Angels in the Architecture (32 page)

When the light was especially straight and
wide, Tim could see how it changed things. He even knew he could change things for the future and maybe even for the past. He thought some light from the past had helped him make light for the future. Time had a hold on this experiment in his mind as well. Someone else more famous than Tim would write that experiment up into a scientific paper and become even more famous for that, and it would cause a lot of interested fuss in the world, and some not very interested fuss too. But Tim wasn’t concerned about that. He was concerned about how to use his experiments to make other kinds of interesting things happen, other than scientific papers that could make you famous.

Tim’s main experiment now involved him reflecting light. If he caught it at the right angle and reflected it back along the right trajectory in a certain way
, then it would have a major impact. The new light, once transformed and reflected, grew so much bigger, and it could change the way people thought, and it could change their actions, and it could change the impact of their actions.

Tim didn’t really see this power as the amazing thing that it was. He just knew he had to be really good at it, and he felt a very strong urge to get it right today. He did understand that the implications were enormous – he wasn’t sure what, just that it was a very big deal – and he didn’t want to let anyone down.

He had to get it just right. And he was focusing very hard on this; at the same time as he was
not
focusing because if he focused too hard, his head got filled up with stones and fuzzy darkness and then that stopped the light going anywhere at all, plus it gave him a headache.

Khalid had a dream. He would be a martyr, a son of Ibraham, a child of God. He would wake to Golden Light, the reward of infinite glory and the praise of his people forever. The angel Jibril,
[1]
stern and foreboding, held his arms open to Khalid Islambouli and beckoned him into his enfolding wings. Khalid Islambouli knew a supreme protection. He would become a modern Shahid.
[2]

Khalid had become ashamed of the once-proud status of his beloved Egypt. Its ancient and noble history had been besmirched now for too many years by the actions of the country’s biggest traitor. His Arab brothers and sisters were all betrayed. He, and others, would change it. They had heard the call of Abdel-Rahman to take the traitor’s life.

Although he did not
hear Jibril speak aloud, he knew in his heart and mind and soul the words of His bidding as they had been spoken by Abdel-Rahman, and he knew he would obey. There was a great fire in him now. He had been angry at the arrest of his young brother, Mohamed Ahmed, and he saw now how he might avenge him.

When he woke in his barracks each morning
, he prepared his soul in prayer, as indeed he heard the call to prayer throughout every day. When he spoke with the men he knew would become his brothers, his eyes blazed and it lighted a fierce passion in them so that they made him their leader. Their brotherhood remained known only to them – not from any secret they harboured or any fear of exposure, but because the great love they shared for each other and for their mission was bounded and safeguarded by their strength alone, and any other’s would surely desecrate and dishonour that strength.

He had not been chosen initially for
the Parade, but his brothers had made sure another would not be able to attend and manoeuvred for Khalid’s placement. When a few days later he was chosen, he knew Jibril was really with him, and he knew his destiny.

When
6 October came, a Tuesday, Lieutenant Islambouli rose to morning prayer, completed all the normal duties of his morning, and then set about preparing his unit for their part in the Parade. Their uniforms were perfect – clean and starched – although they all knew the sweat that would invade them as they waited in the hot sun. There was always waiting to be done in the military and always in uniform and always in formation, and with no leniency to the heat or an insect or an itch settling one one’s face. None of this came within Khalid’s orbit on this day though. His mind held only one thought, and he felt the strength of that focus bonding him with his brothers around him. They were one mind, and they acted with a single disciplined force.

The march
past was long and slow – their Egyptian leaders showed off their force to the world, and this at least made Khalid proud. Eventually, the grandstand came into view and Khalid’s heart raced, but he was not frightened. He knew he would probably be killed. He was aware of every part of his body and felt only that there was himself in the world, and his brothers sitting in the back of the truck with him – and their target. Every motion forward was made up of a million tiny movements, and Khalid registered every one. They went by him slowly, and he saw precisely the detail of them all unfold. He was patient with it, and he felt complete control over each millisecond, and each scene within that brief moment.

Their weapons were prepared, and more importantly their spirits and their resolve. They had rehearsed at the rear of a deserted barracks; each knew his part. Ammunition had been prohibited and their rifles had been checked before they got into
the truck. But their planning was meticulous, and they had made sure to have what they needed about them.

Their truck eventually came alongside
the President’s platform, which sat in fact quite a long way back from the route of the cavalcade. There were four rows of guards surrounding the President and his platform, and the President himself was standing, with many other dignitaries about him. Khalid recognised some American military uniforms and an orthodox Christian clergyman of some sort. Come to pay homage to a false leader, a traitor to the Prophet. He was ashamed that the President wore a uniform; he had no right.

Khalid heard the sound of jets flying towards their location. The dignitaries and the crowds turned away from the oncoming parade just as the truck
carrying Khalid and his brothers halted before the presidential stand.

‘Now
,’ he said firmly.

Lieutenant Islambouli
leapt down from the truck and marched in a straight line towards the platform. Three others followed behind him.

President Anwar Sadat
turned to see the men.

The men halted.

Sadat waited on their salute.

Islambouli lobbed three grenades into the stand, the others with him emptying their assault rifles, while others still leapt from the truck and ran towards the rows of dignitaries as they fell, scurried,
and hastened to protect the fallen President.

Khalid knew at any moment he would be stopped, perhaps with a bullet, perhaps by guards who might run right at him, but neither of these came quite so soon as he thought, and so he kept running forward
.

Hours seemed to pass. Why was there no response? He could stand here forever and kill all the traitors. He could
see Americans in the stand, and others who supported Sadat. They all deserved to die. The movement of every piece of the tableau was mapped out in front of him like a complex alignment of a zillion stars, and he had power over each movement. It was all so easy.

He was only metres from
the President now. Sadat had been brought to the ground by those around him. When he was nearly on top of them and he smelt their blood and fear, he emptied his assault rifle into the bodies before him. The bounding of his heart and head rose louder in his ears almost than the sound of the rifle.

He threw his arms into the air, as a victor.

‘I have killed the Pharoah! I have killed the Pharoah!’

White light shone and took over the view
before Khalid. A weight crashed into him, and the heaviness of it surprised Khalid.

All praise be
to Allah and to Muhammad his Prophet.

He who cannot change the fabric of his thought will never change reality, and will never, therefore, make any progress.

Anwar Sadat, third president of Egypt (1918
–1981)

Tuesday, 6 October 1981

Another world leader being shot at and surviving, although only just it seems. How any idiot thought they could actually get to someone as heavily guarded
as Anwar Sadat, I can’t imagine. Seems others around him took the bullets. With things the way they are in the Middle East it would have been all downhill. I’m sure if someone of his stature was assassinated right now – one of the few voices of reason
...

Eleven
were
killed, and twenty-eight
wounded
. Two of the
would-be (actual?) assassins were shot and killed. Sadat was in surgery for eleven hours. Amazingly close obviously; must have been touch-and-go.

There is some significance in all these near-misses; some forces for good are at large in the world; that we are being saved from these particular losses.  Maybe.  How doe we know what worse tragedy is averted from the grace of saving one life. Perhaps even decades from now...  I can’t help but wonder at this turn of events.  It just seems a dead Sadat would mean a spiralling out of balance and control Middle East.  I don’t know why I think that.  He’s not so well liked, but there’s a steady hand there just the same.

Wednesday,
7 October 1981

Timmy seems especially tired today. Wonder if he’s coming down with something. He is changing so much lately. I don’t know that anyone else would notice, but I do. There are changes in his awareness I think. It’s as though he is seeing and understanding more. There is some part of him that’s very in touch. It’s amazing to watch him sometimes, and especially to see him
with Jillie. There’s such a connection there. She said the other day ‘When I play with Timmy, it’s the happiest time ever’. What an amazing thing to say! And it seems so true. When she gets home from school, she goes straight away to play with him, and he brightens up when he sees her. I love it. I just love watching them. Sometimes I think Jillie teaches him more than any of the rest of us, simply because she always gets his complete attention. I feel privileged to have both of them in my life. And I’m sure Jillie came as a special gift for Tim. Lucky boy.

Right now he’s just fallen asleep on the rug on the kitchen floor
, curled up with a big soft Edward bear, with his mouth open and his nose squashed sideways. Exhausted, poor fella. I’ve noticed if he’s a bit ‘off’, once he’s over it, that is to say, these periods when he’s a bit ill – then he’s more aware – as though either the illness is a result of some internal struggle for awareness, or recovering from illness provokes a new awareness. Not sure which; bit of both maybe.

Friday, 9 October 1981

Well
, whatever it was, Tim’s fine now. More than fine. He called me ‘Daddy’. You’d think he’d always called me that, he was so nonchalant. Followed by another couple of words – only about three times his record. ‘Daddy forgot sugar.’ I hadn’t sprinkled sugar on his cornflakes. It seemed so natural that I was halfway to the pantry to get the sugar before I realised. He’s a different boy.

He blew the therapists away at the psych meeting today. Must remember to
tell Lissie. Tim’s progress seems counterweighted by her withdrawal. I want her to see what’s happening for him. I feel a little angry and disappointed that he’s not in her view of the world right now.

Saturday, 10 October 1981

An IRA bomb exploded
at Chelsea Barracks in London and killed a woman pensioner. The Maze hunger strike ended a week ago after ten deaths. Most of their demands – not to wear prison uniform, and so on – have finally been met. Several prisoners were eventually taken off the strike by their families. Most of them were in prison for ‘possession of a firearm’.

Monday, 26 October 1981

Another IRA bomb exploded in
a Wimpy bar in London and killed a bomb disposal ‘expert’. In fact, correctly: ‘Provisional’ IRA. ‘IRA’ is really the turn-of-the-century force – the ‘PIRA’ emerged out of a 1969 ideological split. Not quite sure how it is that British newspapers are describing the end of the hunger strike as a victory for Thatcher – the IRA’s membership and activity both seem to have been given quite a boost. Danny Morrison has described Thatcher as ‘the biggest bastard we have ever known’.

Thursday, 12 November 1981

The Church
of England General Synod has decided to admit women to holy orders. Celebrations tonight with Rose and Loraine – expect they will both be up for it.

Alicia had
noticed some change in her son and felt compelled to acknowledge, if only to herself, that Pete’s attentions, and those of Tim’s many therapists, were bearing fruit. Correspondingly she also knew that any development in the behaviour of her disabled child was not particularly due to any effort of hers. She wondered when it was that she’d forgotten to love her children; when she’d last felt the depth of adoration, she knew she’d once had. She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped being emotionally available to those that needed her most or why this had happened or how. It was manifestly not right, but to find it, to even look for it, seemed exhausting. And her response to exhaustion lay mainly in work, coffee, and a certain indulgent aloneness that she persuaded herself – and others – was the need of any professional, especially an academic.