The next morning, as her taxi pulled up to the edge of the colony, Khalida Ali was relieved to see that Joseph was waiting to meet her. She paid her driver and then stepped out onto the street.

"As-salàamu, Miss Ali," Joseph said. "Good morning."

Khalida hesitated but then replied, "As-salàamu Alàykum, Joseph." She was a Muslim visiting a Christian colony. There was no hiding that fact.

Although she was an experienced reporter, she had never been into a Christian colony. She generally interviewed politicians or businessmen and occasionally scholars or religious leaders. But she didn't write about the poverty in Pakistan. No one covered that beat. So, she knew she was in for some surprises today.

Walking into the colony, Khalida saw a few heads turn. She was dressed modestly in a traditional Pakistani pants suit, but it was a more expensive cut than the other women on the street were wearing. She could see that many of the people recognized Joseph. They must be wondering, she thought, what he's doing leading a rich woman into the colony.

She didn't think of herself as wealthy. But in comparison to the people she was passing on the street, she had to admit that she was rich. As they moved deeper into the colony and the streets became more congested, she experienced a sense of claustrophobia. The narrow spaces between the buildings were crowded with men, women, children and animals. To one side she saw several cows tethered, and dogs and goats were wandering around looking for garbage to eat. The dogs were mangy, but then there wasn't much meat to eat on the streets. The goats seemed to be faring better.

They turned a corner and came upon a marketplace with men and women selling nuts, fruit drinks, cigarettes, and other kinds of food, and various utensils. Down an alley two men were welding in the street, and another man was replacing a tire on a rusted rim of a wheel. In the next alley several men were standing and drinking on the corner. Two haggard addicts sat on the street nearby, inhaling heroin together.

"Watch your step," Joseph said over his shoulder. She followed him closely as he pushed his way through the crowd. Looking down at her feet she saw there were holes in the pavement. The smell of sewer water filled her nostrils, and she felt like she was going to vomit. Quickly, she stepped over the holes, covering her nose with her scarf. When they turned the corner, however, the smell became stronger. The colony was built around a large cesspool filled with raw sewage floating in filthy water that was festooned with blue and pink plastic bags and other pieces of trash.

"It's only a little further now," Joseph called to her.

Khalida felt faint due to the sickening odors until they turned into an alleyway and made another turn in order to come to Paul's mission where the smell was less intense. She hurried forward, eager to get off the street.

Joseph opened the gate and led her through the small courtyard and then into the front room of the mission. He turned on the light and closed the door, shutting out most of the noise of the street. Joseph knew Paul was visiting the hospital that morning, but Miss Ali hadn't wanted to see Paul. She had come to gather information for a story she was writing about Paul.

Khalida lowered the scarf she had been holding over her nostrils and scanned the small room they had entered. There was a bed, two chairs, and a low table. The floor and walls were plaster and had recently been painted a bright white. She remembered that the mission had been broken into not long ago, on the night that the public seminar was held in Karachi. Probably Paul had repainted the room after the attack.

"Please, sit down," Joseph said, motioning to one of the chairs and sitting on the bed. "Sister Martha will be here in a few minutes."

Khalida was surprised not to see a crucifix on the wall or any other religious hanging. This wasn't her idea of how a Catholic mission was supposed to look. There was no sign of a Bible in the room either. How intriguing!

"If you'll excuse me for a moment," Joseph said, "I'll make some tea."

"Of course. How many rooms are there in this mission?" she asked, as Joseph stepped through the curtain into the back room.

"Just two."

That meant that Paul must sleep in the back room that also served as the kitchen. She got up and tiptoed to the curtain in the doorway. Through the crack at the side between the material and the frame of the door, she could see Joseph squatting over the burner and stirring tea leaves into the water. To the right she saw a single bed and above it the crucifix she'd been expecting. She was surprised to see that tape was holding it together. Before Joseph could see her, she returned quietly to her chair and took out her pad and pen. This was the story she'd come to research. A simple priest, who lived and worked among the poor of Karachi, was challenging the political and religious establishment of Pakistan. How extraordinary!

She was making notes when Joseph returned with a pot of tea and three cups. There was no milk or sugar on the side. All had been mixed together in the making. He poured the brew into her cup and then into a cup for himself. "Sister Martha must have been delayed," he apologized. "I thought she'd be here by now."

"Well, then let's start with you, Joseph." Khalida smiled warmly at him. She knew that would loosen his tongue. "How long have you known Fr. Paul."

Joseph took a sip of tea before answering. "I've known about him for years, but I never really knew him until Samuel assigned me to look out for him a couple of weeks ago, after the elders made the decision to support a petition against the blasphemy law. Since then I've been traveling and working with him every day."

"What can you tell me about the mission."

"Fr. Paul works with drug addicts. He counsels them, helps them find work, holds their money for them at first until they can manage on their own, and counsels their families, if they have any. He's also set up a savings program that allows people in the neighborhood to put their money together into a bank account, so they can earn interest."

"Are there many addicts in the colony?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Many of the men turn to drugs to escape the pressures of life here."

"Where do they get the money?"

"Initially most of them have money from working. But after they spend all their own money, they steal from others."

"Why aren't they arrested and put in jail for stealing?"

Joseph smiled and put his teacup on the table. I'm sure he thinks I'm incredibly naive, Khalida thought.

"We don't call the police, because the police will mistreat anyone they arrest. Our elders decide what's to be done, and the men of the colonies enforce their decisions."

"You have your own police force?" she asked.

"No, but we take action to resolve disputes in the colonies and to deal with things like stealing. We take care of ourselves, Miss Ali."

"And young men like you accept the leadership of the elders?"

"For the most part, yes. Of course, there are problems, but generally these are worked out without violence."

Khalida looked at his wide shoulders and large hands, realizing that Joseph wasn't simply Paul's bodyguard. He was someone the elders relied on to help keep peace among their people.

"Why do you think Fr. Paul decided to file a petition against the blasphemy law?"

Joseph shifted his weight forward in order to sit on the edge of bed, putting his thick forearms on his knees. "The Catholic Church teaches that human rights are the necessary social conditions for human dignity. Fr. Paul believes that the blasphemy law is being used to deny fundamental human rights to Christians in Pakistan. Therefore, as a priest, he feels he has an obligation to try to resist the blasphemy law."

"But there are many other priests in Pakistan and none of them filed this petition. Why do you think Fr. Paul chose to do so?"

"Not all priests take so seriously the teachings of the Church, at least the teachings about social justice." Khalida noticed the edge in Joseph's voice. He'd obviously had some kind of run in with Church authorities.

"But that doesn't explain why Fr. Paul took this initiative? There must be some more personal reason why he would risk his life in this way?"

Khalida could imagine answers to her question. Perhaps Paul had a relative who'd been threatened with prosecution under the law. Or, he might have had a vision from God telling him to do this. There must be some particular reason or experience that would explain his extraordinary decision.

She could see that Joseph was a little exasperated with her for pressing him on this point. "I think he just felt that it was the best strategy. Someone had to do it. He volunteered."

Khalida realized that she needed to reassure him a little more, if she was going to get any personal details about Paul. She smiled again at Joseph and watched as he relaxed and then returned her smile. He was a handsome young man, especially when he smiled. It wasn't hard to be nice to him.

"Can you tell me anything about Fr. Paul's daily schedule?" she asked, continuing to smile and looking directly into Joseph's dark eyes.

"He gets up early to say Mass at the church next door. After the service, we have tea and maybe a roll. In the morning he visits with the addicts or goes to the hospital or to someone's home. He also visits businessmen in the colonies to explain the work of the mission and to try to enlist their support. He has to raise his own funds, so he works hard to obtain the donations that are necessary for the mission to survive."

"In the afternoon he tries to read, although recently he hasn't had much time. He reads from the Bible, and he reads books on theology and sociology. Sometimes we talk about what he's reading. He also has meetings to attend at the rectory with the Bishop or with others in the Church. He sits on a couple of diocesan committees, and he has to do some work for those."

"We have our main meal here in the evening. At night I hear him praying in his room, sometimes for a long time."

"He doesn't have a television?"

"No."

"What about a radio?"

"He had a small one, but it was smashed by the men who raided the mission. He used to listen to the news in the evening."

"How does he get the news now?"

"We keep him informed. We buy a paper each day and keep him up to date on what people on the street are saying."

As Joseph finished speaking, Khalida heard the gate shut outside and then the front door opened. A small woman wearing a plain gray blouse and skirt with a white scarf over her hair quickly entered the room.

"I'm sorry to be late, Joseph." She turned to greet Khalida. "Hello. I'm Sister Martha."

Khalida had risen and now offered Sister Martha her hand. She felt the hard calluses press gently against her far more delicate skin. "Thank you, Sister, for taking the time to visit with me."

Joseph was already pouring Martha a cup of tea as both of the women sat down.

"I'm sorry, Martha. The tea will be cool now."

"That's all right, Joseph. I'm sure it will be fine."

"Joseph has just been telling me about the work of the mission and life in the colony," Khalida said. "He's been very hospitable and helpful."

"He's a fine young man," Martha said, "and a real credit to our community."

Khalida could see that Martha had genuine affection for Joseph. I'll bet he's the son she wished she'd had. Looking closely at Martha, Khalida was struck by the openness she saw there. Martha looked directly into Khalida's eyes, while she sipped her tea and waited for a question. A few gray hairs poked out from under her scarf, but her face was remarkably unwrinkled except for the tiny lines at the edges of her eyes.

"Tell me, Sister, about your work at the mission."

"Primarily I do things with women and children. I teach hygiene to the mothers and arrange for children to get immunizations at the clinic that's held in the church once a week. I visit women in their homes, listen to their problems, pray with them, and take messages to family members who are in the hospital. Last year we began a tutoring program in the church after school, and half a dozen young children come twice a week. Older children help them with their studies. We can't pay the volunteers, so I make them tea and provide biscuits."

"It sounds like you're the mother of the mission."

Martha laughed, and Khalida saw how at ease she was with being a middle-aged woman engaged in family work for the sake of the Church.

"Now don't get me in trouble with Joseph." Martha smiled broadly. "I'm not his 'mother.' We're co-workers."

"What is your relationship with Fr. Paul?"

"We're also co-workers, but he's responsible for all the work of the mission. So, officially I'm his assistant. In fact, however, we share much of the work."

"Do you two ever have disagreements?"

"At times. Fr. Paul isn't always very practical." Martha glanced at Joseph, her eyes sparkling. "He's not very good at keeping track of expenses and other details. Sometimes we disagree about that. But more and more he simply leaves those decisions to me."

"You seem to have a lot of freedom in your work at the mission."

"Oh, yes." Martha laughed again. "And I take advantage of it."

"Why did you become a nun?" Khalida regretted the question as soon as she had asked it, but Martha didn't seem offended.

"I became a nun in order to have more freedom. If I'd married, my husband would have had full control of my life. I'd also have to do whatever his mother said. But as a nun, at least working here with Fr. Paul, I'm free to do what I think is best."

"Is Fr. Paul unusual in allowing you so much freedom and responsibility?"

"Yes. He's a very special person."

Khalida wanted to find out more about this spirited woman who obviously had a close relationship with Paul.

"Besides the freedom you have here working with Fr. Paul, what is the best part of your work?"

"The people. Sometimes I get discouraged. The filth, the poverty, the problems are overwhelming. But the spirit of the people always picks me up. And the Mass. I look forward to worshipping each morning in the church. I love the prayers, and I love to sing the refrains of the service. The people and the prayers of the Church, they keep me going."

"Have you always loved the Church?"

"My mother was very religious, but my father thought that the Church was a waste of time and money. I first began to enjoy worship at the girls' school I attended. One homily I heard when I was about ten years old has stayed with me, so it must have had quite an impact on me. Certainly I don't remember any other homily from my childhood. In fact, I can hardly remember what was said in a homily ten minutes after the mass is over! But this one homily has stayed with me. The priest said he carried in his wallet a small card that said, 'I'm third.' God is first, and everyone else is second, he said. I remember afterwards that I made myself a small card that said, 'I'm third,' and kept it in my school bag for several years. I don't recall what finally happened to it."

"How did you happen to come to work at the mission?"

"I was assisting at a nursery in the center of Karachi for working mothers. When the funding ran out and the nursery closed, I needed a place. At the same time Fr. Paul was looking for an assistant."

"So it was chance that brought you here?"

"No, I don't think so. I believe God brought me here to work with Fr. Paul."

"Why do you think Fr. Paul chose to file the petition against the blasphemy law?" Khalida wanted to see if Martha might have some insight into Paul's motivations.

"He believes it's God's will."

"Has he had any special confirmation of his decision?" Khalida pressed.

Martha either didn't notice the sarcastic tone of Khalida's question or chose to ignore it. "I'm sure his decision has been confirmed through his prayers."

"The mission and the church have been attacked once because of his decision. Aren't you afraid?"

"No. I was afraid, but now I'm just happy to be doing God's will. The service we held the morning after the attack drove away my fear.

"Why? What happened there?"

"It's hard to explain. God touched us and renewed the gifts of the Holy Spirit among us. Our singing became more inspired, our prayers came more directly from our hearts, our sense of community became stronger." Martha laughed again. "It's the way the Church is supposed to be but often isn't."

"May I see the church next door?"

"Of course." Martha rose as Joseph picked up the cups and took them into the back room. "Follow me."

The two women went out into the street and up to the next gate. When they entered the sanctuary, Khalida was surprised to find that it was so small.

"How often do you have worship here?"

"Every morning and twice on Sunday."

"And how many people come to the daily services?"

"Now, twenty to thirty. Before the attack on the mission, only five or six people came. But since then the people have been very supportive."

Khalida scanned the room with a critical eye. The walls had also been repainted recently, but the garden scene behind the table at the front of the room was looking tattered and the rug on the floor was worn. The sanctuary was very clean, however. She was sure this was due to Martha.

"Do you worry about Fr. Paul?" Again, Khalida regretted the question. It had just popped out.

"Of course. But I pray for him all the time, and I trust that God will take care of him."

Khalida thought of Paul. He was a good man, but his life was in danger. She didn't think that praying for him was much protection.

"Fr. Paul told me that you were trapped in the church the night two men broke into it. How did you escape? There doesn't seem to be any place to hide."

"Come into the sacristy, and I'll show you."

Khalida followed Martha into the small room in back and watched, as she pulled the bookcase away from the wall, revealing the small closet behind it.

"The two of you spent the night together in there?" Khalida asked.

Martha flushed. "We had no choice. We hid when they came, and when they left the light was still on. We didn't know if they were waiting outside, and we couldn't leave without being seen. So we had to stay where we were."

Khalida could see that Martha was embarrassed.

"You love him, don't you?"

Martha lowered her eyes. "He's a good priest, and I'm trying to be a good nun." She looked up suddenly, her eyes flashing. "We're just friends and co-workers."

She'll fight to protect him, Khalida thought. They're very close friends, but I'm sure they have kept the rules of their orders. They're both too devout to have broken their vows.

Joseph's entrance into the sacristy released the tension.

"Thank you, Sister Martha," Khalida heard herself saying, "for taking the time to talk with me and for showing me the church."

"You're welcome, Miss Ali. Joseph will take you back out of the colony and get you a taxi."

"I'm sure I'll be safe with Joseph, Sister."

Once they were in a street Khalida looked back at the mission and the church. Sister Martha was standing in the door of the church, watching them as they walked away. Khalida raised her hand and waved, and Sister Martha waved back. Then Khalida raised her scarf to her nose to block out as best she could the disgusting smells of the Christian colony.