that Joe insisted on staying at this house rather than the hotel where he and Nicky were to meet Booker and Andy. It was an indulgence, but a necessary one. Soon, they would go and stain their hands red once again, put more weight on their conscience, tear their bodies apart for the oblivious world. But, for now they had this garden, free from watchful eyes and lenses, greed and violence. Here, in a thin slice of paradise neither of them had ever seen and maybe would never see, breathing was easier, thinking was clearer, and loving was freer. Joe kissed Nicky slowly, sliding his fingers into Nicky’s hair to gently pull him closer, like they had all the time in the world, an easy illusion to believe in this green haven. They didn’t have forever, though they had more than most people. This moment, this escape was only temporary. They must leave it behind in not too long – maybe to never return. But, despite its transience or maybe because of it, it was still a welcomed reprieve, a much-needed break that Joe embraced with both hands and would only let go with great reluctance.
The kiss only ended with a quiet sigh on Joe’s part. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Nicky was smiling the smile that centuries couldn’t alter, the smile that had turned an enemy into a lover. Joe teased and joked and made grand gestures to win his Nicky’s reserved expressions of love, but Nicky only needed to smile to get Joe’s limitless adoration and endless devotion. Joe kissed the winning smile and drew away to peer at the book Nicky had been so engrossed in before Joe distracted him. “What are you reading?” Joe asked.
Joe was a great reader and had accumulated a decent collection of books from various ages and regions. The topics varied from fiction to non-fiction to textbooks. His hunger for knowledge could never be satisfied and could only be heightened by the changing times. There was always something new to learn to understand the world better. Even fictions offered a glimpse into the minds of the people of a place and time. His love for books was only rivaled by his love for art and Nicky – and he sometimes he felt those two are one and the same. Unlike him, Nicky didn’t read much, preferring to learn the ever changing world from observation and participation rather than texts. His study took place among people, while Joe’s often happened in a room with a book before him. While Nicky would read some books from Joe and Booker’s collections sometimes, he never developed a passion for reading, although he was known to pick up books just to share Joe’s love for them.
Nicky showed Joe the cover, smiling playfully. “I thought I’d try to keep up with your romanticism.”
Joe laughed in delight, reading the title. Some books were worth revisiting many times over and The Prophet was one of them. He had read it uncountable times since he discovered it and could see why Nicky would pick it. A product of a meeting of cultures and views, Nicky would find something familiar to him just as Joe had find traces of views deeply ingrained in him in the pages. Reading it often reminded Joe of the home he had left behind and half forgotten. Nicky’s home was different from Joe’s, but Joe hoped he found something in the book that pleased and comforted him as a textual home did to Joe.
“Are you going to write me a poem?” Joe teased.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get as romantic as that,” Nicky retorted, making Joe laugh heartily. “But, I can read you this book,” he offered.
Joe eagerly agreed. He was even more delighted when Nicky lie down and put his head on Joe’s thigh. Joe’s fingers immediately found their way to Nicky’s hair, sliding through it as Nicky began to read the familiar passages. Nicky’s steady warm voice washed over Joe without submerging him, allowing him to breathe and giving him clarity instead of muddling his mind and heart until he lost track of reality. Joe might be the one more gifted with poetry and the one who more openly embraced passion and strong emotions. But, it was Nicky’s whose mere presence calmed, whose voice could settle the most restless minds, who knew what was needed without asking and gave without being requested. Joe let troubling thoughts about their threatened anonymity and approaching new job slipped from his mind. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sounds of the rustling leaves, flowing water, and Nicky’s voice. He combed Nicky’s hair gently with his finger and turned his face toward the never-changing sun.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.