Breakfast time in the guesthouse kitchen.

“Hey man! What you doing today?”
“Nothing as usual.”
“Perfect day then… Those are prayer beads?”
“Yes. I must calm my spirit. Prayer stops me from being consumed by my anger.”
“You’re going through some shit?”
“I am in exile.”
“Oh. From your country?”
“Yes. From my home. I have been in exile for twenty years. When the civil-war came in my country, and the new regime took power, they do not want me in their way. I am the last son. The direct descendant of the ancient prophet. What the regime and the Mullahs teach is false. They know I will contradict them.
In my country, after the revolution, many men looked to the stars. They did what you call astrology. They discover the day and the time when I must return to Mecca.”
“When is that? Are you going to go?”
“The time for my return is very close now. It is not my decision to make, to return. It is my path… my destiny.”
“What are you going to do when you get to Mecca? It’s a pilgrimage, right?”
“Yes. It is a pilgrimage of a kind. But it is much more than that. When I am come back in Mecca, when I stand before Him; then the angels will descend; then, all will be as in the most ancient prophecies. The Antichrist will rise. The powers of good and evil clash and resolve themselves.”
“You mean… I just want to be sure I understand you properly, because there is a small language barrier. You are talking about Armageddon?”
“Perhaps it is the beginning of something like that. It is not for me to know that. I am just the one who begins it. Like the key that opens the gate, my part to play is small; but without the key, the gate remains closed.”

 
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