"A belief that there is no God does is senseless to me," I began. My voice was calm, almost relaxed. "It has no evidence. On the other hand, I do have evidence that God exists. All things are perfectly and naturally organized and coordinated. The Earth rotates every twenty-four hours and completes its revolution in up to three hundred and sixty-six days. The process is consistent, without the slightest mistake.
"The Earth is neither too close nor too far from the sun, ensuring a favorable temperature for life. Based on current scientific knowledge, Earth is the only planet with the precise conditions necessary to support life. Furthermore, consider DNA—its structure and mechanisms. Consider a cell. In simple terms, it contains everything required to carry out highly specific functions essential to our survival. These activities are extraordinarily organized and coordinated. A single mistake can be fatal. Yet we possess billions of such cells, operating flawlessly.
"I won't even begin on biological systems and processes. While I may not have scientific evidence that God exists, I do have scientific evidence that an entity—peerlessly wise and powerful—planned, organized, and brought all things into existence in a self-sustaining way. In a nutshell, nature itself is the evidence."
I reached my conclusion and fell silent.
For a moment, the men stared at me, attentive and unmoving. Then the priest cleared his throat.
"You are not far from the kingdom of God," he said.
In my mind I said, "Okay…"
"But you should realize there shall be blessings and curses," He continued, "They coexist." He demonstrated by bringing his hands together to form a circle.
My turn again, I thought.
"I believe blessings occur," I said aloud. "I'm not sure about curses."
I actually thought they do not.
"The majority of what we call blessings and curses are simply luck and misfortune," I continued, "And luck and misfortune are coincidences."
The bearded kid clicked his tongue and looked away in what I assumed was disgust.
"You really get on my nerves with these absurd views of yours."
"Your perspective leans dangerously close to atheism," the dark-suited man added. "I'm concerned about you, young man."
I gave both him and the bearded kid brief glances before fixing my eyes on the priest again. I was waiting for his response.
"Let me share a story of mine," the priest began. I liked his calm demeanor. "This is a real-life experience from decades ago—before I devoted myself to the divine.
"I was traveling in a minibus to Salima. I had a dispute with the conductor. He accused me of not paying the fare, though I had. I thought perhaps he had smoked chamba, but what puzzled me was that he interacted with everyone else calmly and soberly, without the slightest mistake. He only forgot me.
"I found myself in a very difficult position. The neighboring passengers betrayed me by refusing to speak up. As a result, I was mercilessly thrown out. It devastated me. I was left with insufficient money to continue the journey. Going back home—though hardly possible—was equally devastating.
"At the time, I was your age. Young. Wild. Free. Canceling the journey was not an option. I had to call my sister for help.
"Later, I learned that the minibus was involved in a collision with a bus at the Salima turn-off. Not a single soul was lost on the bus. In stark contrast, not a single soul survived on the minibus."
The priest respected his full stops, and at this final full stop, the dark suit man spoke.
"'22?" he asked, "Festive season?"
"Yes," the priest replied with a firm nod.
A flicker of recognition passed across the dark suit man's face.
"Oh my God, I remember it," he exclaimed. "The news scared the hell out of my dad. He eventually canceled our family vacation. I got really, really mad at him."
"Young blood," the priest said, glancing from the dark suit man to me.
At the same time, a groan escaped the bearded kid, drawing stares from everyone. His expression was one worn by someone utterly baffled—almost disturbed. I had no idea which part of the dark suit man's words had triggered his reaction, but it quickly became apparent he had no intention of sharing it.
The priest turned back to me.
"What I received was a blessing in disguise. It had been God's doing all along."
"Fine," I muttered.
I leaned back instinctively and was reminded that there was nothing to support my back.
"How about the other passengers?" I asked. "A curse?"
"Man, it's obvious!" the bearded kid interjected. I didn't even spare him a glance.
"What you're saying is that God resented them?" I asked, pulling at the hairs on the back of my neck. "Why? Why would He do that? Weren't most of them innocent? From what I understand, you fought with the conductor and your neighboring passengers betrayed you. That still leaves a whole bunch of uninvolved, innocent lives."
The priest hesitated, unable to respond immediately. The dark suit man spoke instead.
"You can't be certain they were innocent. Perhaps they committed other sins."
He raised his brows as though the argument stood firmly on its own. I saw the cracks immediately.
"We all sin," I said. "He already acknowledged that he was a sinner too."
This time, even the dark suit man said nothing.
"It's about the degree of sin," the bearded kid cut in. "Think about sins like lying to your girlfriend about being short on money. We—"
"I don't lie to my girlfriend about being short on money," I interrupted.
"Anyway," he continued impatiently, "we all do such small sins every day. You—"
"I don't do such small sins every day," I cut in again.
"Oh, well—you're perfect, Mr. Hypocrite," he snapped.
The remark struck a sour chord deep in my chest.
"But you can't compare those sins to serious ones like murder."
I didn't have time to explain that no one was obligated to sin daily—not deliberately, not everyday, not obligated. More importantly, I had no interest in debating about a sin being a sin.
"So you're implying the minibus was full of murderers?" I challenged. "How many such people are walking free right now? Why did God spare them and punish those passengers specifically? Frankly, it's unlikely they were all serious sinners. I say unlikely because I despise the word impossible. In short, what you call a curse is far more likely to have been coincidence."
"I didn't say it was a curse!" The priest finally revealed his displeasure. He glanced briefly at the bearded kid before continuing. "But I do disagree that it was coincidence. Perhaps the accident was inevitable, and God rescued me. He definitely had a hand in it."
I nodded—but only to a part of his statements.
"It's possible God influenced events in one way or another," I said. "But the probability of coincidence remains higher. I don't see why Jehovah would favor you when you were simply another sinner. If it were about your future role, God could have shaped anyone into a spiritual man. To me, you were in the right place at the right time and they were in the wrong place at the wrong time"
As I spoke, the Arab man rose from his seat and bid farewell to his companion—a man in a striped gray shirt beneath a dark jacket, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties.
"For example," I continued, "the Arab man might be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, and something bad might happen to him, or he might be—"
Bang!
A gunshot.
I saw it. I saw everything.