LITMIR.BIZ

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theory will someday bring about the unity that seems so elusive now. You must continue with your writing and research—this world desperately needs your knowledge. We will get through this and there will be a brighter day for all humanity. You’ve inspired me to follow in your footsteps, and I am very excited to be learning just a fraction of what you already know.”

      Dr. Quitan leaned over and put his arm around his daughter. “Mariah, I still sense Anya’s presence with me every single day. Sometimes when I look at you, or listen to the words you speak, it is almost as if she were speaking through you. There is no death, Mariah, only a transition to a higher frequency. The underlying energy of life is eternal, and it is only from the perspective of this world that events and beings seem temporal. Beneath the surface of these bodies we inhabit is a sea of energy connecting all of life at the most basic level. Time and space are illusions of the mind, human constructs. Life is, in its essence, unrestricted by either. This is what keeps me going through all the difficulties I have had to face in this life. My mission here is to bring the good news of a reunion between science and religion. Life is all-inclusive, never exclusive, as many of our religions would have us believe. Even those three men who sat across from us as adversaries are really part of us, as we are part of them. Ultimately, the pain we inflict on one another is only pain we inflict upon ourselves. If people would ever wake up and see the true nature of our existence, all this killing and harm to one another would stop. I would love to see that day before I leave this planet,” Mazen smiled wearily as he hugged his daughter. “Come on Mariah, let’s get some dinner and go back to our apartment.” With that, father and daughter walked arm in arm out of the courtroom and off into a world that seemed totally oblivious to the quantum world of Dr. Mazen Quitan.

      Four Days Later

      Courtroom 4B was one of the larger rooms in the municipal courts building in downtown Portland. The walls were nicely paneled in a dark mahogany, and on this particular morning, the sunlight streamed through several large windows on the east side of the building—a bit of an unusual phenomenon for Portland in February. It was almost 9:00 a.m., and the courtroom was already packed. Although the media had been excluded, they were in the halls and outside the building in force. The Quitans had taken the MAX (Portland’s area transit system) into downtown to avoid driving, and were besieged by reporters as they walked up the steps of the court building. Opting for no communication before the verdict, they quickly made their way into the building, up to the fourth floor, and to the plaintiff’s table. Already seated across the aisle were the three neon-orange-clad Neo-Nazis, still looking as angry and menacing as they had the previous Friday. Many of their fellow NNN members were seated in the gallery behind them, and the Quitans’ side of the gallery was filled to capacity as well. Given the tension throughout the country with the Iraq war, this case had particular significance, as it seemed to represent what was probably far more widespread hostility and prejudice toward the Muslim community as a whole. Whereas few people openly condoned the alleged actions of these men, many felt that it was a sort of renegade justice being served in retribution for the acts of 9/11. The NNN group was not favored among Portland residents, but in this instance, had achieved a sort of grassroots popularity for their bold efforts to right the wrongs of the terrorist acts against the US. Anti-Muslim sentiment had almost reached a group-hysteria level, and secretly many people thought that the Quitans had received their just reward for practicing an “anti-American” sort of religion. Everyone present eagerly awaited the jury’s verdict.

      The jury had already entered the room, and the bailiff announced for all to rise as Judge Walker followed. As she entered, indicated the court was in session, and rapped the gavel on the stand, the crowd took their seats and looked toward the twelve jurors. The judge looked over to a middle-aged African American man, dressed in a three-piece business suit, who was the jury foreman, and asked, “Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?”

      The gentleman fidgeted somewhat as he opened a folded piece of paper in his hand and looked toward Judge Walker. “Yes we have, Your Honor.”

      Judge Walker briefly ran her eyes around the courtroom, pausing to look at both plaintiff and defendants. “And what is your verdict, Mr. Foreman?”

      Clearly a bit nervous, the foreman saw out of the corner of his eye the three large orange-clad defendants looking menacingly in his direction, then slowly replied, “We find the defendant Ralph Henderson guilty of aggravated assault, and the codefendants, Messrs. Hartman and Stimmel, equally guilty as accomplices. We also find all three defendants guilty of arson in the burning of the Quitan home, Your Honor.”

      Almost immediately, a mixture of growls and cursing emanated from two of the defendants as well as the large group of NNN members seated behind them. The sole and very noticeable exception was the third defendant, Buzz Henderson, who sat motionless, with his head down and his face buried in his hands, where no one could see his reaction.

      Immediately the judge rapped the gavel and called for order in the court. “Very well, Mr. Foreman. Will the defendants please rise?” As the three orange-clad men got up from their seats and stood, handcuffed before the judge, two glared directly at her, while Buzz continued to hold his head down and stare at the floor. “Gentlemen, you have been tried in a court of criminal law and found by a jury of your peers to be guilty as charged. Your sentencing will take place in this courtroom two weeks from today.” As she raised her gavel to signal the end of the proceedings, Judge Walker was stopped with the gavel in midair by a sound coming from the plaintiff’s table.

      “Your Honor…”

      The sound came from Mariah Quitan, who had risen to her feet. As the judge hesitated, gavel in the air, looking over toward her, she repeated, “Your Honor, I have something to say.”

      Judge Walker glared at Mariah and stated unhesitatingly, “Ms. Quitan, this is highly irregular. The time for any statement from you is well past.”

      Mariah glanced down at her father, who was totally puzzled by her behavior, and whispered, “Father, you may not agree with me, but this is something I have to do. I hope you understand.”

      Looking back up to the judge, she continued, “Your Honor, I am aware that I am completely out of order here, but I have to say something that is very important, if you would please give me just a brief moment.”

      Judge Walker looked at Mariah with an expression somewhere between aggravation, puzzlement, and utter curiosity. “Very well, Ms. Quitan, if you insist, but please make it brief.”

      “Thank you, Your Honor. This will only take a moment. I waited until now to speak because I wanted the defendants to know what it felt like to be convicted of crimes that would cause them extensive imprisonment. I wanted them to know how it felt to have hope taken away and nothing to look forward to other than a life behind bars.” As she spoke, Mariah moved away from the plaintiff’s table and now stood directly before the defendants. Buzz had raised his head now, with tears clearly visible on both cheeks. Bear and Blood looked harshly at her, wondering what it was she had to tell them. Mariah continued, “All three of you were excited about having some sort of revenge—humiliating, raping, and murdering a young girl you hardly knew—calling me a Muslim whore, when in fact, I was no more than an innocent virgin following in my father’s footsteps, trying to make the world a better place. My father and I are no more responsible for 9/11 than you are for whatever steps your country will take to devastate the Middle East in retaliation. Hatred, killing, and revenge can only bring about more of the same. As a quantum physicist, my father has taught me that we are all connected by an underlying energy field, so that hurting another person or place is in fact hurting our own selves. We are United States citizens, just like you are. Other than the American Indians, everyone here came from another country, including yourselves. That has created the strength and diversity we proudly call America. People here come from all over the world to call this country home. The United States has always stood for tolerance, freedom of speech, and religious freedom. It is an organization like yours—riddled with hatred, malice, and bigotry—that is un-American, not simple people like my father and me, who quietly practice our religion and strive to make our community and nation a better place to live. I respect the legal system in this country, and am pleased that it found you guilty of the crimes that you committed against us.”

      Mariah

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