Seven Point Eight (16 page)

This happened again, and I secretly made repeat visits to my old friend. I began to think it was just a dream but then, in a letter, she sent some photographs of her bedroom, her new friends, and the street on which she lived. It all looked exactly like what I saw when I visited her. My strange travels were real after all.

I started to make trips to numerous places, I don’t know where but I found tranquil retreats in the mountains, or on a beautiful beach with palm trees. To help me remember, I drew some vivid pictures, although I wasn’t very artistic. Mother asked about them and I just told her they were special places. In secret, I looked in my books about the world and found some of the places I drew. One drawing looked like a little village in the Alps, and others looked like beaches in the
Caribbean
. I also found some temples in
China
and
Malaysia
. I had really been there! This was a fantastic way of going on holiday for free! However, I couldn’t share my travels with anyone, it was my secret.

The strange little talents I developed were kept hidden from my parents, my school, my community, and society. To be honest, I became too complacent and drew attention to myself. I used my talent to help me in my education, and I was accused of cheating in my eleven plus exam. How could I explain to the school why my answers were identical to those of other students, or why some answers were perfectly identical to those written on the answer paper? I remember sitting quietly with my parents, facing my teacher, unable to tell them I was just different. Would they believe me? Would my parents embrace me because of my talents? I began to wonder if I was wicked and immoral, or whether there was a better way to use my talents. For days, my parents were upset with me but still I didn’t explain. I thought about changing their feelings, giving out love and forgiveness, but I questioned if this was right. Finally, I decided to tell all.

At first, they seemed shocked, because my explanation didn’t seem real. However, the more I told them, the more they believed me. I described my unhappiness here and the bullying I’d endured, how it revealed my abilities, how I visited Annie because I was lonely and I explained that when they felt despair, I gave them hope. I demonstrated my ability, letting my mind travel to other places and describing some key villages in
Persia
, which father confirmed were accurate. He told me I must use my talent for the good of others, which meant no more cheating in my tests, I must study hard and learn in the same way others do. It’s not wise to show off, or to draw attention to that which people don’t understand.

Did I heed his words? In parts I did, but I couldn’t give up my advantage. My ability proved useful in studying geography, and in defending myself. As I neared puberty, I realised that my capacity to influence others now had the added advantage of attracting boys. The attention I received felt immensely satisfying. Despite my bloodline and background, I became popular with the opposite sex. Unfortunately, my father restricted me from associating with them and I resigned myself to climbing out of the window again.

“How I can bring up my Persian princess to be a decent, modest and obedient young woman in this society?” my father despaired one night.

So we abandoned our life in
England
, and father took us to live in
Tehran
for the rest of our lives. The culture shock was beyond belief. I’d become accustomed to tasting some degree of freedom despite the limitations of my gender, however, life for me now became unbearable. I realised how few rights I had as a woman and experienced a life that quickly became intolerable. My education turned into an unhappy episode in my life again, as I had an almost white face among a sea of bronzed, Middle Eastern skin. I couldn’t grasp the language. I couldn’t wear a dress that showed any part of my legs, or shoulders, or arms, and I faced the prospect of marrying and becoming a mother at an early age. This move from
England
only served to cement my rebellion against authority. My hopes and dreams became a distant thought, and I prayed every day for something to come along and remove me from this repressive life.

Then finally, on September the 15
^th
1962, my prayers were answered. A man from
England
arrived to direct my destiny…

***

The evocative call to prayer resounded over
the suburbs of
Tehran
in the heat of late summer. The distinguished professor performed his prayer duties then relaxed with a book on history, unaware of what a significant day it would turn out to be. He heard a knock at the door, which puzzled him at first. Frowning, he answered it and found a dark haired man standing there.

“Greetings, Mr Mamoun,” his visitor said. “We spoke on the phone in respect of something I can assist you with. My name is Max Richardson.”

The door opened wider.

“Oh yes, of course, come in.”

His wife, Elizabeth, prepared a pot of mint tea and they sat together in the main living area. Double doors opened out onto a veranda to enable a view of the garden, full of typical regional plants.

At first, the conversation seemed a little strained with polite chit-chat, but then Max moved the discussion forward.

“I understand that you have, let’s say… a gifted daughter.”

Mohammed Mamoun smiled proudly.

“You are looking for a wife?”

His comment caught Max off guard and without wishing to offend, he stated, “Actually, although I’m sure she is beautiful, I’m actually searching for special people with talents… exceptional abilities I might add. It is my line of business.”

“Yes,” said Mohammed, “my Persian princess is a gifted child. She has produced some excellent results at school.”

Max smiled, and looked him in the eye. “You and I both know that her talents go beyond mere academics.” This was a make or break moment. “I believe your daughter has gifts that are, literally, out of this world.”

The long silence gave Max the jitters, although he maintained his cool demeanour effectively. Finally, Mohammed sighed with admonition.

“There are truths about my daughter that I have to hide, things that I do not truly understand. She has never fitted in and sometimes, I just don’t know what to do with her. I’ve tried to make my family happy…”

Max used the opportunity to reassure him.

“I do know what to do and as I indicated on the phone, I’m in a position to help her. There is somewhere she’ll fit in. I can channel her in the right direction, and ensure she makes a valuable contribution to society. I can educate her plus give her a home, if you will but let me.”

Mohammed didn’t appear entirely convinced.

“She’s my only child.”

Max refused to be deterred though.

“I’ll make it worth your while. What is your price?”

“It’s not a question of money,” Mohammed explained, “but my family…our tradition. My intention is to find her a husband, so that she can fulfil her duties…be happy.”

Max mulled over what had been said.

“We can agree a period of time that she’ll spend at my facility, before she returns home to be married. I assure you, she’ll be well cared for.”

Mohammed wrestled with the conflict, while
Elizabeth
reached out and took hold of his hand.

“Maybe this will help subdue her, allow her to mature,” she suggested. “Remember, I studied at university before we married and I believe this helped me become a better person.”

In a two versus one situation, he struggled to justify refusing Max and Elizabeth. His Persian Princess needed an outlet for her rebellious behaviour, however, he still wanted her to settle down and fulfil tradition.

“This is not easy for me, but I can see it may tame her and make her more responsible. Then she will make an excellent wife.”

He finally nodded his approval to Max. Mohammed rose to his feet and called upstairs.

“Tahra, please come downstairs.”

They all heard the sound of a door opening and Tahra descended the stairs, book in hand. This tall, elegant, seventeen year old girl had long, dark hair which framed a face with quite prominent cheekbones. Her ethnicity mixed Middle Eastern and Caucasian features, giving her an exotic look. She had her mother’s beauty, with almond eyes that conveyed a sense of emotional power and intensity that was difficult to ascertain. She seemed quite feline, like a panther, and exuded sensuality but she felt uncomfortable in the staid clothes she wore. Max didn’t realise it, but he stared at her wistfully. She looked puzzled on seeing him.

“Good day,” she said, wary of him.

Tahra felt a peculiar feeling in her stomach when she saw him. He was handsome…very handsome, and he looked wealthy but she sensed something dark and almost sinister within him. The way he stared at her made her tremble, and she felt her heart skip a beat. What a dichotomy. How could she feel drawn to him, yet feel repelled by him?

Meanwhile, Max found a pair of dark, wild eyes gazing at him, not with timidity but with a passion and pride he found exciting. He instantly felt a strong connection with her and his mother, Grace’s prediction echoed in his mind.

‘There’ll be one woman…she is a gift to the world, capable of having a great impact on humanity. She must be protected at all costs as once the world discovers what she is, she won’t be safe.’

Was this the girl he had to protect at all costs?

“Tahra, this is Mr Richardson, he has agreed to sponsor you.”

Max approached her and kissed her hand. Tahra looked into his eyes, unsure how to react and afraid of what she saw.

“Your talents for my hospitality, it’s a business alliance.”

Deep down, he disbelieved his own words. No woman had ever made him feel humble.
 
As they cemented the business agreement, he knew he had to make her his, at any cost. For only the second time in his forty one years of life, he realised he’d fallen in love.

Part Two

Kismet

Man also possesses a power by which he may see his friends and the circumstances by which they are surrounded, although such persons may be a thousand miles away from him at that time.

*

Paracelsus (1493-1541)

8

Bridge

I experienced the quiet after the storm. After a decade serving The Establishment and another few years at The Institute, I felt as if my life had just stalled. All I could do was philosophise, reflect, and consolidate, although maybe this period of calm would enable me to assimilate everything I’d learned.

Through what I’d researched, I knew there was so much more to being human than mere physiology. The unknown transformed from irrational to something worthy of scientific investigation. I comprehended that life extended beyond the material world. However, I had no theory to link everything and give it meaning.

During my reflection, I questioned life. Are we indeed directed by destiny? Everything in my life suggested there was a plan operating, but whose plan? Although I abhorred the idea of a pre-ordained schedule in our lives, my life seemed strangely scripted, as if I were an actor in a film and the director knew it would all work out in the end. However, at the moment, I felt like the set had been vacated and I was staring at a blank page.

Maybe for once, it was time for me to write the rest of the script.

I felt the proverbial book inside me screaming to be written, so I put my typewriter to use. Drawing on my experiments and subsidiary research, I wrote about historical notions of the soul as a separate entity to the physical body, something common to all the world’s religions. Digging deeper, I came to understand the soul links spirit and body and can be attracted to either good or evil, providing the classic conflict, or battleground. The body is therefore a tool that is used by the soul and the spirit in its ultimate purpose.