You want to have children, but your physician explains to you that this is impossible.

 

You explore other options, but then something unexplainable occurs to change your life, as you will see in . . .

 

 

The Book Of He

 

     What I am going to tell you may be beyond belief. But I assure you it is true. I am Assad Chumari. And this is a story about my brother, Amad, and sister-in-law, Shirah.

     I am a scribe of note in our land, an observer of behavior—the wishes and desires, which drive the human spirit. It is with this in mind, I urge you to come on my journey and experience the glory of life as it is told in my words in “The Book of He.”       

     On our Island, in the middle of a balmy ocean, many miles away from the mainland, lived a devoted childless couple—Amad and his wife, Shirah. Shirah looked at Amad and whimpered, “If I could have any gift in the world, it would be that of a beautiful baby boy.”

     Gently, Amad caressed her long raven hair and whispered. “If I had the power of creation, I would use all the strength in my body to grant your wish, for I love you with all my heart.”

     But Amad did not have such power. He was a simple, honest man of modest means. He and Shirah had tried for years to conceive, but without success. Their plight was known throughout the island, as no secrets could be kept for long, and word of the couple’s dreams spread like wildfire.

     Then one summer’s day, the phone rang in their modest home. Amad, reclining on the living room couch, reached for it and in a soft voice said, “Hello.”

     “Is this the Chumari residence?” A deep, gravelly voice grumbled.

     “Why, yes,” Amad stammered.

     “Mr. Chumari, a gift will be bestowed upon you and your wife within the week. Care for it and love it, as parents love a child.”

     The caller hung up, leaving Amad confused as to what the true meaning of the message was. Since it might be joke, a prank of some kind, Amad chose not to share the caller’s words with Shirah.

     Two days passed and nothing happened. Amad muttered to himself, “I am indeed a foolish man to think I would be the benefactor of a gift. I let my imagination run wild. For the words of the gentlemen on the other end of the line led me to believe we might receive a child to adopt. Oh, . . . I am a very foolish man.”

     That night, Amad tossed and turned as he slept. The saving grace was that Shirah would never know how foolish he had been.

     The next morning there was a rap on the front door of the small cottage. Shirah, murmured, “Amad, dearest, did I hear a knock at the front door?”

     With sleep still blanketing his world, Amad responded, “I do not know. But I will go see.”

     As Amad opened the door, he stood and stared in awe. There on the porch was an infant in a small, golden cradle, wrapped in a soft white blanket with a blue bow. He knelt down beside the child. The baby boy’s black hair gleamed in morning’s first light. It was a marvelous sight. And so it was, to a devoted childless couple came an infant, a gift of a generous benefactor—one that the couple would grow to love and treasure.

     With the future before him, the boy played with fervor and chased each day’s dream. His passion for life, his need to dissect the intricacies of a complex world, made him stand tall among others of his age. The truth was his to discover, to interpret in a way unique to this very special child.

     The challenges of growing up were of minor consequence to this magnificent young lad. The child took it all in stride, which in the eyes of the beholder brought intense joy. His parents marveled at the exuberance with which he approached life. His energy was boundless.

     With all batteries charged, the child took on each task and his accomplishments mounted. Studying long hours was not a problem, for the youngster needed little sleep to succeed. Of strong body and sharp wit, the youth was equipped—a fine-tuned machine, a technological wonder. A wunderkind—his magic unmatched as he marched to a tune others could only dream about playing.

     Amad and Shirah made his life comfortable. However, they were somewhat concerned, for he was almost too perfect and systematic in his approach to life. Amad lamented one evening, “I wish our son showed some emotion. He never smiles or cries. There is no laughter, no joy.”

     Shirah murmured, “But Amad, he is not all that perfect.”

     “How so?” Amad queried.

     “He is ill at ease with his peers. He does not make friends easily. His rigid manner makes it difficult for him to be accepted by others his age.”

     “Have we been too controlling, too structured?” Amad wondered aloud.

     “But that is what the note we found tucked in his cradle instructed us to do,” Shirah responded to Amad’s musing. “We were told to be strict, to enforce the rules, which govern his physical and intellectual growth and behavior, and to nurture his development and protect him from failure.”

     As the years passed, the child wanted more and more freedom from his parents’ control. He began “pushing his own buttons,” wandering from the designated path, deviating from his structured role.

     His circuits seemed crossed, his brain somewhat befuddled. This left Amad and Shirah bemused. As an adolescent, he was becoming his own person. “But is not this the path all children take?” Shirah asked.

     “But the note?” Amad queried.  “We have followed the instructions, as stated. This should not be happening. He is voiding the rules, which outlined the structured life he is to lead. What do we do?”

     Neither Amad not Shirah had an answer to this question, so as parents of other children often do, they stepped aside to give their son the space he needed to grow and develop in the manner of his own choosing. They did this with some apprehension, as the note with their “gift” had indicated this should not be permitted to happen.

     With the reins now loosened, their son made up his mind he would be neither a robot nor a societal droid, but would lead his own life without fear of repercussion. As a result, the young man became an adult of great renown and spoke with authority none could refute. His memory banks were solid and full of ideas. He moved in earnest—his mission, to recruit a legion of followers to help him make things better in our island paradise.

     This troubled the creators who had given him life and placed the beautifully wrapped package on Amad and Shirah’s doorstep, as a gift to be nurtured in the way directed. However, this deviation was not what they had planned. They knew this development would not be to the liking of the leaders of their beautiful island, who had empowered them to provide the child to the Chumaris.

     Action had to be taken, and taken soon, before “He,” the brainchild of the land’s powerful leaders, became too independent, too strong. Yes, “He” was the name they had chosen for him—the name his parents were told to use.

     The gathering of troops who admired his growing strength and courage was a cause for great concern for the island’s leaders. They thought a coup to depose them was in the making and “He” was at the helm. This was wrong and must be stopped.

  Once a social misfit, this young adult was now the favorite son of the rank and file, and they hung on his every word. The fear felt by the powers above was growing, as it appeared their rule now was being threatened.

     On the floor of Congress, the mantra was heard throughout, “We are the chiefs, the dictators of right and wrong, not ‘He.’” A motion was made and a vote taken. The outcome was unanimous. “He” was a threat to the land and its leaders and had to be dealt with to prevent an uprising of the people.

     After the vote, a security force of the highest caliber was assembled to capture the now labeled fugitive, “He.” The force searched far and wide throughout the land, but to its dismay, the fugitive was nowhere to be found. But, how could this be? This perturbed both Congress and President Elias, who now had become very much involved. A man such as “He” shouldn’t be allowed to remain free to spread his discomforting thoughts about the government. Thus the mystery of his whereabouts must be solved.

  The ideas, which flowed from “He’s” mouth could drive the economy down, draining the power of the president and his cohort. This predicament was turning into a real witches’ brew. A man of their design was now attempting to destroy what they supported and had to be stopped.

     “’He’ be damned,” President Elias shouted.  “A machine, a confounded machine, is threatening our power and way of life. This tyrant must pay the price for speaking his mind and causing much strife in our land.”

     But, from behind the scenes, invisible to those who sought to catch him, “He” continued to run amuck in dizzying fashion, flaunting his prowess for all to see. This enemy of the state was out of control—or was “He?” Was this just a ploy to confuse those who wanted to thwart his attempts to bring those in power down?

     Then one spring day, from out of nowhere, “He” resurfaced, in disguise, at a government rally at which President Elias was to speak. His parents and I were in attendance, as we knew one of the topics to be addressed was my nephew, their son.

     However, it was not the president we saw making his way through the crowd, but a figure cloaked in black. With little fanfare, this presence mounted the steps of the capitol building and motioned to the huge crowd, which stood before him. The guards dared not stop him for fear of incurring the wrath of those assembled.

     Not much for addressing large throngs, “He” mustered up the courage and began to speak. “My fellow citizens, we must unite and make our wishes known to the powers above. Stand together with me to fight for the freedom that should be ours.”

     This was not the presentation of a droid, but that of a man drawing from deep within to express himself. The emotions “He” felt were real. His voice, no longer mechanical in resonance, reverberated throughout the crowd in a sincere fashion that all could feel. “If those who govern us do not comply with our demands, we must bring them to their knees. We, the people, must speak our mind. We must take control. We must free ourselves from the repressive government forces.”

     His appeal was eloquent and moving and the crowd responded by pledging support for the cause. It was clear they were behind his preaching independence and the right to be free and showed their appreciation through robust applause. Having accomplished his mission, “He” descended the steps, as the appreciative citizenry gave him pats on the back.

     As “He” made his way through the crowd, his movements seemed labored. Something was wrong—evidenced by a complete lack of energy. “He” was fading and fading fast. This strong man seemed to be melting away, getting smaller and smaller, much more compact.

     Amad, Shirah, and I made our way toward him. I could see the panicked expression on the faces of my brother and sister-in-law, as they watched their son shrink before them. However, we could not get to him in time. And, if we had, I’m not sure there was anything we could do. As the crowd dispersed, all that was left at the bottom of the steps was a square metallic-looking box, a simple artifact.

     That evening, two large, muscled men lifted the box onto a wheeled platform and rolled it to a place of prominence in the town square. There, it would remain for all eternity for the citizens of the island to see and remember the “man” whose thoughts and feelings they came to share.

     And so, the story is told time and again, as the years pass, of how the people’s eyes were opened and their hearts set free. The failsafe mechanism installed to prevent “He” from becoming a leader who would seek freedom for the people had been triggered, but too late to stop the damage his words already had done to those in power. “He,” the man, was looked upon as a savior and praised for his steadfast leadership. This is the way it is remembered and recorded for all posterity, bound with love, in “The Book of He.”

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.