Winter Journeys

Chapter 6 The Kindness of Strangers

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The main incident of this chapter was borrowed from Isaac Asimov's mystery story "THE GOOD SAMARITAN", though the effect on the plot will be quite different. I don't have any right to quote that story, either, so this is purely for fun and no profit.)

After getting out of the cab at Old North Church, in a very old section of Boston, Joan first searched around the church for clues. She had heard that there was a very popular novel out whose main characters did that a lot. On failing to find anything, she mentally took a step back. Maybe God intended this as an educational experience. She looked through two tourist brochures at the entrance, one of which focussed on architecture and the other held an old poem called "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere", which was partly set at the church. She actually liked the poem, but still could not discern a mission here.

She could find no cabs when she was done, but that did not bother her at first: this neighborhood seemed small, and she was used to walking a lot in Arcadia. But after trying to trace back the cab's route through the winding streets, she realized that she was lost.

Spotting a street sign, she got her map out of her purse. But it was a tourists' map, one that highlighted important sites and did not bother to label each street. She was somewhere in what the map called theNorth End. As she shoved the map back in her purse, her eye fell on her cell phone. Call 911? As a policeman's daughter, she didn't want to burden the local police with an apparently minor problem. Call Luke? He could do nothing himself, but his college friend would know his way around the city and might be able to pick up Joan. But she'd never hear the end of it from Luke: Big Sister appoints herself his escort but gets lost in her first day around the city. Better if she solved the problem herself.

"Are you lost, miss?"

She whirled around and found herself facing a swarthy, bearded young man. Alarm bells went off in her mind: her mother, a former victim of rape, had drummed all sorts of precautions into her, with additional advice from her cop father. Admit that she was lost, and the other would immediately realize that she was vulnerable and had no refuge if he tried to take advantage of her.

"No -- I'm all right," stated Joan firmly, and started off resolutely in a random direction.

Two blocks later she stopped. Fear and exertion had caused her to sweat, which was not pleasant when stuck outdoors in December. She was about to give in and call Luke when she spotted a familiar face: another bearded man, but who looked like Dog-Walker God. Maybe He saw her predicament and had come to the rescue.

"Hey!" she said, walking up. "Can you help me?"

The man turned, and Joan's heart sank. Now that she saw his face clearly, he was clearly not Dog-Walker God -- and what's more, the once-over look he gave her was not in the least spiritual. "Yeah, gal. Come with me." He sounded drunk.

"Um, where?" Joan asked, considering going the opposite direction.

"My flat. I can get you warmed up. Real warm."

Eewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. He probably thought she was a homeless girl desperate to do anything to get out of the cold outdoors. You couldn't guess a girl's economic status from her jeans.

"Uh, I don't think so."

The dirty old man walked toward. "Think again."

Suddenly a form appeared from Joan's left and knocked the predator off his feet. Uttering a single monosyllable -- "Come!" -- it seized her sleeve and pulled her along. Joan allowed this to go for a couple of blocks, then saw a welcome sight: one of Boston's rivers, with a highway running along it.

Her rescuer released her sleeve and pointed down the highway. It was the first, younger, bearded man. "There's a hotel down at edge of the neighborhood. I'd advice you to catch a cab direct to your home or accommodation."

"Great advice. Were you following me?"

"Yes. I saw that you were in trouble, but feared to trust me." He had a thick accent and a pedantic way of speaking English, as if he had learnt it recently.

Joan felt stupid. She had mistaken a rescuer as a threat, and a threat as a rescuer. "I'm sorry I mistrusted you. I'm Joan Girardi." She offered her hand to shake.

He backed up and bowed. Maybe, now that the emergency was over, he had cultural rules about not touching a woman. "I am Ali Musa. May Allah go with you."

So he was Muslim. Joan searched her memory for the greeting Professor Begh had taught herSalaam-Alaikum."

Looking pleased at being addressed in Arabic, Musa bowed again and walked back into his neighborhood.

Allah go with you. It was a standard farewell, but it triggered worrisome thoughts in Joan's mind. God was supposed to be with her, but today he had not been. Yet the main reason she had gotten lost was that God had encouraged her to go to Old North Church. Certainly he must have foreknown the complications that might ensue -- to put it bluntly, that she might screw up.

Why had God sent her into danger?