Bazir Malek finished a quiet lunch with his wife. The debate still loomed ahead just hours away, but he felt prepared. He would do his best and if Mason Alexander beat him, then so be it. He would still do his best to serve Allah and to spread the word of the prophet Mohammad. This much he owed to himself, to his lovely wife, Reshmina, and to his party. The Muslim world had suffered untold persecution for thousands of years. And finally they were at a precipice that could forever change the future.
“Did it go well with Mr. Bishop, Bazir?” She asked.
“Well enough.”
“Did you win?”
“No, my dear wife. I did not. Even the virtual world version of Mr. Mason is quite artful with words.”
“And the debate tonight?”
“It will proceed as planned. Mr. Bishop seems to be positive about the outcome.”
“Do you think, Bazir, that this man Bishop is a strong enough campaign manager?”
“He is, dear wife. I agree, his western eccentricities are not something with which we are accustomed, be he seems to have a feel for what the citizens want in a candidate.”
“Let’s hope he is right.”
“I agree, Reshmina. I too hope that he is right. The future of our Muslim heritage may in fact depend upon it.” He paused.
“Have you heard from our brethren?” She asked.
“No, not in the last few days.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It is for the better. This is a very important time, and it would not do for the media to make the connection.” She nodded in agreement. “Reshmina?”
“Yes, Bazir.”
“Do you think the path we have chosen is a wise one?”
“Wise?” She asked. “Necessary may be the better choice of words, dear husband. There comes a time in every man’s journey through life that he must make the difficult decisions. And it is the man that can make those decisions for the greater good that is the true leader of men. Bazir, my beloved, you are that man.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“Ah, Reshmina, I thank Allah every day that you are in my life.”