THEY ALL stopped at a little bar in a grungy district of the city. The joint had started as a Wimpies' restaurant and retained the plastic seats, Laminex tables and pastel-hued waitresses of its youth. But sentiment had recently turned anti-Western in this part of town, and Koranic verses and spittle now competed for aesthetic dominance. Older men sucked water-pipes and argued furiously while the younger set competed over pool.

<<I'm so glad you could make it>> MK said. They were sitting in a murky corner of the room, and MK was playing drunk. <<This is the turning point. This is the first step towards a free al Quds.>>

<<One day we'll pray together in Jerusalem>> Ishmael said, remembering old days.

<<Let's pray in the Jerusalem of our soul>> MK said. He unzipped a leather pouch containing a spoon, a lighter, heroin powder and a sleek hypodermic needle.

Ishmael gagged, involuntarily. <<Come on man, it's a premium opportunity>> MK said. <<This will help you find God...>>

<<I have already found God...>>

But MK shoved the needle into his arm and squirted deep into a vein. Ishmael upright, flailing at MK for a futile few seconds before he began a slowmotion descent to the floor. <<I'll kill you!>> he said. Much later: <<God!>> he muttered, a nearly inaudible gasp.

Nagvib had meanwhile fallen into a loud dispute with some mean-looking fundamentalists. Ishmael strained his ears, just in case things were turning lethal. <<I haven't got a problem with you wearing those clothes>> Nagvib was saying, and his gesticulations brought home the point. <<After all, my wardrobe is full of galabiyas. I do, however, object to your austerity.>>

<<Are you some kind of Sufi?>> the lead fundamentalist asked, a pool cue twirling in one hand.

Nagvib puffed out his chest and announced: <<We are seekers of the Green Man!>>

The fundamentalist snorted and unleashed his cue on Nagvib, aiming squarely at his cranium. Deploying a classic tenkan defense, MK ducked and pirouetted a full circle, letting the stick fly overhead. He moved at lightning speed, but to Ishmael it looked like a graceful dance; his sense of time had slowed, and every moment stretched for an eternity.

Several Fatimids scrambled to their feet to join the fray but Nagvib held up his hand and said: <<Don't worry men, leave these jerks. Let's go to a club.>> He knocked the cue out of the fundamentalist's hands, and addressed his crew: <<You'll pay for this, you Wahhabis>> he said. <<Your day will come.>>


!SHMAEL THE !NVINCIBLE and other characters copyright Robert Sullivan 1996-2000.