The sign on the gate read: ‘GROUPS ONLY PLEASE - SORRY FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE’ and that was it.
     Mohammed leaned stiffly against one of the pillars and yawned; he had arrived fifteen minutes earlier and was becoming bored with the wait but knew that he had little choice. The sky was an azure blue, cloudless, the air as clear as the desert night from whence he came; and silence tumbled over him like a dawn mist rolling in off the ocean. This he welcomed. It was some relief from the steady drone of engines in the evening sky and the ceaseless thud of bombs randomizing their targets.
     Mohammed Aziz. Beautiful boy. Fourteen years old and the neighbourhood’s champion soccer player. His skin was the colour of rich honey and it glowed then with sweat as his eyes began to absorb their surroundings with greater care. Those eyes. Not brown as you might expect, but the darkest and deepest green – the colour of an unfathomable sea.
     “You will have your choice of any girl,” his mother proclaimed proudly to him every day, but he was too modest to believe it and too busy playing football to consider such distractions.
     Twenty minutes gone by. Surely someone must arrive soon, he thought. How good it would be to share some company or perhaps even make up a group to go through the gate together.
     Then, as though somehow he had willed it, Mohammed felt the faintest whisper of breeze catching the black curls on his forehead and a rush of wind whistled up through the blue, settling with a whoosh somewhere near his feet. He looked up, intrigued. They were standing together; a woman and a young girl. The girl was asking, “That sign on the gate mother. What does it say?”
     Mohammed’s voice resonated in the empty air, “It says that we have to go inside in groups,” and pulling himself onto his feet he carefully brushed away some particles of dust from his clothes.
     “Who are you?” The girl asked, startled, her eyes locking on his as she began to scrutinize his face. Her skin was as pale as moonlight on snow.
     He smiled at her directness. “Mohammed Reza Aziz. And you?”
     “Jennifer. And this is my mother, Ruth.” she answered, her tone beginning to soften a little. “Mohammed. That’s a funny name.”
     “It’s Arabic. Mohammed was our Prophet.” he explained, and added humbly, “I’m proud of my name.”
     Jennifer stared at the boy who could scarcely have been much older than herself and proffered a delicate pink hand, “Pleased to meet you Mohammed Reza Aziz,” she said, feeling the sincerity of her greeting reciprocated in the gentleness of his touch. Beside her, her mother, whose lovely face was normally settled in a kind of vague gaze, had become distracted and tense. She was saying, “I need to let your father know Jennifer. He’ll be waiting for us.”
     Jennifer looked at her oddly, “Someone will tell him mum.” she said. “Stop worrying. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”
     And the three sat down together on the grass. To wait.
     “So where is your mum Mohammed?” It came as a shock. He had not wanted to think of his mother yet. He did not wish to confront his concerns. “She’s at home,” was all he said lowering his eyes, and Jennifer knew enough to leave it there and move on. “Do you think we’ll have to remain here much longer or might they let us in, just the three of us?”
     “They have rules Jennifer,” replied her mother, “We should abide by them and be patient. I’m sure someone else will come soon.”
     They did not have long to wait.
     This time there was no great whoosh of wind, only a sense of tension in the air before his arrival. “Steven Jeffers,” he announced loudly, striding with purpose towards them and hesitating only when he noticed the boy. Mohammed eyed him with interest; the man’s face was unfamiliar and he wore a strange grey uniform.
     “What’s with the sign?” The question was directed at no-one in particular and demanded no response for Steven Jeffers was already rattling the locked gate impatiently. “Has anyone rung the bell?”
     “There is no bell,” replied Jennifer, “There’s just that sign.”
     Steven was unprepared for the delay but shrugged his shoulders and joined them on the grass where Ruth was regarding him curiously. She had a cousin in the Air Force and recognised the uniform. “You’re a pilot?” she asked.
     “Yes ma’am. I flew my last mission this morning.”
     Mohammed waited patiently. He was in no hurry. There was still plenty of time. He closed his eyes and thought about his mother and the feel of her arms around him as they huddled together in their small home. He thought about the plane that seemed closer than the others, the sputter of its engine and the sound of a missile searing through the night sky seeking a target. He thought about his fear and his mother’s terrified sobs as their house imploded around them; but most of all he thought about the man he did not know who surely could not have understood the terrible destruction he had created. Mohammed opened his eyes and saw tears begin to flow down the pilot’s face.
     “I’m really sorry kid.” Steven made no attempt to hide his anguish. “It wasn’t meant to be you at all. I made a mistake. It happens sometimes.”
     Jennifer took her mother’s hand and held on to it tightly. They looked from the face of the boy to the face of the man and waited. Mohammed sat motionless, soaking in the confession that he had known must surely come.
     “You have done a terrible thing Steven,” he said eventually, “But I feel your pain and can see that you are suffering too,” and then reaching out a hand in conciliation, added, “I already forgive you.”
     Jennifer stared at him in disbelief and her voice was angry when she spoke. “He murdered you Mohammed. How can you forgive that? I don’t understand.” Mohammed simply looked into her face and smiled.
     None of them moved. They continued sitting there on the grass waiting for the disturbance of air that would herald the arrival of another to their group and Steven, with the keen eyes of a pilot, saw him first. In the distance a speck of dust transformed itself into a man who bore down on them with great speed. Closer and closer until Jennifer could focus on the features of his face. Closer. She knew the face now. Still closer. It was right in front of her. She could see him through the windscreen of the car.
     Then, nothing.
     She felt a hand on her shoulder shaking her gently. “Look Jennifer,” said her mother, “He has come.”
     The man stood before them nervously. It had been a difficult journey knowing that they would be waiting for him at its conclusion. Ruth felt a great sadness, for she had wished with all her heart that he would not have had to follow them there. Beside her, her daughter’s mind was on her father who would only now be hearing the news of their deaths. She thought of the years that she would never enjoy his love, or a boyfriend’s affection or her own children’s devotion, and she turned to the man who had taken her future away from her. He was regarding her closely, his body bent tightly around itself as though bound with strands of invisible pain.
     “Was it lack of sleep or were you just drunk?” she demanded, needing something to blame; as if in some way it might make things easier.
     He looked at her, confused. “It was the dog.” he said with genuine remorse, “I swerved to miss the dog.”
     For the first time Jennifer felt the vulnerability of the human soul, recognising that another’s pain could only be relinquished by her own forgiveness. The delicate thread between life and death that connected them was hers to sever or strengthen as she chose, and only then did she understand Mohammed’s earlier absolution.
     “Will you go with us through the gate?” she asked the man, extending her hand and guiding him forward to join with the rest. Her mother placed an arm lovingly round her daughter’s waist and the three fixed their eyes on the path ahead, leading through the now open gate. The pilot and the boy followed; their steps in unison as they walked easily together behind the others. As they reached the gate each one paused momentarily to reflect on a life left behind to which there could now be no return. Only Mohammed glanced back for one last time, smiling in the knowledge that his mother had never come.
    Then they advanced together, hands entwined, as the gate swung closed behind them and the azure blue stretched out into an endless sky.