Although Petrus saw a bit of his own youth in Abraham, he also thought his son was pushing the limits far too much—so much so that, although they had escaped lightly for now, they could one day pay a much heavier price. He sat Abraham down, intending to intimidate him with harsh words and threats, expecting his son to shrink back. But he was wrong. Abraham rose to his feet and said:

“Father, for God’s sake, not a single thing you’re saying makes sense! How can what I’ve done be considered defiance against God? What I did was to help people. I cannot understand being scolded when I should be appreciated.”

Abraham showed no intention of stopping; he continued:

“I see no greatness in him. I have never once seen him pray until dawn; instead, he lives in comfort and ease in his château and doesn’t even bother to come help us in the fields. If the world is transient, why does he behave as if he will remain in it forever? Judging by his manner and his words, people see him as God’s representative—or even as a part of God. They say that without him we would starve. And the Lord seems pleased with this belief, for he makes no effort to correct it. We’ve already heard many blasphemous statements from him that were brushed aside as mere slips of the tongue. I believe I am his equal. His being the Lord does not give him the right to wrong us.”

Petrus’s only wish was for his son to live a peaceful and quiet life. The truths Abraham spoke of were not unheard of among the people, yet Petrus—whether out of habit or fear—ignored the Lord’s wrongful, even idolatrous, behavior just like everyone else.

Abraham recalled the passage he had read:

“Those who linger in limbo before disaster, imagining themselves safe, will experience the greatest limbo after death—caught between heaven and hell.”

Limbo is the place where those who remain between two states, with an uncertain fate, are held. Various divine sources contain similar interpretations about those who dwell in limbo.

The belief, status, rank, or knowledge of these individuals means nothing. Those who, in the world, remain stuck between love and hatred, justice and factionalism, equality and superiority, humility and arrogance, racism and universality, brotherhood and hostility—yet fail to turn toward what is right—will, on the Day of Resurrection, remain in the place called limbo.

Those who commit the seven deadly sins—foremost among them pride—and those who support tyrants and despots will be shown their disgraceful state. In that moment, they will understand the torment of having lost paradise and the fear of the hell they may be sent to at any instant. Their only consolation will be that, even if they did not oppose the oppressors, at least they did not openly support them. Yet at the same time, remembering that remaining silent in the face of injustice is itself a form of supporting it, they will anxiously await their fate.

Abraham had repeatedly explained the warnings of the divine book to those who lingered between the oppressed and the oppressors. He often said, “Setting aside the matter of belief, if you continue like this, our island will turn into an unlivable place. The books I read make this very clear.”

This time, his mother Linda intervened:

“My son, there is something important we must tell you.”

Abraham had taken a few steps toward his room so as not to upset his parents, but at Linda’s words he turned back, sat down, and with his eyes said:

“I’m listening Mother.”

Linda continued in a gentle tone, hoping to persuade her son:

“You know well that we are a people firmly bound to our traditions on this island. This is necessary—for us, and for the island to endure for many more years.”

Abraham already sensed that the conclusion of this speech would not end favorably for him. Linda went on:

“You have reached the age of marriage. According to our customs, we will marry you to your uncle’s daughter.”

Abraham was stunned. Where was he even supposed to begin objecting? To the fact that his mother had spoken in a tone that left him no choice? To being forced into marriage when he had only just stepped into adolescence? In truth, even beyond all of this, the greatest absurdity was being compelled to marry his uncle’s daughter. He had never looked at her that way. Even when he tried for a moment, he found that she simply wasn’t his type.

She was someone who talked incessantly, commented on everything, and was criticized by those around her for it. Abraham, on the other hand, spoke little and to the point. Another detail that crossed his mind was that he preferred dark-haired girls, not blondes. “All right, maybe that doesn’t matter so much,” he thought, but marrying that girl—seeing someone he had regarded as an older sister in a completely different way—felt utterly repulsive.

At first, he considered using the age difference as an excuse, hoping to escape that way. But then he realized it might sound as if the other reasons weren’t important. So he decided to speak plainly straight from the heart:

“Mother, do you realize what you’re saying? Are you telling me I must marry my uncle’s daughter?”

“Yes—just like every young man and woman!”

“Of course I’ll marry someday, but there’s no rush. And I’ll decide who it will be when the time comes.”

Linda stepped in with an authoritative tone:

“I don’t think you understood me. On this island, every man is required to marry his uncle’s or aunt’s daughter. This has been practiced for generations.”

“Traditions are fine, but sometimes we don’t follow them. For example, Father always uses his work as an excuse not to visit my grandfather’s grave.”

Linda shook her head from side to side:

“You still don’t understand. This is God’s command, not a tradition. If you disobey this command, God may strike you down,” she said.

Hearing the look in Abraham’s eyes and almost sensing him think, “And I’m supposed to believe that?” Linda turned to Petrus and said:

“You answer him.”

His father muttered, “Must you question everything? Just say ‘okay’ for once!” Then he added, “Get up. We’re going.”

“Where are we going, Father?”

“To show you the Sealed Ones. See them first, and then you’ll understand what we mean.”

Abraham had been to many parts of the island. His parents usually brought home the milk and eggs, but he had gone himself a few times to the northern side of the island where the animal farms were located. He had noticed that the grazing area for the animals was wide, and just beyond it stood a wooded area with several hut-like houses at its center. He had sensed that the trees were almost deliberately encircling the huts—as if trying to hide something.

He had wanted to go there once, but the guard told him it was forbidden.

Another detail that had caught Abraham’s attention was the timid, fearful glances of the people tending the animals. They would secretly watch him from the corners of their eyes. Abraham understood that his father, who was now walking toward the animal farms, was going to explain something about those people—but what could it be? They looked like ordinary human beings.

After Petrus spoke with the Lord’s servant at the farm, he signaled to Abraham to come over. Abraham realized they were heading toward the huts surrounded by trees, having passed through the cattle, sheep, and dog farms.

Lowering his voice, Petrus began to speak:

“You won’t see these people anywhere else. They are forbidden to leave this place. You won’t see them in the fields, in the marketplace, in the town square, or in the temple—nowhere.”

As a child, Abraham had always fantasized about discovering hidden, secret things. And he hadn’t changed much as he grew older. Like a covert spy, he asked:

“Why, Father?”

“We call them the Sealed Ones, because each of them bears on their teeth the seal that God places upon sinners.”

Knowing his son well, Petrus continued:

“I’ve gotten permission from the guard. Go on—don’t stand there. Talk to that girl over there. You won’t believe it unless you see for yourself. Look at her teeth.”

“If you’ve come for milk, speak with the guard at the gate,” she said.

Abraham felt as if he were communicating not with another branch of humanity, but with an entirely new species. He approached the red-haired, hazel-eyed, fair-skinned girl, and she, too, was frightened by the stranger approaching her. It was the first time she had ever seen a young islander from outside the farm. Because she did not know about the innate difference between herself and the others, she completely misunderstood the reason for Abraham’s visit.

“Um…” Abraham didn’t know what to say.

“When will you produce the milk?”

“Excuse me? Produce it? Do I look like a cow to you?”

Abraham’s cheeks flushed red with shame.

“No—sorry. I meant, when will you be giving the milk to the guard?”

He was just about to tell her his name and introduce himself when the girl’s mother rushed in between them.

“Melisa! My daughter, you may not speak so much with strangers. Show him your teeth,” she said, and then sharply pulled down her daughter’s lower jaw. The poor girl protested:

“Mother, what are you doing? You’re hurting me! And what is he going to do, stare at my teeth?”

But it was no use. One of Abraham’s eyes was fixed on the answer to the mystery of the seal, while the other could not help but notice the girl’s beauty.

“You’ve seen what you came to see. Now leave,” the woman said, while the girl added her final words:

“She wasn’t just looking at my teeth — she was looking at everything else too. Just like a butcher who examines an animal before slaughtering it to judge the quality of its meat,” the girl said.

Abraham wanted to apologize again, but from the stern looks of the guard and his father, he understood they were calling him over.

Petrus was angry with him:

“We told you to look at the girl’s teeth, yet you’re busy chatting with her! You saw them, didn’t you? Her teeth?”

He nearly said, “I didn’t just see her teeth, I saw everything… Father, I want to marry that girl.”
But he stopped himself. He didn’t even know her name, and falling for someone at first sight didn’t seem wise. Even joking about such a thing was something he didn’t dare say to his father.

Petrus gestured with his hand, signaling Abraham to listen to the guard.

“The Lord has assigned my family to care for this farm. My father and grandfathers before me all served in this duty. Everyone here is someone who disobeyed the Lord’s command regarding marriage — those who chose to marry someone other than their uncle’s or aunt’s child. As punishment for violating this divine command, their children are born with a mark on their teeth: a yellow–brown stain. These teeth have small pits and areas of erosion.”

“Usually, these marks can be seen on most teeth, right where the tooth joins the gum. Long ago, many people broke this rule, but thankfully nowadays there are no such sinners. In the past ten years, a few couples ignored the command, calling it superstition — but when their children’s teeth appeared marked after a while, they understood their mistake. It was then decided that such people must stay here and serve, seeking the Lord’s forgiveness,” the guard said.

He was about to leave when something he had forgotten came to mind:

“Also, it is forbidden for any child born with marked teeth to marry someone from outside.”

Petrus turned to Abraham:

“You saw with your own eyes how God marks sinners. Fine — don’t think of yourself. But will you not think of your future children? I hope you’ve realized that if you disobey, you’ll be forced to serve in this farm for the rest of your life!”

While listening to them, Abraham subtly glanced at the servant children of the farm.

He thought to himself:

“My God, they’re telling the truth! But how can this be? Why should children be punished for the mistakes of their parents?”

That night, as Abraham lay in his bed trying to find answers to the questions in his mind, a storm of thoughts raged within him. He thought of those who married simply because the Lord commanded it. In fact, at that moment, all the marriages on the island came to mind. There was a considerable number of mentally and physically disabled people on the island. If they had fulfilled the Lord’s — or, according to the islanders, God’s — marriage command, shouldn’t they have been rewarded?

If sinners were marked because they opposed the marriage command and were thus punished in one way, then why were the other families — those who obeyed — plagued with something far worse: children born with disabilities? Even if one believed the tradition was flawed, why was it only the children of those who disobeyed who had such yellow-brown stains on their teeth?

While one part of Abraham’s mind searched for answers, the other remained fixed on the girl he had seen at the farm — the one the people called “the sealed.”

“My heart was pulling me toward the farm, but how could I ever go there?” he began to wonder.