We talked further of such things, and then returned to the heat and sun outside, which seemed, after the cool darkness of the cave-like mosq, akin to stepping into a flaming oven. Again, it took some moments for my eyes to adjust to the light, and then I discovered that someone had taken my sandals. This struck me as most peculiar-that a thief should practise his nefarious craft at the entrance to a house of prayer-and I remarked on it as we stepped back into the street.
"Why does this surprise you?" wondered Mahmoud. "It is, after all, the way of the world, is it not? The good man goes about his affairs with faith and good will, and the bad man looks only to satisfy his base desires, caring nothing for others, or for God."
"True," I agreed. "Yet, I did not expect to be robbed by thieves within the holy precinct."
Mahmoud laughed at my foolishness. "What better place to steal shoes?"
We walked slowly-and for me, somewhat painfully-back to the amir's palace, stopping often to rest in the shade where we found it. Once, while we sat under a tree beside the road, a man came out of a nearby house and brought us sweetened lemon water to drink. "You see?" said Mahmoud, when he had thanked the man and sent him away with a blessing. "Thieves in the temple and angels in the street. Allah is utterly mysterious, is he not?"
"Inscrutable," I agreed sourly. My feet hurt.
Later that night, when Kazimain came with my tray she brought me a bundle wrapped in blue silk. "What is this?" I asked as she placed the tray on the tripod and the bundle in my hands.
"It is a gift, Aidan," she replied, kneeling beside the tray. I do not know which surprised me more-the unexpected gift, or her use of my name.
I looked at the shimmering cloth and could think of nothing to say. Kazimain tugged at one end of the silk covering. "You must open it," she instructed, "and see what is inside."
"I do not understand," I admitted, fumbling with the smooth material. Kazimain watched me for a moment, smiling, almost glowing with delight. She was more beautiful than I had ever seen her-black hair shining, her deep brown eyes alight with joy, her smooth almond skin slightly flushed with the excitement she felt.
"It is a gift," she said, "there is nothing to understand." With that, she pulled away the silk to reveal a new pair of sandals, good leather and finely made-far better than the ones I had lost at the mosq.
"Thank you, Kazimain," I said, mystified. "How did you know my sandals had been stolen?"
She smiled slyly, taking immense pleasure in my bewilderment.
"Did Mahmoud tell you?"
She shook her head, her mouth quivering with suppressed laughter.
"Then how did you know?"
"I was there," she said, laughing.
"There-at the mosq? I did not see you."
"Oh, but I saw you," she replied, and her smile took on a mysterious quality-as if she were keeping a secret to herself. "I was praying."
"And what were you praying for?" I asked the question glibly, without a moment's thought; I was so enjoying her laughter and was beguiled by her almost luminous presence, I merely wanted to keep her talking.
But her smile disappeared instantly. She turned her face away, and I thought I had offended her in some way. "Kazimain," I said quickly, "forgive me. I did not mean-"
"I was praying," she began, turning to face me once more; and I saw that her cheeks and throat were rosy; she was blushing. "I was praying that Allah would show me the man I am to marry." She spoke solemnly, but her eyes still held the glow of excitement.
"And did he?"
Kazimain nodded, and glanced down at her hands in her lap. "He did," she answered, her voice growing quiet.
"Who did you see?"
"I prayed that he would show me the man I am to marry," she said again, her head still bowed. "When I finished, I looked up," she raised her eyes to mine, "and I saw you, Aidan."
For the space of three heartbeats neither of us spoke. Kazimain's eyes met mine steadily and I read neither embarrassment nor uncertainty in her glance. She had confided her secret and was now measuring my response.
"Marry me, Kazimain." The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying. I reached across and took her hand. "Will you be my wife?"
"I will, Aidan," she replied, softly acquiescing. Her glance did not falter. As if to emphasize her answer, she squeezed my hand.
We sat there awkwardly for a moment, looking at one another. I had asked and she answered. It was finished just like that. Very likely, she had given me her answer many times before; had I known how to listen, I might have heard.
