One of the things Randy Greenfields liked best about his new place at Prism Vista City was that it was near a mosque—or 'masjid'—known as 'At-Tawbah', or 'Repentance'. Since their family inhabited the neighborhood, and whenever he'd happened to be home, Randy had seldom absented himself from attending the prayers there.

Not even Rara's continued attempts to raise their son according to her faith (by taking him to church, among other things) had, thus far, hindered their relatively warm day-to-day relationships. Indeed, Randy would take Saka to the mosque as and when he would be going there, and Rara would let them in turn. The Red Rider, for his part, was quick to take stock of this and did not seem to mind.

For about two years, since the Red Rider was six (old enough to start to be induced in rituals of either faith), such had been the case. Crucially, Rara had not asked for her son's baptism yet; deciding to honor her ten-year promise with Randy.

In Saka's experience thus far, Islam and Christianity mutually encouraged the performance of daily prayers despite said prayers being done in markedly different ways. Both faiths also advocated being good to one's parents, being charitable, being patient, and so much else. This string of similarities, further reinforced by watching his parents' dutiful observation of them in practice, was arguably sufficient to help the child navigate being raised at a religious crossroads.

Still, the boy was able to tell some things apart.

Randy, for instance, would strive to pray at the mosque every Friday noon without fail, going so far as to wear his best clothes then, even perfuming them. Saka had found this intriguing, especially after it was explained to him how Muslims were enjoined to don their finest clothes every time they went to the mosque to pray; a visible sign of courteous humility in God's Presence. Tamara, for her part, had resorted to telling Christian bedtime stories for her son quite often.

Having attended enough church services and the Friday prayers, Saka had likewise noted how "fun" the church services had appeared and felt, with its "sing-song prayers". On the other hand, the Friday prayers had, for him, remarkably more solemn save for two bouts of a sermon that always included encomiums for Prophet Muhammad.

***

'This Prophet Muhammad... do you know who he was, Dad?' Saka had asked one Friday evening when he was seven years old, just after supper.

'He was God's final Messenger, Divinely tasked with preaching Islam to whomsoever would take heed,' had come Randy's reply.

'Hum. That's what Mom too would often say about Jesus... that he is tasked with guiding mankind to God's Path. Now you're saying much the same thing about Muhammad.'

'To us Muslims, Jesus and Muhammad were fellow Messengers; no wonder they would have much the same Message to convey.'

The Red Rider had tilted his head, uncertain. 'Mom's been telling me that Jesus is God, though... or at least, the Son of God. Do you agree to that?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'In Islam, God Has no 'sons'. He is One, Indivisible.'

'Then... Mom would be wrong?'

Randy had paused, considering. 'If that's what she believes, I say we respect that.'

'But she's been telling me to also believe in that with all my heart, and now you're saying it's wrong. She would tell me that you're wrong; so which of you must I listen to more?'

The father had exhaled. This is a risk I agreed to take. O Allah, I beseech You, strengthen my resolve. 'What else has she been telling you?'

'That Muhammad may have been a 'false prophet'; that the Quran cannot compare with the Bible in sanctity; that God's Love will someday shroud the Earth through the Messiah... to name a few.'

'Precocious, aren't you?'

'Thanks... but that doesn't yet answer my question, Dad. Between Islam and Christianity, which is righter?'

'I cannot answer that without upsetting your mother.'

Nearby, in the kitchen, Rara had taken a brief pause from washing the dishes at this rejoinder... but had continued as if she had never heard, if with heightened keenness.

'Don't mind her,' Saka had probed impatiently, oblivious. 'I still wanna know.'

'Then listen well. Jesus's being God, or not, is among the points where Islam and Christianity disagree most sharply. Has been for ages, so it's not just between me and your mother. We don't expect you to understand this right away, son; but if you ask me, I'll say that Jesus, upon whom be peace, was a true fellow prophet and Messenger alongside Muhammad, and the latter is the final Godsent Messenger. If your mom believes otherwise, that's on her--and that's neither weird nor unheard of. You haven't seen us quarreling often regarding religion; that should be enough. For now.'

"For now." The boy had nodded slowly, trying to take this in. 'So, you're saying... right or wrong... that I'll have to decide on this for myself someday?'

'Yes, but we'll be there to help, both of us; and we'll try our best not to let you down. Until then, and if that's fine with you, you may keep doing things as is. In the meantime, I'll have in-depth talks with your mother. I'll have to.'

Rara had silently agreed on all counts, even as their son had found trust in Garendi's fatherly gaze then.

'Well, you never did.' Saka had remarked, a tad cheerfully. "Let me down, that is. Good luck with your talks with Mom. Oh, and Dad?"

'Hmm?'

'Why don't you tell me tales about this Prophet Muhammad, one of these days?'

Randy had blinked. 'Do you really want me to?'

'Why not? It's only fair. Mom's been telling stories too!'

'Thing is, I don't believe we have that many kids' books about Prophet Muhammad, upon whom be peace, on sale around here... I'll try to get you a storybook about the Prophet should I ever come across any; how's that sound? That might mean waiting for quite some time, though.'

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

The child had then held out a finger. 'Pinky promise?!'

The father's smile had grown as he obliged. 'Pinky promise.'

'Then I'll wait! Thanks, Dad!'

'Thank you for agreeing to be patient.'

Sometime after this dialogue, Rara had complimented Randy's earlier way of allaying their son's concerns as being "worthy of a Muslim" while reaffirming the need for future "in-depth talks of the finer points of our respective religions"; but admitted she had not been ready at that time. 

Her spouse had agreed to put such talks off "until and unless you are well prepared, for by Allah, they shall be one of the cornerstones in our life together."

***

The display of religious amity within the Greenfields household did not stop there. On Easter that year, whether accidentally or by design, Garendi had managed to obtain what was to be Saka's signature red bike, plus a collection of stories of the Prophet Muhammad at rather hefty prices--both of which his son had nevertheless received in whooping delight. On Thanksgiving, Randy likewise helped prepare and cook the turkey.

On Halloween, however, the father had firmly drawn the line, objecting strongly to his son 'dressing up much like little devils only to beg for sweets door-to-door so late in the day.'

His son had not taken that lying down.

'But why?' the boy had protested. 'Some of my friends are already doing it; their parents are totally okay with that. They even prepared the costumes days before! Besides, it's not like I'll be alone; some of my friends will be there!'

'Must it be done after dark, though?' Randy had shot back.

'Well duh, Dad, that's when ghosts would normally appear. At night. Oh, please, can I go now?'

The father had been adamant. 'You can't.'

'Why not?!'

'Because it's not right for young kids to be out after dark! I don't know about other parents, but you're my son and I want to keep you safe. That's what parents ought to do, you know that too, Saka. It's just sweets; we can afford to get some in the mom-and-pop store next time we head there.'

Saka had scowled, crossing his little arms. 'But they're handing out free sweets out there! Those at the store won't be.'

Randy had taken a good long look at his son. 'I'm still not letting you go.'

Thoroughly frustrated, the boy had run off to the dining room, where Tamara was already preparing supper. 'Mom!'

'No shouting in the house, Saka,' Rara had cautioned.

'It's just that, Dad won't let me gather sweets! It doesn't make sense. You took weeks getting me that vampire costume, remember? And now Dad won't even let me wear it!'

'Dear Lord, not this again... Randy, dear, won't you let him off just this once? Such nights when you gather snacks and candies with friends don't happen often.'

'That's what you said last year. No is no, Rara, and I've offered to get him some sweets at the store-'

Saka had stomped on the floor, obdurate. 'I. Wanna. Gather sweets. With my friends. Right now! Mom, please, help me out here!'

Neither of them would give way, Tamara had observed with a touch of pride. My family, alright. 'You can wear that costume next time... if you're lucky.'

'But you've prepared that costume specially for today! If I don't get to use it now, your efforts will be for nothing...'

'Don't worry about me. Really. Your dad's got a point too; it's not safe for kids... even vampire ones... to go out after dark.'

Some of the anger had ebbed off Saka's eyebrows at this rejoinder. 'Vampires can't stand sunlight, though..?'

Tamara could not help giggling as she lowered herself to the boy's height and clasped his shoulders. 'Nor would they be after sweets, dear.'

That was that. Having forcefully shrugged himself off, Saka had dashed off to his room with a loud, displeased growl, slamming the door shut for good measure. He'd cried himself to sleep.

'Kids,' was all Randy had to say--with a light shrug of one shoulder--as his wife turned to regard him again in the tantrum's wake. 'You can't expect them to handle things maturely. He'll be fine.'

Indeed, the next day, the Red Rider had returned to being his usual cheeky and spirited self, owing to two bags full of purchased sweets and Derek's infectiously energetic companionship.

***

At present, while mention of the Ashfords moving in that same day had perked his interest, Randy was just as dismayed when he learned of what had happened between his son and Davin.

"Shame that you had to begin your friendship with him on such a note," the father observed. "Then again, here's hoping you could grow to be as close with Davin as you are with Derek."

"Right? I do too!" Saka beamed. "Dave's not half that bad; I just showed up in a way neither of us would've wanted. But Mom said just now that I can visit him soon, to bring our family's welcome gift. And I will! Once you can get the brakes right again by tomorrow, that is. Please, Dad?"

"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, take your mother's advice: no riding on the curbs again!" Randy paused. "Can you guess what that welcome gift might be, while we're at it?"

Saka put both hands behind his head as he arced his back slightly. "Everyone loves surprises. Dave might too."

"Is that so? Well then, your mother might come to discuss it with me after all, and soon."

The Red Rider grinned. "Surprise me, then. I'll be waiting!"

"Hey, if you do, that might no longer be a surprise."

The rest of that day went rather uneventfully for the Greenfields family. Tamara broached her idea for their upcoming welcome gift later that day; they had rendang for supper, and she thought the Ashfords ought to try out such a delicacy as well... which sent her husband chuckling.

"Can't say I didn't see that coming," he remarked, glancing sideways at their son.

"Well forgive me for being such an open book there, mister," Tamara shot back. "How often would they come upon such a dish again, huh? Considering how far they've come to be our neighbor, I think it's only fair."

"It's not that, dear. Here I thought you'd have come up with something else entirely. Something more... original, so to speak. To come up with what's right before your eyes anyway, now that's-"

Tamara grinned impishly. "Ha ha... So what if I can't come up with something so original, hmm? That would take time, and we have but tonight to prepare. What will matter more is their impression of that gift--isn't that right, Saka?"

"Yeah! But, I agree with Dad... I too kinda hoped for something more original."

"It is original, son. They would not have seen this dish before, much less tasted it without having to put up with freakishly long lines in exotic restaurants. We're quite fortunate to have someone willing enough to cook it up for us for free time after time, you know?"

"If you say so," father and son said almost simultaneously, before exchanging glances and guffawing.

In the end, the rendang--consisting of slices of meat coated in thick beef broth--was packed in plate-like containers, stacked up one after another. Two packets of fried onions and one for condiment were also there, for good measure.

"That's how it's done," Randy remarked as his wife and son looked on with some wonder. "Hope they'll like it."

"Neatly done," Tamara observed, half in praise.

"Smells yummy, too," their son put in. "Hard to think they won't take it."

"See, that will also depend on how you'll give it," his mother rejoined. "You're seeking to befriend Davin with this gift. Act the part." Randy likewise nodded.

"I'll remember that, Mom and Dad."

***

That midnight, Tamara woke up feeling thirsty, so she went to have a drink. This done, she intended to return to her and Randy's master bedroom and resume sleep... but then she spotted him going to the bathroom to perform ablution.

What does he think he's doing? she wondered, with a touch of curious suspicion. This isn't the proper time to be doing his prayers, right? He's told me that, for Muslims, there are only five prayers in a day that must be performed...

It occurred to her to inquire on the matter by accosting him on the way from the bathroom, but then she thought better.

"I might as well ask him after that prayer's concluded; the better to provide him with the necessary emotional solace."

Thus resolved, having seen him enter the room set aside for prayers in their house, she took herself to the living room and went back instead to reflecting further on a nigh-fateful event some five years prior.

Thinking back, it had been such a convoluted time. Back in those days, a hijacked plane had been steered against a pair of buildings, and before Tamara had quite realized it, people bearing the same faith as her husband's had come under direct and immediate suspicion...

"Tamara?" her spouse's voice startled her shortly. "What're you doing here, at this hour?"

"What- Oh, hey there... that was quick. I could ask the same of you, Randy. Now's not your supposed time to pray, right? You said there are only five times of prayer in one day."

"Oh, those five times are the compulsory ones; we Muslims also have non-compulsory prayers like this one, the tahajjud, performed at any time between midnight up 'til three in the morning." Randy sat beside her on the couch. "Not that I manage to do it every night, no worries."

"So many prayers to keep track of day after day, huh?"

The husband chuckled. "I like to think that's about establishing the habit of 'connecting' with one's Creator from time to time, so to speak. You do that too, I suppose."

"But never past midnight! Then again..." she gasped. "Could this kind of prayer be what you'd been doing at night during your imprisonment?!"

He smiled. "Sure, you're free to think like that. And if I may guess... was that really what you were thinking about just before I called you? My imprisonment?"

No beating around the bush, eh? "Couldn't help it. I'm still miffed every time I recall that. I mean, you've been nabbed by police straight from office, back then... one among many, so I'd been told, and in broad daylight too... and I'd had to wait several hours to find out even that much! And for what? Only 'cause you happen to have the same faith with that of those damned hijackers--only 'cause you're a Muslim! For crying out loud..." Tamara paused for breath. "No trials, not even an expedited one... Could those cops have gotten any more unjust?!"

"Yes, they could have!" Randy intoned, with a sternness that made his spouse wince. "They could have just dumped me off by the roadside; they could not have even given you news of my having been brought in, and left you in the lurch. Five years on and you're still irked about my abrupt imprisonment, and that's fair, I appreciate your being concerned for my sake... but, Tamara, as arbitrary as it may have looked, that's only half the truth!"

The wife gritted her teeth, even as she wiped her tears while standing up. "How the heck, Randy? How could you forgive and overlook what those uniformed bastards had done this easily, huh? Thanks to that news of your unwarranted arrest, I'd had to so suddenly deal with so many issues, not least how to keep myself and Saka just above the proverbial waterline!"

Randy, with an outward look of indifference, decided to let his wife ramble on--which she was only too happy to do, only pausing to sit beside him.

"For the best part of two frickin' years I'd spent my nights wondering just what kinds of torture they may've inflicted on you, just to get information on people I'm certain you'd seldom heard of!" she ranted on. "At one point Saka had even asked, with every childish innocence, whether or not you're already six feet under... and that's what's been getting under my skin up to my learning of your having been granted exoneration, dammit! That even made me wonder if I should ever let Saka grow to be a Muslim, you know, should he ever aspire so. I don't want our only son to have to go through such unfairness again if I can bloody help it!"

"For my part, I bear no real grudges against those... uniformed bastards," Randy said after some thought. "As surprised and hurt as I had been to have been arrested and persecuted 'cause of something so personal, I couldn't help but think of my brethren who'd likewise fallen in that debacle--in no small numbers too, let's not forget. All those brothers, fathers, and relatives that I could have helped in any small way, had I known how... they would not have gotten to return to their families again, ever. Those cops? They were just folks mostly acting under orders, then as now."

"...They didn't get to torture you or anything like that?"

"Had quite a few cuts and bruises, sure... but in their defense, they had still allowed me to worship, if often with cuffs on just to be on the safe side, as they claimed. And hey, they had released me just in time to learn that Saka'd begun school. That by itself was a delight."

His look softened as she quieted down.

"As to letting Saka grow to my faith, should that ever occur... Tamara, I assure you that our son's future will be markedly different from what we both had to go through. Pray don't let your past troubles poison your judgment when reflecting on what's good for Saka. All said, our respective faiths are no strangers to persecutions... and here we are!"

Tamara stared again, somewhat thoughtfully, at the Ka'ba picture. "Still. I wish I could've done more for you then, Randy."

"You'd done plenty, alright." He gently patted her shoulder. "You've done immeasurable things, resorted to God Knows what steps, for Saka when he'd needed you most... and now here I am, ready to make up for lost time, so to speak. That case is closed. Speak no more of this to anyone; promise me. And... thank you. For everything."

She looked at him again, earnestness plain in her eyes. "I promise. May God grant your wish to partake in whatever they do at this Ka'ba."

"Amen to that." He rose. "Come, let's now have some rest already. It's getting late, and long summer days await us still."

Considerably comforted, Tamara obliged.