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boy Muhammad spoke up. “The well was a sign, sir. There is water no one can see, that never wets anyone’s lips. That’s what the holy man means.”
    The uncle looked confused, torn between anger at being called a liar and pride in his precocious nephew.
    â€œNot just a sign,” I said hurriedly. “A great sign. God has showered blessings on your tribe.”
    You’d think the uncle would have been pleased to hear this; after all, he had just said the same thing. Instead, his face darkened. “My father, Abdul, used to swear that God’s love is hard to tell from his hate. His favorite son, my brother Abdullah, died from a sudden sickness while cominghome with a caravan. When we heard about it, messengers and physicians were rushed to him, but he had already been buried, no more than two days journey from his wife. They had been married only two months. She perished from grief, and now, but two years ago, my father followed them. If you really are a holy man, find the blessing in that.”
    The blessing is that you brought this boy to me.
    Hiding my thoughts, I mumbled again that God’s works are mysterious, and Abu Talib nodded sadly. This talk had unfolded many things close to his heart. Between that and the wine, he seemed to trust me, so I held tight to Muhammad’s rough wool cloak and pulled him near the fire. He didn’t object, and for the first time I could look into his eyes.
    Ah.
    â€œWhat do you see? Is he cursed too?” asked the uncle gloomily. “I took in my brother’s son after he was orphaned. I’ve always tried to keep him safe.” “You haven’t protected him well enough,” I warned.
    â€œNo, don’t say that! Only one good thing came from Abdul’s dying. It broke his heart to lose Abdullah. He couldn’t bear it if Muhammad will be snatched away too.”
    Abu Talib had misunderstood my meaning, but the boy didn’t. He allowed me to keep gazing into his eyes. He was willing to let me see. Suddenly I couldn’t keep back the tears. I began to weep silently, turning away so that the two of them might not notice.
    â€œIt’s all right,” Muhammad whispered. He laid his hand gently on my gray head, as if we had changed places and now I was the boy, he the man.
    The uncle became even more alarmed at my behavior. “Tell me!” he cried.
    There was no explaining my anguish. I felt my faith slip away from under me like sand under my feet. Where was my Lord? What would become of us poor seekers in the wilderness, waiting these long centuries?
    I regained control and turned to Abu Talib.
    â€œPardon me. There is no curse. You must protect this boy as if he were your most precious possession. He is God’s.”
    The uncle looked astonished, not just by my words, but by the calmness in Muhammad. “You still haven’t told me what you saw.”
    â€œA light. Here.” I put my finger lightly on the space between the boy’s eyebrows.
    I waited for the uncle to protest. Instead, he froze, and his head trembled. He turned to the boy. “Go.” The word came out as a hoarse croak. He pointed toward the bottom of the hill, where the man who had brought Muhammad from camp was waiting in the dark to take him back.
    Muhammad bowed without saying anything and left. When he was out of earshot, Abu Talib recovered the power of speech.
    â€œThere’s a secret the boy doesn’t know,” he said. “He was born nine months to the day after Abdullah got married. My brother never saw him. Before he set out on the journey from which he never returned, Abdullah took me aside. He had a premonition, and he begged me to take care of his son. I was astonished, for no one knew that Aminah, his bride, had already conceived.
    â€œWhy come to me?” I asked. “There was our father, a wealthy man, to take care of his grandsons. And besides, of my father’s ten sons, we all knew