Chapter Five

"When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which You have ordained;
What is man, that You are mindful of him?"

-- Psalm 8:3-4

Despite his certainty that Allah would punish him for his sins, Sayid was not, in fact, a particularly religious man. He had seldom attended mosques in the past several years, and when he did, it was usually to seek out information on Nadia. He had prayed only a handful of times since the plane crash: when he had been caught in Danielle's trap, when he had faced other risks, when Shannon had died. But who did not pray at such times?

He thought to pray now, but the words he had learned as a child seemed, at the present moment, an empty mantra. The stars above him were so much more vast, so much more fierce, and so much more beautiful than his concept of God. He allowed his mind to empty as he lay in the sand, gazing up at them.

"Hello," said an accented, masculine voice from behind him.

Sayid pulled himself up into a sitting position and glanced at Jin. "Did Sun send you?" he asked, a little perturbed at having his reverie interrupted.

"No," said Jin, sitting down in the sand beside him. "Yes."

Sayid supposed both answers could be true, in some way. Well, at least he would not have to listen to a great deal of talking. Jin had begun to study English in earnest since his return from the raft, and although he seemed to understand almost everything that was spoken, his vocabulary was still decidedly limited.

Jin said, "I like you."

Sayid smiled somewhat awkwardly. "Okay," he said, not sure how to respond. "I like you, too."

"No. I am like you."

"And how is that?" Sayid could not imagine that he had much in common with the Korean. Both were, in a sense, strangers in a strange land, and both were reserved. But Jin had the solace of a wife who had long stood beside him without encouragement. He did not really see the similarity.

"I beat men for profession, too."

Had Sun told him as well? Sayid was not angry with her. She so clearly longed to comfort him; he appreciated that desire, even if part of him felt humiliated. Yet he deserved humiliation, didn't he? "You beat men in Korea? You were an interrogator?"

"No. For my boss. Business."

"And Sun knew?"

Jin nodded and then shook his hand back and forth in a so-so gesture.

"But you have changed?"

The Korean nodded. "To L.A. To stop."

It was poor phrasing, but Sayid grasped his meaning. "You are very fortunate she did not leave you. To be loved that way…" he trailed off.

"Shannon loved you," replied Jin encouragingly. It was the clearest sentence he had formed.

"She loved a version of me," said Sayid, leaning back on his hands and staring into the fire. "She pretended I was the perfect boyfriend. I let her pretend." He remembered how she had smile coquettishly when he had tried to charm her by a gift of shoes. He recalled how her forced, false sarcasm had failed to mask her girlish excitement when she saw the tent and the flowers. He thought of her body beneath his, soft and supple and so very young. "It felt good to pretend."

"You think," said Jin, searching for a structure to his words, "You think she no love you if she knew."

Sayid nodded.

"Maybe she love you anyway."

"Maybe," replied Sayid doubtfully. He shifted his position in the sand and felt something in his pocket prick him. It was the tiny, ceramic figurine of a ballerina he had found in Shannon's luggage, when he had at last forced himself to sort through it. It was the only memento he had cared to keep, even though he had no idea what it had meant to her. He reached into his pocket now and caressed the little image, sliding his thumb from its tip to toe, but when he reached the end, his thumb slid off, and he felt the glossy finish of paper. He had almost forgotten that he still carried Nadia's photograph.

"There was one," said Sayid, "who knew me thoroughly. She knew what I had been, what I was, and what I might become." He removed his hand from his pocket. "Her knowing pierced me."

Jin did not respond. Sayid thought he must not have understood. It did not matter; Sayid was talking to himself.

The Korean remained silent, and, at length, Sayid stood up. "Be grateful," he said to Jin, "for Sun." He walked away from the signal fire, from Jin, from the awesome sight of the brilliant stars. He went to his shelter—he had given Shannon's tent to Claire and Aaron—and quickly packed his back pack.

He had been thinking about exploring the island alone for weeks. When he had thought of it, he had done so knowing how foolish and dangerous it was to walk these shores alone. He had hoped, then, that he might meet with violence. But when he left tonight, he did not leave in search of death. He left in search of some answer for the foreign aching in his soul.