OUT OF EDEN WALK

It was during Ramadan, in the fasting month. The cleansing month. The holiest month of the Muslim lunar calendar. It was at Medina—just outside Al-Masjid al-Nabawī, the mosque of the Prophet Mohammed, the second holiest site in Islam after Mecca. Sixty thousand people had gathered at dusk to break the day’s fast together. There was a certain vibration of light in the air. A pale, tender, yellow sky at sunset. Across from me sat a big man from Afghanistan—a red-haired Nuristani. There were people from all over the world, hungry, musing quietly inward, waiting. I am not Muslim. But I had been fasting all month as well, out of respect, in order to know. The Nuristani passed me his orange. Passed him mine. We did this several times, laughing. And then we ate in silence.