Save the Last Bullet for God (11 page)

I shared what I had found regarding the
mystery of the disjointed letters with Elif. I didn’t receive much
of a response. She only stared at me and my work, troubled and
confused. She was surely angry with me—like any human being would
be at a person they lived with who locked himself in his room and
didn’t leave the house for months. I knew I had not communicated
with her except for a few words every now and then, and, moreover,
I had made a big mess of the house. But I was so close to the end
that I postponed making peace with her.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that I need to
postpone telling you, reader, about what I found.

I had a 114-unit-thick planar sheet formed
in the shape of squares of different sizes. I arranged those layers
from front to back in the order of the suras’ chronological
arrival. Each square was fully aligned on its upper right corner.
As you may know, Arabic is read from right to left, and the
disjointed letters at the beginning of each sura are on the top
right of the page. I thus reconfigured the disjointed letters.

First, I colored each disjointed letter red.
Then I put the three-dimensional figure opposite myself. At this
point, I was stymied. I had been trying to examine what I had built
to perceive the depth of the transparent information, while being
careful not to touch the information cubes. This not only took a
lot of time, but also led me to lose track of time completely. I
began to fear that this was as far as I would be allowed to
progress. My fear grew to despair and that slowly turned into
surrender. Suddenly, an idea flashed through my mind.

I had read somewhere that when the
Qur’an’s suras are placed in chronological order of their arrival
or revelation - Traditionally the Qur’an’s suras are set from
roughly the longest to the shortest. - the first sura, Kalem,
begins with a disjointed letter to the sura, Araf. Thus, I left the
disjointed letters red in the beginning of the sura, Araf, then
began to examine the first set of disjointed letters in the longest
combination, starting with
-elif, -lam,
-mim
, and
–sad,
and each column on the front/back plane in the third
dimension. After a very long, laborious effort, I found the same
letter combination—
elif, lam,
mim
, and
sad
—in
the same order in the front/back plane.

Suddenly I was yelling and jumping
like crazy, letting my laughter and tears flow into each other. My
efforts had been rewarded, but I wasn’t done yet. I needed to
finish my broad scanning completely. I found another column
composed of the same magical identical letters (
elif, lam, mim
, and
sad
). Then I found yet another identical
combination of letters on the three-dimensional figure composed of
114 layers on the right/left plane and two more on the front/back
plane. Dancing around, I marveled at this figure from every angle.
It was done, and I watched it for hours in a state of charmed
contentment.

It was time to return to my research. I
browsed through the available books and websites and repeatedly
re-read my notes and the scientific papers that I had gathered.
Eventually, I came across this information: a plane passes through
three dots and Cauchy’s integral formula passes through that plane
in a three-dimensional ambient to uncover and determine the
information on the plane.

This set me to work with more urgency. Up
till now, my predictions on the nature of the message or the figure
written on the plane were often contradictory. When I applied my
findings, it hadn’t occurred to me that I would encounter such an
incredible figure as the one that showed up on the plane. I began
to slip back into despair as I had come to another dead end.
Despite all my thoughts, experiences, and endless work, I was
stuck.

What happened next was something that I
would have never expected—but doesn’t a miracle always happen this
way?

The plane that connected those three glowing
red dots was perceived by cutting off each information cube and
taking in the tiny particles it contained. When the figure of this
plane’s fraction appeared right in front of me, a big, blank, white
page with a small dot in its asymmetric upper right corner lay, in
all its glory, right in front of my eyes. The impossible had
happened: the plane, swinging like a sword, didn’t touch anything
but a tiny dot as it passed through the three-dimensional image.
The odds of this were that of tossing a coin thousands of times and
having it always land on its side.

How could a miracle be more elegant and
clear than that?

I had to tell someone. I hugged Elif
enthusiastically, held her hands, sat her down, and tried to tell
her everything I had found and learned and the possible
consequences of it.

Elif responded with enormous confusion and
even more disbelief and tried only to calm me down. I realized what
I had discovered was profound, but my ability to explain it was
limited. In time, I did what she told me: I restrained my
excitement, collected my thoughts, and thought over my sudden
responsibility. If the person closest to me didn’t understand me
because of my excitement, it meant that the problem was me, and I
had to iron it out. Otherwise, the public would greet me only with
mockery before I could tell them a word.

So I explained to Elif that I wanted to
write a book to share what I had found with everyone. In doing so,
I would make every effort to give my miraculous discovery its
due.

Elif saw that I was calmer now and she
smiled encouragingly at my new idea. We sat together for a long
time and talked and hugged more than we had in quite a while. She
helped me tease out my ideas a bit, and even tried to reshape them.
For my part, I agreed to change some of my behavior and act more
like a responsible person.

We cleaned up the house and went to the
barber together. I tried to catch glimpses of her as she sat
outside the barbershop, sipping her coffee. We once again walked
hand in hand along the coast of Tuzla, and, like old times, she got
scared of some kittens while I calmed her down. We played
backgammon at the old coastal coffee house where we used to go. The
waiters joked that they had missed us and our fights. We ate at our
favorite fish restaurant and gave them the same excuse that we had
been busy.

The feeling of returning to Elif, and to
life itself, calmed me down and wrapped me up in a feeling of
peace. Lighting small candles at home, we surrendered ourselves to
the dark room, the luminous pool, and the sea view.

…

How difficult it was to write a book. What a
lot of trouble it was to put my thoughts on paper.

I reviewed my findings over and over again,
and I wondered whether my readers would understand what I wrote.
There was no difficulty with sharing my thoughts with myself, but
it was more difficult to explain those thoughts to another. In my
mind, the discovery didn’t need any depiction, vocal expression, or
vocabulary.

So I began the book with the story of an
incredible discovery, something that I could tell the reader
beautifully, but when I tried to write the details of that
discovery, I saw how difficult it was to reflect these ideas in a
book. I knew what I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how to say
it.

The house began to fall apart again, and
Elif and I began to talk less. I was again subject to questions
that I left unanswered and, hence, had to deal with her scolding.
As I spent more and more hours in front of the computer, she gave
up, surrendering to the flow of her own academic life.

…

I dove into the book. I prepared the
template, identified the topics to discuss, and sorted and
organized the available materials and the sources that would be
quoted—provided that they fit with what I was writing. These tasks
were only the beginning. The writing itself was much more
time-consuming and difficult.

Sometimes, I spent days in front of a
half-written page. I would complete the page with a few weak
keyboard strokes that I would later erase. In rare instances, I
rode on the wings of my muse for hours and wrote nonstop with
little need to return or delete anything.

During this stage, the only thing that I
could be proud of was my perpetual effort. It took a long time for
me to realize that I hadn’t been to the hospital for ages. I had
taken a long-term, unpaid leave to devote myself fully to writing
the book. I lost myself so much in the project that, if Elif hadn’t
been there for me, I would have forgotten about the hospital
altogether.

When Elif had the time, I insisted she read
what I had written. She would read aloud to me and I would read to
her. I asked her whether I had expressed what I wanted and if she
had any suggestions. When necessary, I stood right in front of the
door of our room and insisted that she give me suggestions. Most of
the time, she would sit beside me while I sat in front of the
computer screen caressing my head and sipping her coffee. She would
sometimes watch me writing at length, trying not to disturb me or
ask any questions. She only asked me one question when she came
home from work each evening, “How was your day, honey?” But
sometimes, she would force me to stand up from my desk and get
something to eat.

Elif calmed down as she realized that the
book was nearing completion. The tension in the house began to
lift, and, although it took months, I finally typed the last
period.

I waited for Elif to come back from work so
that we could celebrate the book’s completion. Darkening the room
and lighting a few small candles, I stood with a printout of the
book, rolled and wrapped with a ribbon. When the door opened, and
Elif appeared, I let out a cry of joy. She gave a look of excited
surprise as I kissed her and gave her the roll that held the
completed book.

“It’s finally done!” I yelled. Using all the
strength left in my weakened body, I hugged her and tried to spin
her around, and, in my clumsiness, we fell and rolled on the ground
laughing together, while my screams of joy echoed off the walls of
the house. No one would have believed me, but I had done it—I had
finished my book.

That night, we hugged and had a sweet talk
about us, the future, and what the book and the potential fame
would bring into our lives. We talked and talked. When the candles
went out, we were still holding each other and sharing the
magnificent sea view outside our window.

…

The next day, I talked to Elif about my
inexperience in these matters. I didn’t have an academic
background, and I hadn’t had a book published as she had. I asked
Elif to be my manager, to find an editor, get in touch with a
publisher, and nurture the book toward publication. In truth, I was
exhausted. The discovery process and the ordeal of writing had worn
me out, and I needed to get some rest and put my mind back
together.

I spent the following days browsing
publications on the internet and waiting for an answer from the
editor. Elif explained to me that the editor would examine all the
writing in the book and correct even the slightest mistake. He
would analyze the narrative itself to see whether it was possible
to reach the intended audience—in other words, to determine whether
the reader could understand the things I wrote. If necessary, he
would even send the book back for revision. She explained that this
would be the beginning of an exciting new process. However, I
feared that the editor would tell me that the book was a waste and
that readers wouldn’t understand any of it.

At first I was patient, but the waiting
process began to annoy me as it grew longer. I asked Elif if it was
normal and began to put some pressure on her. Finally, I reached
the end of my rope.

“Is there something I don’t know?” I asked
her. I began to confess my fears. What if the publisher stole my
book, along with the code that I had found, and published the book
under his own name? After we quarreled, Elif set me straight and
told me she would solve the problem.

Two days later, Elif showed up with the
editor, and we hosted him at the house for a while. I was very
relieved when he told me his thoughts on the book—how he was
impressed by the code I had found. In his exact words, “Everything
was magnificent. I read the text from the beginning to the end
without touching even a letter. I expect the book to be a great
success.” As he explained it, his reading had taken longer than
expected because the book was very comprehensive and contained a
great amount of mathematical data. So that was it! Thank God!

Now the house was in a state of complete
celebration. Elif and I again had pleasant conversations at home
and sat watching the moonlight and listening to music while we ate
together. Elif gave a final version of the book to the publisher
and handled all the necessary agreements and legal procedures.

Only someone who has had a book published
could understand the anticipation I felt. Time stood still. Not
only days, but also hours lay heavily in my hands. I tried to pass
the time, desperately awaiting the day when I would hold the first
copy in my hands. That thought stayed with me as I went to bed and
was with me when I woke up. I dealt with my excitement by talking
to Elif. She kept telling me to calm down; I kept telling her that
I was trying but I couldn’t.

When Elif, bored with my moodiness and
impatience, came home with not one but three copies of the book in
her hands, I was on top of the world. In childlike happiness, I
grabbed one copy from her hand, kissed her on her cheek and ran to
my room. I examined the cover and the pages of the book as if they
were magical objects. I held my book with the grace of a mother
holding her newborn baby. I swear that I had never before slept as
peacefully as I slept that night with the book in my arms.