Enver entered my office like he always did, with a blank expression and a gun in his belt. There he is, I thought, the man that found me on the streets when I had no one else. I didn’t know if I could do it. But then I thought, he is the man that taught me to kill and murder. He is the one that made me do cruel things. And at that moment, I knew what I was going to do.

Not hesitating a second, he asked, “Why did you tell me to come here?"

“Great to see you too,” I said, “take a seat.”  He was constantly looking around because he would always notice change, even the smallest bit. I could tell he noticed that my office desk wasn’t messy like it always was and that neither my assistant nor partner was in the building. It was completely empty, just like I wanted it. I pulled out a bottle of wine from my mini fridge under my desk, poured it into two glasses and then handed him one. I asked him, “Have you heard the story of how Mevlana and Şemsin met?”

He nodded and said, “No.”

“I suppose you would want to hear it,” I said.

“Go on,” he said. So I did as he said.

“In his time, Mevlana was the most wise and rich of knowledge person in all of the land. There was no known book that he hadn’t read. There was no known book that he didn’t have in his library. He was a man that learned the world in between pages. He once ran into someone who wanted to be like him. He wanted to be wise and rich of knowledge. He wanted to learn the values that Mevlana had learned with his eyes. His name was Şemsin (Sham-sin). He asked Mevlana,  ‘The things you say that give you your knowledge and wisdom, the things you say turned you into you. Are they really the reason behind your wisdom and knowledge?’

Mevlana chuckled and said, ‘I’ve learned a lot of things in life.’ He tapped a book he was holding and then said, ‘I’ve read tons, I’ve read more words than you have heard in your life. These books are the philosophy of my life.’

‘Well if that’s the case, I want to see for myself. Give me three of your top books, the books that mean the most to you.’

Mevlana got up and walked to his library. He came back and handed him the three books that he loved more than his own soul. Şemsin glanced over the three books and then proceeded to throw all three of them in the pool. Mevlana was freaking out, trying to save his books. It was no use, the books were already destroyed.

Şemsin got him to calm down and sit. He told him, ‘Look, the thing you’re looking for is not inside those books. You will not find what you’re looking for by reading. You cannot fill the blank space in your life with your eyes. You will find it by searching the world. You will find what you’re looking for with your heart. Every book in the world is just brain games; they are billions of pages that can’t take the place of love. You will learn by reading, but you will understand by loving.’”

         

“It’s a great story,” he said, “But why are you telling me it?”

“Love,” I said, “Have you ever loved? Have you ever had someone that you would give your life for? Cause I did, I would give up my life for you without a second thought.” He squinted his eyes as if it was heavily raining. I pulled the gun from my belt without him noticing and inserted the silencer under the desk. After years of holding guns, they felt as light as as feather to me. But not this time. This time it felt like lifting a million tons.

“You’re a cruel man,” I said. “You have never loved.” I pulled my million ton gun out and pressed it up against his forehead and pulled the trigger. Pressing the trigger was even harder. It felt like the gun was pointing at my head, and it felt like the bullet went through my own skull. Afterwards, I walked away without looking back. Why did I murder the man that put a roof over my head and food in my stomach? One man, who woke me up, he made me realize what Enver wanted from me. His name was Aslan.

          A week before I did what I did, Aslan called me over into his office. His office was emanating the aroma of pomegranate tea. We sat down and talked for a long time. The wrinkles on his face had patterns of an old tree trunk. He poured tea into my cup. I asked, “Do you have any sugar to go along?”

“Sorry, but I’m not allowed to have sugar; after all, I’m very old. But instead of sugar I could tell you a story.” He caught my interest, and I nodded my head. “Have you heard the story of Hassan Sabbah?” he asked. I shook my head.

“Hassan Sabbah was a man that lived in a castle in the steep mountains of Pamukkale. He was known as a man who could take down empires, a man who served justice, a man who spread fear. And then there was a king; he wanted Hassan Sabbah dead. He sent his bounty hunters to bring him the decapitated head of Hassan Sabbah. Hassan Sabbah knew this and sent his messenger to the king. In the Ottoman Times, messengers were untouchable, so no one was allowed to hurt them. The messenger arrived at the king’s castle. He stood in front of the king and he was asked what message he was sent to tell him.

The messenger took a look around and said, ‘It’s too crowded here.’ The king cleared up the room. The messenger shook his head and said, ‘Only you are to hear this message; send your guards out of the room too.’ The king sent them out as well. But there were still two guards in the room. They were the slave guards. Slave guards were guards of the king that always traveled with him. They were the ultimate loyal guardians of the king. The messenger told the king to order them out of the room. But the king resisted.

 ‘I cannot send them out of the room. They are my sons, I have nothing to hide from them, the three of us are one person.’

‘Well then, I’ll just tell you in front of them.’  The messenger turned to the slave guards and said, ‘If I told you to slaughter the king, what would you do?’

The the two guards pulled out their swords and said, ‘Without a blink.’ The messenger walked away without looking back."

         

“It’s a great story,” I added.

“Now, who am I in this story? Aslan asked.

“You’re Hassan Sabbah,” I replied.

Aslan shook his head and said, “No, I’m the messenger. Then who are you in this story?”

“I’m the guard with my hand on my sword,” I replied.

 “What would you do if I told you to kill Enver?”

“Without a blink,” I said. I tried to act calm to try to hide the fact that heat ran through my whole body like a marathon. Aslan pulled out his pistol and handed it to me. My throat felt dry and I gulped. When I took the gun, it felt like a dumbbell weighing a thousands pounds. I already knew what he was going to say next. He was so calm that it felt like he had done this a thousand times before.  He nodded his head and said, “Then you know what to do.”

-Farshad Tajik