Departure

Prologue

Makkah 614 CE

The date palm planked door opened. The light from the candles’ flames arced and ebbed.

A morning breeze rushed through Waraka’s bed chamber as Muhammad joined Kadija’s vigil and kissed the palm of her hand in silent greeting.

Four doves, silhouetted against the fading full moon on the horizon in the sill of a round opening in the chamber’s mud hardened wall, jostled and cooed at the disturbance of air and light.

Waraka’s breath was ragged, labored; but, the old man’s sapphires livened at the entry of his cousin’s husband. Four prominent yellowed teeth came into view as a smile took his cheeks.

“We must prepare, husband, our Hanif is nearing the edge of this dunya,” Kadija murmured to Muhammad, withdrawing her hand to a red ceramic bathing bowl. Her arthritic digits rang water from the cloth and she wiped the cool material over Waraka’s fevered brow.

Kneeling to pray, Muhammad took hold of the dying man’s thin claw of a hand and wrapped it between his own. “I can’t ever thank you enough, Waraka, for performing our marriage ceremony against the wishes of the Kaaba Syndicate, for teaching me the books of Moses and Jesus. You have been my life’s blessing, my Bishop, my guide...”

Waraka’s grip on Muhammad’s fingers tightened with the last.

A grainy, rustling vapor escaped Waraka’s throat as he shook his head, saying “No, Prophet of God. It is I who am thankful for you. My Rasul, my Messenger of Allah. Peace be upon you.”

A harsh cough rattled deep in Waraka’s lungs.

Kadija’s hands instinctively moved to her cousin’s shoulders to steady Waraka as he attempted to rise and speak with Muhammad. “Calm yourself, cousin, you have earned your peace and your place,” she cajoled, wiping mucus from the corner of his mouth and placing the cloth over the graying gills of his throat.

Waraka’s breath came in quick and shallow bursts, “Kadija, I know not whether I will see the new born sun this morning. I have oft in this life held my tongue. But, I must speak. Please. Please, cousin, I must speak with Muhammad.”

Retaining his hold on Waraka’s hand, Muhammad placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back. “Kadija, I will tend to our Hanif. I have been praying on Mount Hira for forty days and forty nights for a sign, for one solitary ayat from Allah that might comfort the believers in these trying times. I am sorry I have neglected you for so long. Rest now, I am here.”

Kadija’s hazel eyes welled. “O, husband. My daughters were never far and our adopted son Zed has kept us well supplied.”

“Muhammad,” Waraka’s voice trembled. “Peter visited me with news last night. He came with Sa’ad, the son of Malik abu Waqqas. Such news.”

Kadija sat upon a cushion against a wall in the tiny room and she laid her head on a stack of dusty manuscripts. Her tired gaze met Muhammad’s, “The monk, Father Peter came to pay his respects two nights ago at the height of his fever. Waraka has been asking for you ever since.”

Muhammad wore his confusion. “Tell me, Waraka. Who is Peter?”

“Your face, Messenger, so round...a light.”

“What news did Peter bring?”

“His father was the most ambitious of us, Messenger, the most ambitious of the Hanifas. But, he lost his way.” Waraka’s eyes closed and his breathing fell shallow.

“Yes, Waraka. Yes. Tell me about Peter’s father.” Muhammad plead, placing his hand upon the chest of the dying man as if his will alone could draw out the pain.

“Osman, the son of Harith, was your age when I first met him. Father Peter brought news of Osman’s recent death in Rome. Our fellowship, broken by time it seems.”

“It is hard to lose friends, I know.” Tears rolled down Muhammad’s cheeks.

“We all agreed, Messenger, that idols of stone and clay could not help or hurt anyone. Five of us pledged to restore the true religion of Abraham to the Kaaba and save the people of Makkah from the abomination that is the cult of Hubal. But, Osman lost his way amid the pomp, wealth and royalty of Rome. All of us were wayward it would seem, now. Like Osman’s son, we should have been looking for the light, not shouting in the dark. Peter came to Makkah to find the praised one foretold by Jesus the Nazarene. I told him to pay homage to your door, Rasul, for you are the very same. The houses of my order, of Peter’s order, refer to your sign in the Greek...as Paraclete. Arabs call that sign Ahmad. Your coming was foretold, Muhammad. You are the Ahmad of Jesus.”

A high whistle escaped Waraka’s mouth as he sought to draw in air. His eyes, straining in their sockets as his life force gripped Muhammad’s hand with the strength of three men.

Muhammad cooled the Hanif’s head with the rag given him by Kadija as he murmured for Allah to ease his friend’s pain, “O Allah, ease his crossing from this dunya, this world is the better when good men such as this do not agonize so.”

Waraka’s eyes closed as his voice returned, “Muhammad. Darkness and light. I see both now. O, how I wish I could live long enough to see it, to see the day when the Koreish reject your message and banish you from Makkah. For never did a true prophet arise with a message like yours who was not cast out by his own people. O, Muhammad, my Paraclete, if only I was young enough to witness the day you return to smash the idol of Hubal and melt down his golden hand to feed the poor. For you are Ahmad, the praised one foretold by Jesus, and it is your destiny to reclaim the Kaaba in the name of Abraham.”

Muhammad shook his head as Waraka’s grip lessened to that of an infant, “So, they will drive me out? Out from my home, from my clan, from my birthright and my property? My Hanif, this sounds like a curse, not a blessing.”

Kadija’s arms encircled her husband’s shoulders as his tears began to flow without check.

Waraka smiled. “My eyes no longer see, but I remember a lost child I came upon in the desert once. So focused on shaming the dark and shunning temptation, I could not see that the very light I was fighting for was in my arms when I returned him to his grandfather. O, Messenger. Moses himself was forced to learn that the light of God’s truth has never been accepted without a wandering in the desert of doubt and loss. Warn them of the calamity to come, plainly. That is the lot of a prophet. Warn the Koreish and the very kin that will drive your people south and north and every which way. Warn the world of Allah’s Rights in the final hour. Nothing more will be required of you, Ahmad. There is comfort in the knowing. May Allah bless you and yours for all time.”

Kadija’s tears fell upon Muhammad’s neck as her cousin’s last breath escaped. 

A flaming log fell from the hearth. 

Neither noticed as five doves took flight at the mundane disturbance, the last hovering in the windlet to study the scene before departing southward. The dawning rays of the sun bathed the young dove’s whitening wings with a flash.  

Thank you all for taking the time to consider this text.

For me, as a historian, it is my most exciting project - to tackle the faith of Islam in its formative years and lend an eye to elevating the realities at play at the time.

Most students of the religion realize that the early Muslims were actually outcast due to Muhammad’s open rejection of idolatry.  However, most don’t choose to emphasize the simple fact that the Muslims were boycotted by the powerful syndicates that ruled the caravan trade along the spice routes of the day.  My question is, what did that boycott look like in its earliest phase???  And that is what Part 1 of Departure - Texts Written on the Sky - was meant to discuss. 

The fact that tax levies were increased to minimize the group’s influence is more or less considered a small, internal fight without much consequence.  However, it should be considered a massive cause whose effects included the faithful Muslims pushed into an empty quarter of Mecca as a punishment and eventually forced to flee (first to Abyssinia, then to Medina) and of course the first battles of Islam which targeted caravan routes.  

So, when we consider these facts we can begin to draw an empathetic understanding of how the faith was ostracized and begin considering exactly what that shunning and discrimination looked like.  

On this score, most historians simply say Islam was founded in a "mercantile age" but the truth is, mercantilism was not a reality in 7th century Arabia...mercantilism as a geopolitical form of development and trade was literally centuries away.  On that level, then, the correct description would be "Islam was founded in an age in which the success of markets and caravans determined the success of a society."  In that sense, Mecca was developed around a system of wells and its commerce was largely dependent on the Kaaba, which served as a magnet for religious figures of all stripes, who recognized the importance of the Abrahamic tradition.  For Muhammad to strike at idolatry was literally a step away from the Mecca marketing model, which called for all faiths to pray at the Kaaba.  

Now, thus far I have not received that much feedback from the community on the text.  I don’t know if that is due to the newness of the material or because it isn’t well crafted.  So, at this point, since I am relatively pleased with the form that it has taken, I will place my faith in the former rather than the latter.

If you notice, the text begins with a quote from an Islamic tradition...and my innovations on that tradition are what bring this text to life.  As an essayist and philosopher, I believe in exegesis - unpacking the material to get at first principles.  So, when I begin any new part of this text, I will do so with the aim of exegesis.

Part II of Departure - Phanuel’s Gate - will begin with another tradition.  Rather than Ibn Ishak, a Muslim historian of serious import, this section will begin with a hadith of considerable impact to every single Muslim: Tidings of Two Lights.

The value of the Tidings of Two Lights to the average Muslim is immeasurable.  If I were to hazard a comparison, imagine that the Lord’s Prayer as well as the comforting "Now I lay me down to sleep" bedtime prayer were rolled into one revelation by Christ himself...that is what the tradition represents to observant Islam. 

It goes like this:

“While Gabriel was sitting with the Prophet, he heard a creaking sound from above him, so he raised his head and said: “This is a door in Heaven that has been opened today, and it has never been opened before today. An angel descended from it, and this angel has come down to the Earth. He has never descended before this day ever. So the angel gave the salutations of Salaam and said: ‘Receive glad tidings of two lights that have been given to you that were never given to a Prophet before you: The Opening Chapter of the Book (Al-Faatihah), and the closing verses at the end of Al-Baqarah. You will not recite a single letter from them but you will be given reward.” 

-Imam Muslim (Hadith #806)

Notice the angel that descends is not named - Departure will identify that angel as Phanuel...and unpack what happens in the scene.  

I will try to pen the whole of the text by the 25th and have it edited by March 1st...I may send a few excerpts to each of you here and there to keep you updated, so that you might tell some of your friends about the project, and that some of you might hazard a quick word on whether or not the text is solid or where you are left grasping.

Best in all things,

Gary H. Johnson, Jr.

A little bit of background in character sketches can go a long way; but, a family portrait can shape a novel. - Gary H. Johnson, Jr.

Professor Elvis Hatcher McClanahan 

Born 1974 in Memphis to Lynn Eugenia McClanahan (27 years old). 

Father, Army Chief Warrant Officer (W-4) Trace Hatcher killed on June 9, 1973, piloting a UH-1 Iroquois Med-Evac chopper in an aircraft convoy. Two of the six evac helicopters were hit by incoming rocket fire – one held John Paul Vann, director of the U.S. Second Regional Assistance Group. All three A-1 Skyraider attack choppers escorting the convoy were downed just south of Kon Tum. 

Called Hatch by his associates, Elvis McClanahan earned his PH.D. in Oriental Studies from Oxford University in 1998 after his groundbreaking efforts at the University of Arkansas. After high school, Hatch enrolled in the University of Tennessee in 1991 to study history. Following his mother’s death in a hospital shooting where she served as a lifelong attending, Hatch moved toward religious studies and applied for a scholarship to the burgeoning Arabic Studies program at University of Arkansas and was accepted in 1992. After a knee injury ended his soccer career in 1993, Hatch moved towards a degree focus in Middle Eastern Studies after being offered a full scholarship to the newly established King Fahd Center Fulbright Program in 1994. Hatch graduated in May of 1996, Summa Cum Laude – ranked 27th in a class of just under 6,000. He was awarded a Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford to continue his Oriental Studies and from July of 1996 through April of 1998 he worked with a focus on linguistics, medieval literature, Islamic Studies. Following graduation, Hatch accepted a grant from the University of Arkansas, known as the Clinton-Fahd award to conduct research in North Africa. By the year 2000, Hatch released his first research in a book released by Simon & Schuster called Barbar: The Confederacy that Rocked Islam to critical acclaim. In early 2001, following a round of press junkets in America and England, Hatch received a fellowship to the American University of Beirut, where he would teach and work as a photo journalist for five years. In 2003, he met Elena Chehab, a Maronite Christian from Tripoli, Lebanon. In late July of 2006, Elena was killed in Tyre by incoming Israeli fire while working with Hatch to document the 33-day war. Following the funeral, Hatch traveled to Constantinople and then back to Arkansas. After a meeting with Professor Cohen Kaspit, his mentor, he contracted with the University of Arkansas to work in North Africa to uncover the economic history of slavery in the Umayyad period. Flush with a book deal, Hatch purchased a mountain retreat in Chefchaouen, Morocco. 

Before leaving, Professor Silver introduced himself and provided Hatch with a mission to attain Arabic manuscripts being sold on the black market to be cataloged by the University of Arkansas, Oxford & Cambridge in an attempt to acquire more information on the lost scholarship of numerous historiographers of Islamic Literature. The mission was sanctioned by the U.S. State Department in a program started by an executive order of Bill Clinton. He was provided with a full access pass to the libraries and shrines from Morocco to the Sinai along with a grant purse of $100,000 in $100 bills for black market purchases.

Hatch always wore a necklace, inherited from his mother – the one thing he treasured. The two ruby teeth were set with simple iron rings about their center and linked to a silver chain. A McClanahan family heirloom passed down after the Civil War saw his ancestor’s Hoe press serve the Memphis Appeal before coming to a rest in Macon, Georgia Telegraph’s print warehouse in 1865.

http://www.nytimes.com/1865/07/10/news/death-of-col-john-r-mcclanahan.html

The McClanahan family Saga...

In 1849, after the Mexican American war, Col. John Reid McClanahan fell in love with Rebecca Taylor, the sister of James R. Taylor, who had married John’s sister Sarah in 1846. They married in secret in 1856 and had a son, named Robert Reid McClanahan in 1858.  In 1862, John sent Rebecca and his four-year-old son Robert to a ranch he owned in Austin, Texas to wait out the war.

In March 1864, John Reid McClanahan recruited his younger brother, John Robert McClanahan, to provide correspondence from the ongoing naval battle against the Union blockade. Slipping the blockade, John Robert traveled to Funchal, Madeira, where he took a post in October aboard the newly commissioned CSS Shenandoah. Reporting on the Shenandoah’s exploits for the Memphis Appeal, his letters relating the exploits of the raider and its six engagements with union vessels were sent from the Cape of Good Hope in January 1865. The letters reached John on June 25, 1865, housed in a red case, engraved with Arabic script purchased by John Robert. On June 27, 1865, John Reid sent word to his love Rebecca Taylor and his son Robert that he would soon sell the Memphis Appeal and travel to Texas to retire. Cash, a pocket watch, and a diary would be sent by post within the same red case he received his brothers letters from the Shenandoah. On June 28, John Reid sent correspondences addressed to John Robert McClanahan to (Shadow) Henry Watterson with instructions to contact his brother on the CSS Shenandoah, when it ports in San Francisco to surrender...and to provide him with directions to his Austin, Texas ranch that he might meet his wife Rebecca and the son he named for him. That day, John Reid would meet Benjamin Dill to discuss buyout options for The Appeal. The following day, he was found beaten to death in an alley, both legs and arms broken, jaw crushed. The papers claimed he had fallen from his window.

Upon John Robert McClanahan’s return to Memphis in February 1870, he set out to meet Henry Watterson in Louisville, Kentucky, where he agreed to send stories to the Louisville Courier Journal from Austin, Texas. In October 1871, Robert McClanahan, bearing news of the death of John Reid, met with Rebecca McClanahan. The two married on New Year’s Day 1872. Robert Reid McClanahan was sixteen-years-old and upon the death of his mother and step-father in 1891 to yellow fever, inherited the ranch, married Elynn Forster McGill and fathered three daughters and one son. He named his son for his father, John Reid McClanahan. In late 1897, At 41 years of age, Robert Reid McClanahan accepted a post for the Louisville Courier Journal out of Kentucky as photographer and journalist for an expedition to Cuba to document the exploits of Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. His son John Reid McClanahan was 2 years old when his father was killed on San Juan Hill, covering the mismatch. His remains, along with a red case he used to keep family photos, pencils and charcoal, were returned to Elynn Forster McClanahan in January of 1899.

A strong businesswoman, Elynn Forster McClanahan sold the ranch and started a textile business in Memphis, Tennessee, which eventually gained a government contract to provide rucksacks and uniforms for military personnel in 1915.

In 1922, John Reid McClanahan joined the U.S. Navy as an interpreter at the age of 25, following his Oriental Studies in Arabic and Hebrew at Harvard University. He never saw combat in the military, but rose to the rank of Lieutenant Commander before retiring in 1930 to pursue a medical degree.

Elynn Forster McClanahan died in 1935, leaving the entirety of her estate to her son John Reid McClanahan.

The following year, in 1936, Dr. John Reid McClanahan established a family practice in Memphis and would hire the woman he would soon marry. In 1937, at the age of 41, Dr. John Reid McClanahan married the 21 year old beauty, Tara Eugenia MacDuffie of North Carolina he had hired the previous year and retired to travel the world. Nine years later after touring the ports South America, Australia, the Orient and, with the end of World War II, the Mediterranean, a 50 year old Dr. McClanahan and his 30 year old wife confirmed they had conceived a child and returned from the Island of Majorca off the Spanish Coast to Memphis. On the morning of July 4, 1947, Lynn Eugenia McClanahan was born. On her 11th birthday, her father, John Reid McClanahan gifted her with the red case. The following morning, Tara found her husband slumped at his writing desk and he was buried on July 7, 1958.

The McClanahan mansion in Memphis caught fire on April 12, 1969. Tara Eugenia McClanahan died of smoke inhalation, leaving the land and businesses of the McClanahan Estate to her sole heir Lynn McClanahan. Returning from Presbyterian College in South Carolina to the burned out mansion, Lynn searched for the red case her father had given her 10 years earlier. The false floor bottom where she had kept the treasure chest was gone, only the base of the case remained. Picking up the blackened red base of the case, she heard a rattling within what she thought was a solid piece, snapping the wood revealed a hollow center and within she spied two ruby teeth, two iron rings joined by a one inch metal chain. In 1970, she had a jeweler mount the conjoined iron rings to a thick cord of a silver chain in Macon, Georgia as she continued her medical studies at Mercer University.

She learned that her mother had sold the family businesses long before the fire to maintain the mansion and send her to school. With just shy of $500,000 in her account after selling the land where the mansion once stood to a family friend named Jim Taylor, Lynn Eugenia McClanahan would leave America for service to her country as a nurse in a place called Vietnam in 1972. Within months, she fell for a helicopter medivac pilot named Trace Hatcher. They planned to marry when they hit stateside. In August 1973, three months pregnant, Lynn returned to Memphis, Tennessee, bought a home and gave birth to Elvis Hatcher McClanahan on January 19, 1974.