Scene 3 – Sit In It

2037 – Israeli-Palestinian dialog in Nablus. Sixty people lunching over white tablecloths. Silver tinkling cutlery. These are serious and professional people. Well-appareled. Politicians and bureaucrats. Israelis, Palestinians, other interested parties.

Layla has just arrived. Jarringly, she is dressed in a rough and ready bohemian style. She has a young girl in tow. Behind her, two men place a garish armchair on the elevated stage area.

She approaches the top table. The diners stand up and greet her profusely. Whisperers sneak looks and tune their ears in.

[Shimon Golder, Israeli governor]:
”Wonderful to see you here Layla, wonderful.”

[Junayd Rahman, Palestinian governor]:
“It is our greatest pleasure.”

[Golder, assessing the contours of Layla’s paint splattered jodphurs]:
“I hope we haven’t interrupted anything.”

[Layla]:
“No. All finished.”

[Golder, still assessing]:
“Good. That’s very good. Very good indeed.”

[Layla, masking a huff with a laugh]:
“Don’t be shy Shimon. You can look me in the eye. Here. This eye.”

[Rahman, stooping]:
“And who have we here? Who is this darling? Daughter? Granddaughter?”

[Rahman, covering his mouth in horrified embarrassment]:
“Oh I am so sorry Layla. Please forgive me. Is she a relative of yours… this young lady?”

[Layla]:
“Gentlemen, this is my friend Sara. She’s three. We’re not staying long; I have to get her back to her mom soon.”

[Grandad Golder]:
“Well you are most welcome Sara. And where are you from Sara?”

[Uncle Junayd]:
“Yes, lovely to see you Sara. Are you enjoying your trip with auntie Layla? Sara?”

[Golder]:
“Layla. Is she… dumb?”

[Layla]:
“Yes. In a manner of not speaking… if you see what I mean. She is in shock. Her father died last week and he hasn’t been able to read to her.”

[Layla, squatting on her haunches to cuddle Sara]:
“She’s certainly not deaf though. She’s a very clever girl. We have to be careful what we say around her. Don’t we Sara?”

[Junayd, sifting]:
“Is she Israeli… Palestinian?”

[Layla, upturning her head and smiling]:
“Sara, these people are trying to make things better for you.”

[Golder]:
“You can… you can fix her? Right, Layla?”

[Layla, getting up]:
“So guys, what’s changed? Are the walls coming down yet?”

[Golder, leaning forward and seeking the support of his Palestinian counterpart]:
“We are making good progress, aren’t we Junayd? As we will jointly convey to the media conference, we have moved forward on a number of issues, though of course, some obstacles remain. We have committed to a series of future dialogs. And on a much tighter schedule than previous administrations.”

[Rahman, after gaining some telepathic consent from nearby associates]:
“Yes. We are happy to have met here in Nablus. It is very symbolic. And we are very supportive of this process. You know the problems. They are not easy to deal with.”

[Golder]:
“Not easy at all. World federation has helped enormously of course but…”

[Layla, butting in]:
“Israel still tightly controls water and energy resources… militias still active, still supported… corruption continues… distribution of employment and services are marred by an alarming and underhanded prejudice… that sort of thing? All unacceptable for the breath of this little girl.”

Golder and Rahman shrug a bit.

[Layla]:
“I see. Well, progress seems a little superficial to me. Sounds like there’s a lot of surface tension and you’re waiting for someone to walk on water. No worries, though, I have been working on a remedy.”

[Golder, with a witty left eyebrow]:
“Of course we welcome your ideas Layla. As long as they don’t involve plagues or starvation. Destitution is fully yesterday around these parts. Anyway we are used to all that. We are immune. It doesn’t work on us.”

[Rahman with mock terror]:
“And no more spontaneous combustion. It makes my blood boil.”

[Layla, sudden-sorrowed]:
“Oh Junayd, I had nothing to do with that. Even now my heart collapses when I think of Sholeh. In a way that’s good, the pain keeps me grounded.”

[Rahman, sympathetically]:
“I didn’t mean to offend.”

[Layla, acknowledging, settling]:
“That’s fine, none taken. You two are spending too much time together. Shimon’s sunny disposition is rubbing off on you.

Now listen. I’ve great news for both of you. That fine piece of furniture you see up there on the stage behind me… I call it the Rainbow Chair. See how it’s painted in so many beautiful colours? I’ve gone to a lot of effort. Really. I carved it, upholstered it. Everything.

It’s a magic chair. Anyone who sits on this chair will gain the insight and courage they need to usher in a new spirit of trust, collaboration and love in this region. It only works on Israeli and Palestinian arses though.

Shimon? You want to go first?”

[Golder, gently but firmly demurring]:
“I am already a proud promoter of such a spirit Layla.”

[Rahman]:
“As am I. And I hope I’ve risen above being called an arse. [smiles]”

[Layla, showing faint, faint, pain]:
“I should have added a bigger incentive. Sexual gratification perhaps?”

[Golder, saucily]:
“Would that be provided by the chair or your good self? I’d have to skip dessert of course. Otherwise I’d find it impossible to discern where one stopped and the other started. At my age I’d probably prefer a strapping, solid cigar. They are immensely difficult to lay your hands on these days. Maybe a pleasure of one’s choosing is the enticement that’s needed? Can you do that for us?”

[Rahman, discreetly]:
“And I should remind you Layla… we have to be careful what we say around Sara.”

[Layla, hands surrendering]:
“Okay, okay, you’re right. I guess the chair will have to stand on its own legs… peace, fellowship, goodwill… that’s three legs… and I’m sure there’s some other nice thing that I can’t think of right now. It’s very nicely painted though don’t you think [Layla stretches into a little girl teeth-smile]?”

[Rahman, getting serious]:
“Layla, listen. Don’t take it personally. We have many complex issues to work through. It’s important that we don’t wave a wand and fix the symptoms. We have to address the underlying causes. We have to reconcile ourselves with difficult truths in order to move forward with unburdened hearts.”

[Layla, squinting skeptically]:
“Shimon. Junayd.”

[Golder]:
“Anyhow, how does this chair work? What will it do to us?”

[Layla]:
“Oh I never know how anything works. It’s a Pippy special. I’m just the messenger as they say. C’mon boys. Do it for Sara here. How can you ignore those big eyes?”

Pressurized but unconvinced, the two men studied down at Sara.

[Rahman, loudly]:
“Ali, please sit in that chair on the stage.”

Ali did so and stared directly ahead. Soon Ali looked heart-broken, and then at peace again. After a minute Ali’s eyes asked Rahman if it was time to get out of the chair.

[Rahman]:
“Yes, get up. How was it Ali? Anything unusual?”

[Ali]:
“It was okay sir. Though I saw that little girl’s pain. Very sad.”

[Rahman]:
“Okay, well, it’s good to connect with other people’s difficulties. It will stand us in good stead for the next dialog.”

Rahman and Golder organized everyone to line up and take their turn. Finally, they sat in it themselves.

[Golder, touching his trousers]:
“Thank you Layla. A very interesting perspective. You’ve ruined our clothes though. Where shall I send the cleaning bill? Do they have Stream connectivity where you come from?”

[Layla]:
“Apologies for that. Yes, the paint is still wet. Call it a memento.”

[Rahman, finding it a nuisance]:
“That’s very strange… to ask us to sit on wet paint. And look, the chair is the worse for wear too… we’ve smudged the colours.”

“Oooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh” groaned an Israeli diplomat. And then Ali shrieked and held his head. Soon the room was full of upset.

[Golder, feeling fiercely despondent]:
“What have you done?”

Layla picked up Sara and hastened to the door, Golder and Rahman clambering at her heels. She held Sara at arms length and turned to the two men.

“I’ve gone walkabout on the streets this week. In Israel and Palestine. Many, many people sat on the chair. Thousands. Sara was the first. It is saturated with their feelings, their wishes. And this morning I painted it rainbow.

I don’t know how it works. I can only repeat what Pippy told me. When you sit on the chair… the accumulated emotions are transferred to you at a strength that is proportional to your ability to do something about them. And the effects intensify until improvements are made. A great motivation.

By the way, if you know of anyone who is impeding you or can help you, get them to sit on the chair before the paint dries. Exciting isn’t it? Good luck. Do something and don’t die.”

Layla pulled the door shut, lifted Sara onto her hip and strode out into the Nablus street waving ‘Hi’ to the crush as they parted before her.

————-

[Mr Young]:
“Interesting. That’s not how Shimon tells it though. The Golders came to our house a while back. Struggle and sacrifice. He put the strong relationship between Israel and Palestine down to that… not any rainbow chair.”

[Mr Fadl]:
“Yes. Yes, I remember that media conference. Strangely muted given the rapid progress made. And do you remember the question one of the reporters asked? And Rahman’s irate response “No, of course we haven’t been playing paint ball”. Very funny.”

[Mr James]:
“Well, whoever made this repository… whoever did it… has certainly dotted their I’s and crossed their T’s. Fits very snugly. What a game that was though. Why restrict it to such a few people? Why not let everyone sit on a rainbow chair and solve every problem all the time? Free will be damned.”

[Mr Enayati, laughing]:
“It always gets round to the balance between free will and be still. It’s a cosmic game of push and shove.

Anyhow, those repository making people are fallible, they made a mistake. The rainbow should signify hope not hopelessness.”

[Mr James]:
“Would you sit on a chair like that Omid?”

[Mr Enayati, thoughtfully]:
“Before or after the paint?”

]]> http://laylaoww.wordpress.com/2008/05/09/52-the-rainbow-chair/feed/ laylaoww http://laylaoww.wordpress.com/2008/04/30/51-doing-the-beshkan/ http://laylaoww.wordpress.com/2008/04/30/51-doing-the-beshkan/#comments Wed, 30 Apr 2008 02:05:48 +0000 laylaoww http://laylaoww.wordpress.com/?p=88

The men of the Universal House of Justice returned and resumed their positions at the spectacular nine pointed star table.

Today, with all nine members present, they could not take advantage of the comfortable embrace of the star ‘wings’. They had to sit back to the tips. No great matter, it wasn’t dangerous, the tips were rounded and smooth to the touch.

Mr Thompson, acting as chairman cum facilitator, readied to restart the Stream feed.

[Mr Thompson]:
“Right, we’re off again. Behrouz, are you okay?”

Mr Erfanian replied with a wavy go on.

[Mr Thompson]:
“Good. I realize many think we need to do something. First though, I think we are going to have to get through this scene by scene. It’s a lengthy but necessary process if we want a proper understanding to inform our response.

I can pause if anyone needs a further break. Let’s take notes and we’ll talk about it as a whole afterwards. Nibbles are being delivered as I speak.”

Scene 2 – Snap Out Of It

2015 - Early climate change negotiations in Mumbai. Layla mingled with Chinese and Indian diplomats at a break-out session.

“If you are so great why don’t you just click your fingers and feed my people?” one Indian man said.

“Look, I’ll give it a go, but I can’t promise it’ll work.” Layla jokily retorted. Taking a playful stance she whipped out an alarming and thunderous crack from the fingers of both hands.

“What? That’s the best you can do?” the incredulous diplomat exclaimed “How can you say that?”, immediately followed by “Yeah well, exactly. We are just doing our best too. We’re all in this together. We each need respect and space for our own paths.”

Layla laughed, “Cheeky man. This. See this? This is beshkan”. And she snapped a couple of sharp ones in his face.

The man, and most of the break-out room, was drawn towards this ‘best I can’ performance. He started to fumble and fiddle.

“I can get nothing. Nothing. How do you do it?”

“Here, let me teach you. Put your hands out like this.”

————-

Under the respectful and earnest observation of Steven Selwood, Behrouz Erfanian stealthily initiated a demonstration of his own expert beshkan technique. With much gravitas, he sucked in Selwood’s full attention and cracked a crisp snap which echoed in the chamber.

With a minimum of facial muscle flex, Erfanian prompted Selwood to repeat after him. Selwood muffled it.

Erf’s eyes said “no, wait” then he completed another clear snap.

Selwood put more strain into it. To no avail but a pained wincing and wringing. Erfanian closed his face in a “no, no” then, reeling Selwood in under his spell again, cracked a mighty, and seemingly effortless, snap.

Selwood shuffled to relax his position. He tried once more. This time from within the dullness was heard a faint click. Erfanian’s see-saw expression conveyed encouragement but early days.

[Mr Thompson, mildly astonished]:
“Right. Next one’s starting. Behrouz? Steven? Next one’s starting.”

Tension and confusion in the House. The members expressed their hurt-felt puzzlement.

• But, but this suggests some form of collusion between the Erfanians and Afnan. Maybe between the House and Afnan? For what reason? To get a baby?
• Why Afsaneh Javad? And how could she find herself in a situation where she could develop deep feelings for a Covenant Breaker?
• How did they know that she was pregnant? Maybe they didn’t, maybe they just got lucky.
• Is there a Kashan connection? A connection with the Bayanis?
• Why did Mrs Erfanian kiss Afnan’s hand? What are you talking about? She didn’t. I’m sure she did. The situation is bad enough without embellishment. Goodness me, I’m not making it up - you obviously averted your eyes and missed it.
• We have to do something about this.

[Mr Thompson]:
“Let’s calm down everyone. Let’s sit back. Thank you.

Behrouz, that doesn’t match your story.”

[Mr Erfanian]:
“No, it doesn’t Kevin.”

[Mr Thompson, exasperated]:
“And…?”

[Mr Erfanian]:
“And what? I completely stand by what my father told me. As Mr Pain said, this story is a fabrication. It’s corrupt and has been tampered with by people who well know how to confuse and bring about disunity. I don’t know why we are all so surprised; extreme opposition to the Faith has been prophesized.

I’m very disappointed that anyone could think that my father, who has given so much service to the Cause, could have anything to do with undermining it.”

[Mr da Silva]:
“A simple DNA test can sort this out.”

[Mr Erfanian]:
“Nonsense Fabio. I’ve told you that Afnan raped Afsaneh. He’s the father alright but it was nothing like that story we’ve just seen.

Gentlemen, gentlemen, why this and why that. There are no answers to these questions because this Layla repository is a lie. Nevertheless, people will believe what they see. This is why I told you that it is paramount that we stop it.”

[Mr Underwood]:
“I’m not sure Behrouz. It’s seems quite possible that this story is true and yours false. Maybe your father was mistaken. After all, he was elderly and dying at the time.”

[Mr Erfanian, enraged]:
“My father was not mistaken. I can’t understand how a House member would side with those who seek to destroy the Cause of God.”

[Mr Underwood]:
“Please, Behrouz, there is no need for that. Look, there are about twenty scenes here and Mr Pain had indicated that only five have relevance to the Faith. If this was done by some opposition group then they wasted a lot of time and money.”

[Mr Erfanian]:
“Pull your head in Joel mate. That’s how you Aussies put it, yes?

Have you considered it could be a joint effort? Maybe the Enemies of the Faith collaborated with Islamic, Christian and God knows how many other groups. That would explain the resources that must have gone into this. Kevin, I will excuse myself if this baseless backbiting of my family continues.”

[Mr Selwood]:
“It does seem very fishy. These were all Persian people. Surely they would have spoken in Farsi? Omid?”

[Mr Enayati, peering over his spectacles in a distinguished fashion]:
“Absolutely, Steven. In fact, Afsaneh could speak little or no English during her stay at the World Centre. I remember. I was here at the time. My mother served at the International Teaching Centre. She came to dinner often. She spoke Farsi, sometimes a smattering of German, no English. And might I add that anyone who knew Mr Erfanian Senior would find it ludicrous to even entertain the idea that he was anything but a faithful servant of the Cause.”

Mr Enayati had spoken truthfully but misleadingly. He observed Richard Young. He observed the other multi-lingual members. Nothing. Farsi’s not their main tongue. And then, sympathetically, he turned to a nervy Behrouz Erfanian. Yes, yes he had. Behrouz, like Omid, had heard it all in Farsi. This repository was remarkable. How novel.

Enayati had always been ho-hum about whatever powers lay behind Layla’s miracles. Same deal with this strange technology. Enayati had long ago fully committed himself to the primacy of the Baha’i Faith and its Institutions. They were designed by God and he understood everything by using them as starting and end points. This repository thing might be true; it might be lies; it might be all points in between. No matter, it’s not the Real Truth.

There was no need to over-analyze; it was clear in the Most Holy Book that all good comes only through recognition of Bahá’u’lláh and following his ordinances. It was simply a matter of turning this weird show to his advantage. Weaker minds sometimes mislaid their confidence in the divine plan when faced with uncertainty. Not Enayati.

[Mr Enayati, continuing]:
“Kevin, let’s see what other delights await our eyes. Perhaps a break first though. My prostrate isn’t up to these long meetings any more. Or maybe it’s too much tea. I agree with Behrouz though. Something has to be done.”

Enayati cornered Behrouz on the way to the men’s room and took him aside.

[Mr Enayati]:
“Behrouz, you have my full support. Always. You know that.

I could see by your face that you heard Farsi, as I did. This is an intricate web we are navigating. We can’t be sure what the others heard. We don’t even know if we got the same story in Farsi. I’ve read scientists are trialing multi-lingual devices. They might be in play here. The authors of this atrocious repository are leaving no stone unturned.

Our response needs to be organized and single-minded. We must have conviction and not chase shadows. We need to make certainty from uncertainty. Our strong story will gather up the dross and become accepted. We can do that. Now, Behrouz, tell me the truth. Tell me, so I can help you.”

[Mr Erfanian, enamoured]:
“Omid. You are the peerless friend. Let me hug you.”

[Mr Enayati, eyes darting]:
“Stop Behrouz. Don’t draw attention to us.”

[Mr Erfanian, shaking the hug away]:
“Of course. I’m sorry.

Omid, it will be such a relief to tell you. And it’s such a simple explanation too. It just can’t be spread around. Understand?”

[Mr Enayati]:
“You know you can trust me Behrouz.”

[Mr Erfanian]:
“At one point my father was convinced that a Guardian was both necessary and possible for the future success and mandate of the Baha’i Faith. He felt that the first House administration had acted too hastily in declaring further Guardians after Shoghi Effendi impossible. He believed that the decision would be undone if events transpired in such a way that an attractive possibility could emerge. Suffice to say that there were a number who felt the same.

A new, pure boy from the line of Bahá’u’lláh was required. All the existing ones were Covenant Breakers and there was no way that the House could have accepted any of them back into the Faith no matter how much they repented. But if a hybrid could emerge… perhaps the unfortunate result of a rape of a Baha’i by a Covenant Breaker … well, surely no-one could blame the child. They could easily be raised Baha’i and be groomed for Guardianship.

Back in Kashan, our family has a long history with Afsaneh’s family. The Javad’s have strong links to the Báb and a number of the Letters of the Living. Yes, she was of good stock. A very lovely, simple soul and, apparently, quite open to suggestion. When she arrived for her year of service, my father and a few others talked to her, in generic terms, about their vision. They introduced her to Afnan and, by all accounts, she was very taken with him. They began an affair but Afnan wasn’t the most discrete of people… he was found cavorting with her on World Centre grounds by Graham Parkin and got himself bashed.

The plan was thrown into turmoil. It was very risky but my father and his supporters battened down the hatches and continued on. Already though, there was a leak and certain high-placed people were beginning to ask questions. My father put them back in their box by confiding in them about the rape. Nobody wanted to escalate to the authorities. By this time, evidence would have been hard to come by anyhow.

Further secret meetings between the pair were facilitated. Then suddenly, Afnan got spooked and pulled the plug on it, as you’ve just seen.

My father kept very close to Afsaneh over the next month or so. She was quite distressed, she needed his support. When she announced her pregnancy my father brought Graham Parkin into the mix. Everyone at the World Centre rallied around Afsaneh and Graham and it seemed the plan was going perfectly. Of course, the baby turned out to be a girl.

It was probably divine intervention. My father later changed his theology and no longer supported the idea of a new Guardian. Most of the others backed away from it too. There were numerous reasons, some legal.

Omid, all ended well but it isn’t something I want raked up. It would be bad for the Faith’s image. Even now. It is better that the members are exempted from this information.”

Enayati took it all in. He didn’t believe that was the full story but it was more than enough for his purposes.

[Mr Enayati]:
“I agree totally. I appreciate your sharing this with me Behrouz. We should definitely do something. There, they are calling us back. Let’s get back to our movie.”

ABM James Jones knelt eagerly beside his Stream screen. He fidgeted with the controls whilst keeping an eye and an ear glued to the fuzzy display.

“Hello. Hello. Can you hear me on your side?”

[An Indian voice]:
“Yes, we can see you and hear you. You are having a problem?”

[Jones]:
“I can’t see anything. I think I’ve done everything right. Yeah, I’ve even entered the crypto-ma-jiggy number I was given.”

[An Indian voice]:
“That is okay. I think your G button is on the wrong setting. It should be nineteen point five seven. Can you try that?”

Jones adjusted his G and was startled at the wall-sized, peering young face that confronted him. Extreme.

[Jones]:
“Err, hi. I am expecting the Universal House of Justice.”

[An Indian face, smiling]:
“Isn’t everybody sir. Sorry, I am joking. I am Nandan and am making sure the communicate is working perfectly. Yes, let me finally position the camera for maximum coverage - we have a full House this morning.”

[UHJ member Kevin Thompson]:
“That appears to be everything Nandan. Thank you very much for your fine work. Probably time for breakfast now eh?”

[Nandan]:
“It is indeed. A very early start this morning. Can I get anyone anything from the canteen?”

[Mr Thompson]:
“No thanks Nandan. That’ll be all. We will communicate you if we need your expertise.

James, Allah’u’abhá, we’re all here and, well, over to you.”

[Jones]:
“Allah’u’abhá. Okay. Everybody, this fine gentleman is Brian Pain. Brian, well, this is the Universal House of Justice. In session.

Right, well, we all know why we’re here. Brian is currently contracted to QBP, a company that is processing the so-called Layla repository on behalf of Mark McGuire. He’s a Baha’i, of course - Brian that is, not McGuire - and, well, I think Brian should take the floor now.”

From a low couch, Brian leveraged himself up to his full height.

[Brian]:
“A great privilege to talk to you all. I recognize many of the faces from my visit to Haifa. Yes, back in 46. Of course, it’s unlikely that you’d remember a face in the crowd.”

[Mr James]:
“On the contrary Brian. I would think we all recognize you. You do stand out in crowds, you know [smiling].

Besides, I’ve seen you perform. I can’t say that it’s my bag but my grandsons in the US were big fans.

And Mr Jones here, he’s told us about your fine endeavours on the Stream forums. That’s hard work right there.”

[Brian]:
“Thank you very much, Mr James. As they say, it’s a dirty job but, you know. Anyway, it’s just my little contribution. I can’t even begin to think how the members on the House shoulder their immense burden.

Right, as I’m sure Mr Jones has told you, I’ve seen some of the early packaging of the Layla repository and, to be frank, I got very angry. I’ve set up this screen over here to show you what I’m talking about. Mr Jones is communicating you a copy as we speak.”

[Mr Erfanian]:
“You have a copy of the repository?”

[Brian]:
“No. Not the full thing, just a package of about twenty scenes. Bear with me and you’ll see what I mean.

Right, gentlemen, I’ve gone over this presentation in my head many times today and, though it makes my blood boil, I’ve committed myself to sharing my knowledge with you as succinctly and dispassionately as I can.

First, from a technical perspective, the Layla repository is corrupt. That is, the data stream is corrupt. It doesn’t conform to any known Stream protocol. It plays but I’m not sure why. We had to recalibrate our tools in order to edit and format it and make packages such as the one I’m about to show you.

Next, as I was getting up to speed with the environment and learning to use the recalibrated tools, I spent time sitting next to our team leader Janette. She held many hushed discussions, some with our big boss Mr Cimpton, about what they called ‘versions’ of scenes and what should be done about them. Now, we’ve just had a company wide order sent out telling us not to talk to anyone about the repository and that everything is okay again. Straight to the point, I’m sure they are tampering with the data to get the outcomes they want.

Then, Janette had the whole team working on a specific request from the big shot himself, McGuire. He wanted to know about ‘interesting and private’ scenes. I got to speed review some of the output as a quality check and saw a lot of stuff that was anti-Baha’i. I’m telling you when they show this the Faith will be dead in the water.

I’m as loyal and as committed to the Cause as anyone could be but if I was shown this, and didn’t know about the suspect background, I’d be out in a heart-beat. Anyway, that’s where we are. Let’s start and, just a warning, some of this stuff is adult rated.

—————————————–

Scene 1 – The Big Bang
A man and a young woman sit glumly at the table in a quiet and compact living room. The man is well-half-dressed in a luxurious purple dressing gown. The young woman, still shower wet, is burrowed and huddled into an over-sized white T-shirt.

The room has various shades of shadows but, outside, it’s fine and sunny and beautiful in Haifa. A huge gust of warm morning air billows by. It doubles back on itself and bursts in through the open window to heat the young woman’s face and ruffle her hair.

Feeling that warm touch, the young lady turns to the window and surveys the Shrine of the Báb – just a stone’s throw away.

“I love you Ahmed.”

“We’ve been foolish Afsi, nothing good can come of this. They know about us now. We have nowhere to go. You can’t stay here and I must stay here.”

“No, Ahmed, you can come to Germany, my family will help you. They will see what a good character you have.”

“No, Afsaneh, your family won’t help. They can’t. Anyway, I must stay here.”

Afsaneh stands up and walks round to the opposite man. From behind, she rests a cheek on his curly, black hair and tenderly massages a bulbous bump on his temple.

“We can work it out.”

“It’s too late Afsi. Now that it is out in the open they will watch us like hawks. You are young Afsi, get on with your life. I have made my decision. I am sorry for getting your hopes up.”

Afsi is defeated.

A knock. Ahmed calmly gets out from under Afsaneh and turns to her with an air of the-way-it-has-to-be. He checks his dressing gown is drawn and moves off to answer the door.

Afsaneh freezes as Ahmed’s arm nonchalantly guides Adnan and Shirin Erfanian into the room. Horror. And all wet with a bedded look about her. Her family had reached out from Germany, from Kashan, from the House of Justice and seized her in unimaginable sin. And she fell faint.

Mrs Erfanian bent down and aided enfeebled Afsaneh to a low cushioned couch.

“It’s got to end now Ahmed. We’ll take things from here.”

“Yes, you’re right Adnan. We’ll see what happens.”

Ahmed slouches down to the ear of Afsaneh.

“Afsi, please forgive me. I asked the Erfanians to come over. They will take good care of you. Go with them now.”

Afsaneh’s shocked gaze remained fixed on a rug and she clung to Mrs Erfanian’s arm. Inside, she was mortified. And full of hatred for this callous Covenant Breaker who she had somehow developed deep feelings for. All a lie. She should have known. He even took one for the road before casting her off. My God, what a disgrace.

The Erfanians coaxed her to stand. They placed an arm over each of their shoulders and began to manoeuvre her out into the bright Haifa life again. Mr Erfanian looked broken-heartedly and tenderly at the girl then back to Ahmed. He nodded respectfully and gave a light beat to his chest with his free fist. Ahmed reciprocated.

—————————————–

[Brian]:
“How about that? You know what it is? The clue’s in the title. It’s the conception! First data on the repository. He is Ahmed Afnan. The Covenant Breaker. Layla is a Covenant Breaker - so this story goes. And…”

[Mr Thompson]:
“Yes, we are following the gist of it. Can you stop it there Brian? I think the House needs to review the remainder in an atmosphere of private consultation. You say there are about twenty scenes or segments?”

[Brian, disappointed at this unexpectedly early end to his presentation]:
“Yes, there are. I’ll send you over the list of scenes that have Baha’i references in them if you wish.”

[Mr Thompson]:
“Yes, thank you Brian. That would be a great help.”

It was then that Brian put forward his suspicions concerning the Apostinals and the Edinburgh Crew.

[Brian]:
“The other scenes don’t get much better. It’s beyond belief how far they’ve gone this time. Let me assure the House that I stand ready to provide whatever service I am capable of. Whatever I am asked. Any service.”

Mr Thompson again thanked Brian, this time for his loyalty and service. And promised that they would be in touch. He thanked Mr Jones. There would be fervent prayers. He smiled melancholy and closed the communicate.

Just in time

Things aren’t always as they seem. If there are gaps we will gladly fill them in.

Yeah, yeah, you know that.

Good, you seem to be a person that is not easily fooled, but there’s no need to be rude. It hurts my feelings.

In the Baha’i scriptures, justice is the best beloved of all things. If you are so clever, can you see the self-evident truth that justice is like cold water? Like it or not, it wakes us up to reality and allows us to make sensible decisions. We desperately need cold water. Whilst cold water is effective from whichever utensil it is poured, you’ll find this modern thermos flask to be most consistent in its application. As for gaps, nature may abhor a vacuum but that aspect of the flask is not relevant here. Concentrate, instead, on the silver surface - that part of the analogy is useful.

What humanity needs today, Joe, is not just decisions, oh no, it requires just decisions. If they are just decisions, they can be reviewed in the light of further information and, acknowledging previous errors, more just decisions can be agreed.

Do you agree and how about a piece of Momma’s apple pie? Confused? Join a religion.

I did and it all made perfect sense at the time. They could have told me black was white and I would have accepted it. I was lucky though, my religion really was the right one. I just worry about all the others.

The strength of the religious epiphany - getting from A to B

Trust me. The squares marked A and B below are exactly the same shade of grey.

What? You don’t believe me? Shame on you.

Go on then, click the picture, see the proof if you must but let that be a lesson to you.

Next time, you will trust me, won’t you?

No, no, be fair. I have demonstrated what you thought was impossible. You are better off turning to me for advice than relying on your own senses, feelings and thoughts. Well, I’m right aren’t I? Yes, so tell me now what the truth is Joe.

Return of Cuddus

After his progressive revelation inspired A to B moment, Brian was euphoric. God was nearby, not lost in ancient history, and he could play his piece in God’s great and continuing game - the only game in town. He saw with new eyes and was all ears for the rest of the plan.

He listened intently, his mind a sponge, as he was informed:

The future of the world is at stake. What the world needs most is unity. The way to achieve this unity is to undergo the spiritual transformation described in the healing message of Bahá’u'lláh and shelter beneath the divinely ordained institutions of the Baha’i Faith. With political unity currently being established, as prophesized, it would only be a matter of time before the peoples of the world, reeling from their spirit of unrest, would turn to the Faith for leadership and the wheels for a fuller, spiritual unity would be set in motion.

Now is the time for action, no delay can be countenanced. As the understanding of the oneness of humanity becomes fixed in the minds of men, the old adversarial approach to conflict resolution and decision making will fade away and be replaced by constructive consultation techniques. Don’t take much notice of this current old world order; it’s an old house that is being patched up at great expense. We’re building a new house big enough for everyone. Beware though; it has also been prophesized that the Faith will encounter fierce opposition along the way.

Brian was bursting with new knowledge and he wanted to share it. On fire, he immediately became a Baha’i, married Laleh soon after, and then pioneered eastwards to Omaha. He set up an MMA gym and, by the time of the next local election, had converted enough of his fighters to form the toughest Baha’i Local Spiritual Assembly in America. Two years ago, the Pains moved to New York where Brian facilitated a career change by taking a course in Stream Editing and Shaping.

His new job entailed spending much of his day interacting with the Stream. Brian had been concerned at the slackness of some of the Baha’is in his local community but he was appalled at the level of antagonism and ridicule directed against the Faith on various Stream forums. He noted that it wasn’t Covenant Breakers that caused the most turmoil, it was, incredibly, supposed Baha’is… and ex-Baha’is… and their ilk. How ungrateful.

This was certainly the prophesized opposition. Those timid and lovely Baha’is; they were not equipped for a fight like this but it was right up his alley. Inhaling the battling spirit of one of the Faith’s great martyrs, he created his Cuddus profile and hit the Stream hard. In little time, his pummeling of hitherto smart-ass nay-sayers made him the de facto leader of the Beadies.

Street Smarts

Brian had ceased formal schooling at seventeen but he was more than a match for any passing philosopher, arts academic or lawyer. He knew how to prepare for a fight better than any of them.

Brian was obsessive in his thirst for knowledge about the long-running Internet and Stream Baha’i Wars. He studied the most successful players on both sides. He had both pithy and ten page responses to any issue you could think of. He could cut you down with venom or humour. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of all the current anti-Administration lot, that crowd of Johnny-one-notes. He challenged them all, one by one, forcing discussions to be waged in their most vulnerable areas.

Many of his opponents made the grievous mistake of believing that they were engaging in a discussion for increased mutual understanding or, at the very least, a debate to demonstrate the validity of their respective ideas. Nope. Cuddus had just one aim - to protect this divine religion from unwarranted criticism. And, in the context of a divine religion, where all criticism is unwarranted, the best way to do this was to destroy the reputations of the critics. Many a learned agent of change, on espousing a radical theory, found himself at loggerheads with his own spouse over sexual indiscretions revealed by Cuddus.

He was not above black ops either. As related by an ex-Beadie, Cuddus and the other Beadies, created a myriad fictional anti-Administration identities. They cultivated these characters over a period of months or longer. Eventually, they would crush them remorselessly following lengthy debates or have them revert remorsefully and loudly to the mainstream fold. Some infiltrated the opposition’s private forums, some were in obvious need of psychiatric care.

For Cuddus, the biggest difference between the Stream War and his former MMA career was that, in the Stream War, there were no holds barred. Some might say that his behaviour is the very antithesis of that demanded of a Baha’i; others understand that it is for the greater good.

Cuddus and his Beadies are quite a sensation. The bad ‘noise’ on the Baha’i Stream is considerably reduced. The Baha’i Administration preferred not to directly engage any of the warring parties on the Stream. Instead, off-the-record contact would be made by such as ABM James Jones. Jones had indeed made contact with Cuddus. While not wanting to know the specifics of any operations, Jones had provided Cuddus with some ‘human resources’ that might prove useful. Jones wanted nothing in return except that Cuddus perform his Baha’i obligation and inform him should he suspect people of acting against the best interests of the Faith.

The Apostinals

One of Brian Pain’s many claims to fame was that he invented the term - The Apostinals. This is the collective term for Baha’is and ex-Baha’is that produce the dangerous oppositional material strewn across the Stream. It represents the dark place you fall into when you publicly criticize the Faith or look as if you might.

Some of the branded are self-proclaimed celebrities from the Unenrolled Baha’i faction; some are stand-alone attack dogs but the vast majority are kids in a rage - square B’s. They certainly aren’t that group of like-minded and highly organized comrades as Cuddus declared. When not targeting the inadequacies of the Baha’i Administration, its members, actions and policies, the Apostinals are quite likely to be pulverizing each other.

Cuddus had resurrected an apologetic academic article written in 2007 by the eminent Baha’i scholar Dr Moojan Momen. It was titled “Marginality and Apostasy in the Baha’i Community”. Mostly, it looked at some of the key opposition personalities in the early Internet Baha’i Wars from the perspective of a core believer. It claimed to show how the Internet had provided a community setting that allowed some dissatisfied believers (marginals) get onto that slippery slope resulting in them becoming jealous, revenge-seeking, delusional haters (apostates).

Brian loved it. Here was a tool he could use to pummel non-conformists. He’d been sick to death at the rise in influence of the Unenrolled Baha’i faction and the tendency for many younger Baha’is to take the directions given by the Administration ‘under advisement’. So he stuck the words together and coined his clever term - The Apostinals. Despite it being an entirely fabricated group, the Beadies were somehow able to produce Apostinal mission statements, policies and secret Stream discussions when the need arose.

The Edinburgh Crew

Ah now, at least the Edinburgh Crew is real. Small, but very real and very venomous. They are the only anti-Administration outfit to rival the dirty tactics of the pro-Administration Beadies and the only one which would actually fit into Dr Momen’s definition of Apostates. With a maximum current membership of maybe twenty, the Edinburgh Crew was launched in 2028 by a few ex-Baha’is from India, America and Brazil. Their initial intention was to honour the legacy of Steve Marshall from Dunedin, New Zealand.

The history is a little sketchy but it is believed that the following hagiography is, certainly, at least partially true. Before retiring from the Stream scene in the mid twenties to concentrate on his vegetating patch, Steve Marshall had been a prominent celebrity in the Internet and Stream Wars. He had jaded of the direction of the Baha’i Administration and became alienated from involvement in it. This was, no doubt, further exacerbated when his wife Alison had the honour of having one of the first Baha’i disenrollments bestowed upon her. This disenrollment hadn’t been the snappy decision by the House of Justice that many claimed; after two or three years of research on a scientifically constructed autostereogram, a clear pattern emerged that confirmed she could no longer be considered a Baha’i.

Steve was legendary for three reasons:

First, his subversive, tongue-in-cheeks and close-to-the-boner humour. He had once dobbed himself into the Baha’i authorities for masturbating. An Administration missive had suggested that Baha’is keep an eye on each other and inform the Administration of suspicious activities. Steve, obviously wanting to take his Baha’i duties seriously down to the last jot and tittle, felt he had no option but to put his hand up. Luckily, Steve provided no evidence save for his own good character which allowed the authorities to leave it alone and take no further action. Additionally, Steve plagiarized and popularized the idea that the Baha’i community could be aptly represented by the literary works and cartoon creatures created by the famous Dr Seuss.

Second, his use of emerging technology to aggregate the diverse Baha’i internet and Stream thought. Some felt his content aggravated more than aggregated because of the high heap of Apostinal material. Indeed, Steve did get a special mention alongside his wife in Momen’s discussion on the Twelve Apostates. Unfortunately, though Momen considered his attacks on the Baha’i Administration to be, in many ways, more bitter than his wife’s, he only achieved Marginal status. Possibly because twelve was a magic number. Possibly because of the next point.

Third, despite all this, he proudly proclaimed his status as a card-carrying BIGS (Baha’i In Good Standing). After a lengthy period of estrangement, Steve re-engaged ‘a bit more’ with the Baha’i Administration as the Unenrolled Baha’i faction exerted increasing influence.

Steve was asked to be the honorary life-President of the Edinburgh Crew but declined and, furthermore, requested that he not be associated with the Crew in any way. The name ‘Edinburgh’ Crew demonstrates a partial respect for his wishes; those in the know would understand it as being a synonym for Dunedin and at the same time about as far away from it as geographically possible.

The Crew has been responsible for the most vicious and sacrilegious Stream initiatives. Perhaps their most infamous incident occurred when they hacked the official Baha’i Stream portal and published a counterfeit but authentic-seeming ‘Ridvan’ message. The Ridvan message is an important, eagerly-awaited communication that the infallible Universal House of Justice publishes each year around the anniversary of Bahá’u'lláh’s declaration of his prophethood.

The Crew timed their release such that the Baha’i world read it just hours ahead of the real one becoming available. The proposed new vision and direction laid down by the Crew was well-received and a whole pile of confusion broke out when the second, official and not quite so inspiring Ridvan message was published. The Learned arm of the Baha’i Administration was chasing its tail for weeks.

How the Crew had rolled around on the floor laughing. In due season, they claimed responsibility for the prank and even produced poll results from a fake pro-Administration portal they set up to show that their Ridvan message had outperformed the real one in the minds of the majority of Baha’is.

Brian, having ruled out the involvement of his own Beadies, could be forgiven for suspecting Crew involvement in the Layla repository.

Yoohoo, over here

Yes, while Layla, together with various leaders and citizen groups, blundered their way to some form of world unity, the fight for supremacy on Baha’i Stream forums continued unabated if largely inconsequential.

Having watched his copter cab ascend into the night, Brian Pain swiveled towards the seven or eight steps that led to James Jones’ apartment block. He was reminded of a favourite story; someday the rulers of the world would walk up through the terraces on Mount Carmel to pay homage to the Báb. No doubt that would be the day when the Faith would rule the world through the loving leadership of the Universal House of Justice… allowing Heaven to be brought forth on Earth.

Regularly, Brian fantasized about a situation where he headed that regal procession up the mountain to their dome. Today, he’d climb these few steps and talk to the House of Justice via the Stream. Tomorrow, who knows, the mountain might be in play. The higher-ups were beginning to take notice of him at last. He was certain he was destined for greatness.

The thirty eight year old Baha’i convert is an enormous man; well over two metres tall and as compact as concrete. At 140kg, Brian is the very convincing, you’d-think-twice pack leader of the Baha’i Defenders. The ‘Beadies’ form an unofficial cadre that keeps the Baha’i Stream forums safe from the agitating Apostinals. More on the Apostinals and the Edinburgh Crew later, first though, some background on Brian and his chain to Layla.

Brian believes in the significance of coincidences. Understandably so. They have played a big part in his life. How fortuitous was it that he should get a job working on the Layla repository just when the House needed to know about it? Tell me that. Brian would tell you that there was no luck involved; it was meant to be. Brian could easily fill an hour recounting his coincidences but, rather than listen to him to do that, be assured that the following two and a half examples are sufficient.

One - Pain was his birth name and pain was his game.

Brian is a real life warrior and is still only 15kg above his fighting weight. From his mid twenties to his early thirties, he was heavily involved in the Mixed Martial Arts scene at an elite level. He was a very talented fighter with excellent standup and ground games. He specialized, however, in submission holds. Many of his victories came by way of a rear naked choke, his opponents struggling to tap out before they passed out.

He was often on the card of major fight nights and became quite the international celebrity. At one point, he fought for the heavyweight championship of one of the larger MMA brands. Although he lost on points he often said, quite correctly, that he’d gone all the way with the toughest and meanest in the business.

Two - Just when he needed something spiritual in his life, some greater purpose in his life, it arrived.

As his prospects in the ring declined he began to teach more. He opened a Mixed Martial Arts gym just off Tyra Banks Street in Inglewood, Los Angeles. It was here that he trained two Baha’i kids who invited him to the nearby Baha’i centre for a holy day celebration. Brian was warmly received there and lapped up the attention. Later, exiting happily through the centre’s revolving door, he had a bag of Baha’i literature in tow.

That night and three nights, over a few beers, he read a book called ‘God Passes By’. He loved it, especially the ‘bawby’ battles scenes. It cast him back to his glory days in the cage; the pre-fight entrance; the adulation of the fans, the pounding music, the bloody and bone cracking battle; the ecstasy of victory. Those people, the Baha’is, they had looked up to him so much. They needed a hero like him. On the last night, “I am God” he thought, and went to sleep.

Although never a religious man, he visited the Baha’i centre quite regularly over the next few months. There was great food, friendly people and the two-times divorcee was quite taken with some of the ladies. One night, an out-of-town couple gave a lecture about progressive revelation. They told of how the prophet-founder Bahá’u’lláh was a direct descendent of King David and that his forerunner, the Báb, was a direct descendent of Mohammed thereby fulfilling both Biblical and Islamic prophesy. Neat. That clicked, Brian was in. With his eyes wide open he wondered why he hadn’t been told such important information before.

Two and a Half - Brian felt attracted to God’s latest messenger but revulsion for Layla.

Brian would be incensed at the very God forbid of it, but without Layla he would not wake up each morning with such rose-smelling certitude.

He would never have adventured with his new holy family, Laleh and the two boys, across the oceans to the Holy Land.

And there’s no way he could have spent a night alone inside the Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh, sobbing and slumbering in the kind of cold. It was a surreal and trembling experience for Brian - to be so close to the omnipotent God when all the world was elsewhere. No, he couldn’t have been tossed the keys to let himself in. The experience left an indelible mark on him which sometimes came out inappropriately. As he’d said to a particularly snotty nosed Apostinal “When you fuck with Baha’u’llah, you fuck with me”. Oww.

Layla had rejected the Baha’i Faith. It was incomprehensible to Brian how anyone, given this spiritual knowledge on a platter, could turn away from it. The more miracles Layla appeared to perform, the more Brian was reassured that she was the evil. The letters from the House had been loving yet clearly cautionary. She was an impediment to the Cause. A distortion. Brian couldn’t see the connection between Layla and those two Baha’i kids that trained with him because he hated her so much. She had humiliated and disrespected the sport he loved.

Her place is empty.

In 2009, near the end of her ‘wayward’ years, Layla had actually taken on the reigning middleweight MMA champion, Boris Demidov, and beat him convincingly. For sure, it was a red letter day for the Persian diaspora but the Baha’is amongst them – oh they were self-esteeming. Wherever Iranian exiles gathered for their tea and sugar, some Baha’i orator would animatedly demonstrate where Layla sat in his extended family. The old gag ‘anywhere she wanted’ was often the skeptics retort. The speaker would shake his head and, after regaining full attention, sorrowfully sigh ‘her place is empty’.

Brian didn’t understand the enormous influence that Layla had on a large section of the Baha’i rank-and-file. Although she was officially frowned upon, the Baha’i Administration could not suppress this low-born enthusiasm. Once a Baha’i child found out that the astonishing Layla was born a Persian Baha’i at the World Centre with all those famous people doting on her - well it took a lot to dull those embers. (Although some joke that a year or two of service on a Baha’i local council usually gets rid of the brighter sparks.)

Following her spectacular victory, Mixed Martial Arts became quite fashionable in Baha’i youth circles, especially among those with traces of a Persian heritage. Over the years, looking to the controversial Layla Parkin as a role model became more than a furtive indulgence for many Baha’is. Despite being forbidden to engage in politics, many found the confidence to create and join the very politically active Global Citizen groups. There, they could express themselves on issues as diverse as poverty, the environment and human rights independently of the views expressed by the Baha’i organisation. Rather than enforce the ‘no politics’ ruling on tens of thousands, the Baha’i authorities redefined political involvement such that the Global Citizen groups were okay. They then merely cautioned the faithful to be careful in their allegiances – and not to forget their responsibility to quench the ever thirsty Baha’i funds.

The Bout

You must have heard about it. No news program was complete without mention and analysis of that upcoming fight. With good reason.

One of the silly things Layla chose to participate in during ‘those’ years was a weight-lifting competition. She won, of course, and in the process set a new world-record for the clean-and-jerk of 300kg. This probably doesn’t surprise you. Afterwards, and a bit tipsy, she publicly boasted about her ‘supernatural ability’ and how she would take on anyone, anytime, in any sport. “Courage MMA” was touring Australia at the time and desperate to increase ticket sales. This was gold for them. They called her on it and she ended up as the main event at an upgraded venue - the massive MCG in Melbourne. She’d been a bit unwilling to participate at first. However, she decided, God bless her, that she’d like to run out onto the MCG at least once in her life.

When the fight was announced, there was a huge explosion of outrage, concern and disbelief. So much frothing that the MCG was sold out and the broadcast rights sold sky-high. Seriously, how could anyone not want to see it? A brutal and titillating contest between a man and a woman. She might die. Or better still… anyway it went ahead.

It didn’t go all Layla’s way.

From the bell in round 1 Layla used her speed and agility to embarrass and toy with the champion Demidov. He would punch and kick and lurch and she would evade then push him away. After two minutes of this showboating, Layla got sloppy and was caught with a big knee to her nose. It broke and blood gushed.

It was clear Layla was in shock. She knelt slowly down to one knee, her hands tenderly touching her face and her mind oblivious to Demidov’s presence. It was a shock for the viewers too; such an awful feeling to see this beautiful girl in such told-you-so distress. And, wearing an expression of aggravated innocence, poor Demidov stopped as well. What was he to do? Kick her in the face again? The referee instinctively wanted to jump between the pair to stop the fight but fought against it; it wouldn’t be right, not yet anyway, you don’t stop a fight for a broken nose.

After a brief spell of surreal inactivity, it dawned on the referee that he should urge the fight to continue. He waved Demidov on and the champion responded by throwing a few haymakers. By this time Layla’s look had gone from shock to sheepish; it was her turn to be embarrassed. However, she had recovered enough to defend herself against this ungainly assault and pushed Demidov away to a distance. They squared up again. As Demidov lunged forward on his next offensive, Layla pulled him down on top of her and caught him in a guillotine choke. Breathless, the astounded world looked on as the seconds passed by. When Demidov went limp, the packed MCG crowd bellowed, howled and snarled.

There was a humourous post-fight media conference. Layla was asked why she hadn’t tried to land any kicks or punches. She said she didn’t want to cause any damage. This was way too arrogant for Buddy Gomes, the light heavyweight champion and Gunter Koch, the heavyweight champion. They both stood up and challenged her go the distance with either of them. She declined saying that a lady never liked to consider herself a heavyweight, and calling oneself a light heavyweight seemed the very definition of denial.

Although the event had been a financial winner for Courage MMA there were ongoing downsides which affected profitability. Their fighters were ridiculed. Demidov retired. Some elements suggested that the fight had been rigged like the old wrestling events and pointed to Demidov’s unwillingness to finish the fight when the opportunity was available. It smacked more than a bloodied nose for the very proud MMA community. Yep, they took it hard.

Brian’s Take

Early in his career, our Brian had trained and fought out of the Demidov gym; run by old man Boris and his three sons. No one spake of it but Brian clearly saw that the Layla incident had cast its shadow over Boris’s soul. When Layla news came on the public Stream, Boris would sneak off to his office to watch it in private. Once, during the “Red Sea Parkin” affair, Brian had followed him and saw him weeping. “I broke her nose Brian” an unmanly Boris had spluttered. Brian had concluded that something underhand must have happened. Layla’s refusal to follow up her great victory was especially suspicious to him. His opinion, which was shared by many, was that Layla had hypnotized Boris and … continued to do so. This was stone cold cheating, which was manifestly unfair and unjust. It enraged Brian that she had got away with it.

Brian’s Layla memories buzzed briefly as he skipped up the steps and hit the communicate to announce his arrival. He waited. “Whatever”, thought Brian shuffling, and mimicking Marlowe, “It was in another country and besides, the bitch is probably dead.”

James Jones, recognizing the big man on his small screen, released the lock on the door. “Allah’u’abhá, Brian. Come on up.” With an inordinate amount of nervous energy, Brian shimmied down the hall, shoulders and arms swaying, on guard to phantom enemies. It should be a good one tonight - local boy.

“I strongly suspect the Apostinals. They are behind this. The half-truths; the clever use of technology; the unspeakable vulgarity and hatred; it has the smell of them. No doubt about it, this is a very well marshaled and well resourced venture. If it wasn’t for the anonymity I’d swear it was the work of the Edinburgh crew.”

Following this final flurry, Brian Pain gathered himself and, having settled into a prayerful pose, searched the nine faces of his virtual audience.

On the other end of the secure Stream connection, Universal House of Justice member Mr Enayati looked admiringly back at Mr Pain. “How fortunate and confirming”, he thought, “the Concourse on High are raining down their assistance for sure.” If Enayati could pick anyone to be in his corner, this would be the man.

Less than 24 hours ago, He and Mr Erfanian had spread word within their circle of trust that they sought access to reliable people connected to McGuire and the Layla repository. Soon after, they received a communicate from Auxiliary Board Member (ABM) for Protection James Jones. Jones was responsible for protecting the Faith from internal and external enemies throughout the Northeastern United States.

“Allah’u’abhá, dear friends, it is an honour to speak to you again. I have been informed of your request and all I can say is I am continually amazed at how prescient the House is. I have an, errmm, informal relationship with a certain devout and devoted Baha’i named Brian Pain. He is a great defender of the Faith on the Stream forums. He goes by the Stream moniker Cuddus.”

Enayati and Erfanian looked at each other taken-abackedly.

[Jones]:

“Indeed. Now, while you and I would, ordinarily, have little to do with Stream forums, I’m sure we all appreciate the, errmm, exploits of Cuddus – his methods wouldn’t be our methods but they are effective and well-intentioned. He’s quite a new Baha’i and he harbours a zealous love for Bahá’u’lláh and the Covenant. I like to think of him as taking those first few faltering steps out of the old and into the new world order.”

[Mr Erfanian]:

“That’s very interesting. How can he help us James? A propaganda campaign on the Stream?”

[Jones]:

“That’s a possibility, Mr Erfanian, but it gets even better than that. Brian Pain, or Cuddus, is working on the Layla repository. He’s been contracted as a Stream editor.”

[Mr Enayati, soft whistling]:

“Now that’s what I’d call a big in.”

[Jones]:

“Oh yes. Now, Brian came to me a couple of days ago. He works in a group that puts the finishing touches to ‘scenes’. He said he was very concerned. Some of the scenes had a distinctly Baha’i flavour and, in his view, they were not at all favourable. He intimated that things were not quite as they should be with the Stream data. He suspects tampering. I had been considering how to approach this when I learned of your timely involvement.”

[Mr Enayati]:

“Excellent. James, get Pain to come to your house tonight. I will arrange a special session of the House and a secure communicate tomorrow morning at 7am our time. I think that’s about midnight for you.”

[Jones]:

“I’ll make that happen.”

Mark McGuire took a long, deep lungful of air. He gently rested his skull on his back. He relaxed his chest causing his cheeks to bloat. As he left go of his lips his breath punctured through and escaped to the ceiling. After a few seconds he felt an uncomfortable strain on his neck and, slowly stretching the muscles, returned his head to its normal position.

“Tony, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I should have known that you’d never play a part in anything malicious. As long as I’ve known you, no matter what sort of shit I’ve thrown at you, you’ve always been impeccable. I’m sorry; the Layla thing with my brother disorientated me. Please forgive me, my behaviour was inexcusable.”

[Tony]:

“Thank you, Mark. I appreciate it. But don’t beat yourself up too much. Your anger was understandable. Neither of us could have known. Let’s just look past this one. I’m good with that. So, I guess that means you bought their story?”

[McGuire]:

“Yeah, I think I did. Enough of it. I doubt their analysis was comprehensive but it fits well enough with what I saw with my own eyes.

Actually, Tony, for the sake of completeness, what did you see? I know you didn’t see them look and talk to me but maybe there was more.”

Tony related his memory of the scene to McGuire.

[McGuire]:

“Sounds pretty close. How about this Azrael? What did it look like to you?”

[Tony]:

“I didn’t see anything. I assumed your brother John might have been speaking figuratively… or well, seeing things.”

[McGuire]:

“No. No. I saw it. A large darkness to the left of her. Thing is, it left with her too. Maybe it wasn’t what John thought it was. Who knows?”

[Tony]:

“Hmmmm, that’s so strange.

Mark, how are you feeling now? It must have been a hell of a shock.”

[McGuire]:

“Mixed feelings Tony. And talking of mixing, I feel like I need a drink. Join me. Have a whiskey sour. We’ll drink to the strength of our friendship.”

[Tony]:

“Sounds like a superb idea. Seriously though, with a friend’s concern, how do you feel?”

[McGuire]:

“Well, as I said, this revelation is an absolute goldmine. Not just because of the miraculous morphing but because it puts paid to the majority of potential law suits. You see, I’ll sell it as science fiction rather than as a documentary. So if Tommy X, or more probably government X, is seen killing someone, and he actually wants to complain about it, the media legal eagles can say:

This is a piece of creative art by an unknown author. We explicitly stated that, despite its use of real historical figures, we don’t claim it is an accurate depiction of actual events – and indeed, as shown in viewer feedback, there are many public interpretations of that scene. We saw you cuddle a cat, what did you see? Are you sure that people weren’t responding to their perception of you?

You might as well sue Russia for being the baddies in the old Bond movies. Kevin Osty of GM-MC said he’d need a $100Billion a year legal fund. Well, with this information, I’ll go halves with him. I’ll tell him I’ll own half the legal risk for 20 a year. Anyway, the price will go up.”

[Tony]:

“You know this could upset a lot of powerful people. They wouldn’t like their reputation damaged even if they don’t have any legal consequences to face. Let’s face it. People will believe what they see and react accordingly.”

[McGuire, heading towards his office bar again with some resolve]:

“Yeah, yeah, feathers will be ruffled. I’m just saying there won’t be legal avenues - that’s all. We’ll sort out better security too, of course we will. Yes, Tony, it’s something I’m going to have to deal with. Mind you, what about that Baha’i crowd? I’m very suspicious. They are up to something.”

[Tony]:

“Really? I can’t see them being much of a problem. Apparently, they don’t do violence, it’s against their religion. Yeah, no violence, no politics, no fun, lots of peace. Don’t think you’ll need an armoured vest when they organize their prayer sessions against you.”

[McGuire, handing another big glass of whiskey sour to Tony and smirking]:

“No this, that or the other eh? They’re the type to watch out for in my experience.”

[Tony, after a long suck]:

“But anyway, Mark, back to you. You know what I mean. How do you feel about what you saw in the scene?”

[McGuire, resigned to some vulnerability]:

“Yeah, as I said Tony, mixed. On one hand I feel a tremendous emotional relief. And, Tony, I mean BIG relief - an incredible, humungous release. On the other I feel like I’ve been sold a bill of goods by an even better manipulator than myself. Impressed but dirty… and very, very wary.

You see, now that I know nobody on our team was trying to put one over on me, I realize that the scene was very, very rewarding for me. I got closure. He said good-bye and he said he loved me. That was very important for me. Just what I needed. I’ve gone from hell to helium! Hey, you’re a great listener Tony, let me bore the pants off you.”

[Tony]:

“I’m there for you. Oh yes I am. But wait a moment. If I’m going to play therapist I’ll need to have immediate access to the beverage ingredients.”

Tony grabbed the bottle of whiskey, a decanter of lemon juice and a bowl of sugar. He placed them and himself at McGuire’s table. He served up another pair of whiskey sours.

[Tony]:

“There we go. We’ll be mellow. Mellooooooow. Life’s good. One for you Mr McGuire, one for me. We should do this more. Now, Mr McGuire, relate to me your reality, fellow.”

[McGuire]:

“Cheers Tony. Slancheh, or whatever my Celtic forebears would say.”

[Tony]:

“Budmo, buddy.”

[McGuire]:

“John was my older brother, ten years older. I looked up to him a lot. I idolized him actually. When I was very young I used to run into his bed at night and snuggle up. Taught me baseball, all that good stuff. When our father died in 2012 he left college and took control of the family building supplies business in Winona. He was only twenty one but, by a lot of very hard work, the business grew more and more successful. I guess our relationship changed somewhat but not massively. He’d always been sort of a father figure to me. Back then John was always really loving and protective to all of us. Yeah, there were six of us left, my mom and five kids. John was all into responsibility and duty. He sure was.

When I headed off to business school I only went back to Winona occasionally. I was young and away, free at last as they say. Those times I did go home I noticed how the mood was shifting. John was becoming more and more authoritarian. The family was starting to fear as well as love him and he seemed to want that. And Lord Jesus had suddenly become central. Of course, I’d ditched my Baptist upbringing by this time and he was… well he was frothing. It was uncomfortable being around him.

I started this company; he wasn’t happy. He reckoned I was a parasite. I remember one night, in a moment of inclusiveness, he asked me to discuss business strategy with him. Yeah, he knew I was doing well but the whole building supplies industry was experiencing a down-turn. At one point I said he needed to push sometimes; force his suppliers to compete for his orders; cut back employee numbers and benefits; completely fold loss areas.

He took it real personal. He wasn’t just a money making machine, he wasn’t a fly-by-night, he was an important part of the community and the community was important to him. You don’t mess with community. I don’t think we managed an ounce of communication that night. I was the greedy vulture taking easy pickings from the American People and he was the last vestige of righteousness defending them from me. Tony, there’s something catastrophic about being reprimanded and made to feel small by the person you love and respect the most. Especially when you know it’s based on pride, stubbornness and ignorance.

I blamed that church. I remember the day the Jerusalem Church of Jesus came over to sell him. I was at home for Thanksgiving. They did a tremendous job. I was in the presence of masters Tony. They massaged his ego and pressed every bit of pain in his body. They told him he was a pillar of the society; his gifts needed to be shared; they could use his strength at a time like this. The Muslims and the Hindus and the Chinese were overrunning Montgomery County and bringing their falsities with them. That Layla might look good, might seem good, but what else would you expect from the Anti-Christ and her new world order? And, if I can say it without barfing, what about the children and the world we’re bringing them up in?

Tony, John used to have a soft spot for Layla. She seems a very decent lady, he’d say. But they opened his eyes up to her deceit good and proper. Opened up his wallet too, hence the ‘inclusive’ chat with me three years later. Nothing I said made him even slightly waver in his support of that church. I thought “hey, they should get these guys to give sales lectures, they’re good”. Yeah, whether consciously or unconsciously, they were just like me, playing on fears and desires to get what they wanted.

I was so angry. I hated those church fuckers and how they controlled John and, by extension, my family. I had to give John some protection from these cunts whether he liked it or not. And I wanted to show them that I could play games too. And better than them. I rang up the head honcho at the church.

I thanked him for the blessings his church had brought to my family then asked to be able to be frank with him in complete confidence. So I said business was bad and John was very concerned about his company going south and the continuing tithing arrangement with it. He would never talk about this himself, you know, so that’s why this has to be between us and only us. At times like these, I said, Christians should stand in solidarity and trade, as much as possible, within their own. The old guy was great; within a week church members would only deal with tradesmen that bought from John. In fact they arranged a whole ‘buy by Jesus’ campaign to keep Christian money in Christian hands. And that was that. Kept John in the black. Best I could do in a hurry.

John mellowed a bit too. I went from evil vulture to flighty nightingale needing some loving direction. The old guy’s hand was in that for sure. John would say to me that Pastor Green would give me a job working for the church anytime and Pastor Green waited with outstretched arms ready to welcome me into their community. If I ever have kids Tony… you have two kids right? Yeah, well, teach your kids about me and Pastor Green. About how we harvest all their instincts good and bad. We do it for money but we’d do it for fun.

[Another round]

The last time I met John, we met half-way in a mall. A mall in the middle of mountains, surrounded by dirt and bushy green things. Now, when I say ‘met me half-way’, we’re talking distance not compromise okay. But I’d been looking forward to it. We hugged, we had coffee. I could see he was trying to be tender but over and over he would emphasize that he didn’t like my lifestyle, didn’t like what I’d become. I disputed his understanding of the world and things escalated. Right there and then, he pretty much disowned me ‘you are no brother of mine’. He stormed off. No good-byes. That swimming pool incident was about a year later.

I know I could have placated him if I had wanted to. I could have said I supported his religious views and that I’d make more of an effort to straighten myself out. He’d never know what I got up to in New York and I could do Jesus for the odd weekend in Winona. That’s what I’d do in business; I’d tell them what they wanted to hear. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to lie to John. I wanted an honest relationship and his unconditional acceptance. I accepted him… whatever his failings. Hmmm, I was wrong. I should have managed the relationship a lot better. I had the skill, he didn’t. Anyway, all this really messed my head up. Him saying those things in that scene has lifted a great burden. And Layla, well she was like me. She could see he was basically a very solid and wonderful person who’d been led astray. I’m rambling. I shouldn’t put you through all this Tony.”

[Tony]:

“You’re not rambling. You’re doing a fine job.”

[McGuire]:

“Yeah, so that scene… well, at the time of the incident I certainly couldn’t broadcast my relationship with the lead terrorist. It would have killed business. It was hard keeping it hidden in me though. But now… I think I have to stop grieving now.

[Tony]:

“That’s wonderful. Maybe this repository is a cure for all ills. But you said you felt something else… dirty?”

[McGuire]:

“That’s right. Dirty. And wary. And the kind of feeling I had for those fake church fuckers.

Yeah, after I had gratefully received my own personal miracle from God in answer to my deepest sorrow, I got another attack of realization.

Ohh no. Oh no. Hang on. That bitch. She’s just told me exactly what I wanted to hear. She’s sold me. I can’t believe it. I nearly fell for it.

And believe me Tony, she is looking for big-time payback. I’m sure of it. Like when I give someone what they want… I’m expecting at least a ten-fold recompense. I’ll let go of my emotional baggage but there’s no way I’m going to be in hock to her. No-one pulls a fast one on me.”

McGuire shook his head before burying his temples in his palms.

[Tony, pouring whiskey]:

“So you think she made it all up? I’m sure that’s not the case Mark.”

[McGuire]:

“It’s like a story one of my old professors used to tell:

A sad rock and a happy rock are out in the desert. The sun makes them brittle. A lizard basks on them, shelters under them, craps all over them and has relations with Mrs lizard when he’s up for it. How can the rocks bear it, this existence? Well, the sad rock whispers to the happy one that it must be great to be you. Must be great to be you. Must be great to be you. The happy rock whispers to the sad one that I will protect you. I will protect you. I will protect you. One day, the happy rock realizes its only purpose is to facilitate generations of lizards. He becomes sad. When the first sad rock again whispers ‘must be great to be you’ the newly sad rock tells him to fuck off. They don’t talk any more. Ever. The sadness and loneliness only increase over the millennia.”

[Tony, puzzling]:

“And the moral is?”

[McGuire, laughing]:

“Jeez, I don’t know. How about ‘both misery and bliss love company’. And they tell that company whatever it needs to keep it there because when it’s gone, it’s goooone. And, if possible, be a lizard.”

[Tony]:

“Hmmm, moral perhaps not the right word there. I think you need a top up Mark. And one for me. Lovely.”

[McGuire]:

“Well, the prof was always pissed as a newt when he told it. Heh, heh, a newt – that works. Maybe that’s what he was saying – be pissed, don’t try to make it under your own steam. Or maybe – be steamed, don’t try etcetera.

We’re doing okay here, aren’t we Tony? This sup is sublime.”

[Tony]:

“It’s hitting just the right spot.”

[McGuire]:

“Don’t get me wrong Tony. As regards our dear Layla, I’m a big fan. Always have been. Why? She’s cute, sassy, colourful, controversial and never boring. Marketing dream.

I kind of … well, I put the whole amazing feat things aside. Most of it was likely mass hypnosis. I was happy to hear the stories, happy to see her on the streams, I was even happy with the whole one world thing – at least it got rid of trade barriers. But none of her stuff was ever within my area of control or influence so I let it wash over like a good movie. I applauded it and went back to business.

I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting to receive my own personal revelation. It jarred. It pressed my buttons. I got all mysticy-eyed and in awe and regretful. But, when I realized it’s probably just psychological manipulation, I came back with a bump. Man, she’s good, very good. She had me on the end of her line alright. But I’ve unhooked myself Tony. I’m not for brainwashing even by superhumans.”

[Tony]:

“So, are you dismissing it as an illusion?”

[McGuire]:

“Well, no. Not exactly. There might be some truth to it. I hope there is. I’m just not going to close my eyes and run blind for her.

Here’s the thing Tony. For all I know Pastor Green might be right about Layla. I know it sounds silly but what is there against it? She did some good deeds so she must be good right? Nope. She could have been gaining trust in readiness for a really big sting. There’s no answer to it, Tony. There’s no way to tell what’s good and bad. There’s just individuals, like me, negotiating the best deal possible in each transaction.

She used force to get her way, right? Is that all goody-two-shoes? Hey, what about all the people who died directly or indirectly at her hands? Would a good person do that? What about that Iranian thing? When all those people died just because she wanted her friend’s body back. That was monstrous. You or me, we’d be on death row but no-one could touch her. That’s justice? And exactly who does control the military now?

So no. Thanks for the soothing images Layla but you’ll have to do better than that for my loyalty.”

[Tony]:

“I think there’s another way to look at it Mark. She might need your help. This is her way of asking for it. I know you and I think she knows you too. You’re a game player. She’s not trying to scam you; she’s playing tit for tat. She’s given you what you want and she’s expecting you to reciprocate.”

[McGuire, pausing]:

“Tony, that’s brilliant. That makes perfect sense to me. I don’t have to understand all this, whether it’s right or wrong, miracle or illusion. I just have to know what game is being played and whether it will benefit me. I like that. I like that a lot. I’m not a mark… no, no, stop laughing Tony. I mean mark as in chump… patsy… sucker. No, I’m an equal agent that she has to cooperate with. That works. Lots of back scratchy scratchy.

Let’s see. The repository comes my way out of nowhere and then my deepest emotional need is magically satisfied. I tell you what Tony, it’s better than tit for tat. It’s two tits for a tat! Yep, that’s fits our Layla to a tee. To a tee tee.”

[Tony, giggling into his glass]:

“That’s so funny Mark. And so true. I can see them now. Yes, I can almost touch them. Of course, she might be a witch and then we’d even get three tits for a tat.”

Tony and Mark laughed loudly and heartily. This curtailed as they noticed the freeze-framed face of Layla on the stream screen.

[McGuire, superstitiously]:

“Well, maybe we should show more respect for our new partner. Come on; let’s polish off the remainder of this bottle. To Layla.”

[Tony]:

“To Layla.”

[McGuire, teetering]:

“Sanks Tony. You’ve been… you’ve been as good a friend as any man could hope for. I’m on an even keel again. After this one, I’m going to have an early week-end. Have to start negoshayting on Monday. Want to find out what my tat is though. I am a respossable pesson you know.

Get onto that Cimpton idiot. Tell him to have that lady, the one that I can truss - Janette, make up a digest of inressing Layla scenes. Not the public ones, the prive ones. Layla can tell me how she wants to be tatted. And, Tony, tell Janette to put the funny ones at the big… big inning. Don’t think I’ll be able for any seruss stuff today.