Maryam wasn't here today. Her parents insisted she returns home. She promised she would come over and check up on me periodically. i have gotten so used to her presence, even when she didn't speak. Her absence makes me feel lonely.
it shouldn't matter so much i tried to tell myself. in the end she wasn't going to stay by my side forever, plus even when Abbas was here i was still lonely in the day. But it was different then because the idea of knowing he was coming home made the day less lonely. The idea of knowing I will see him and I will end my day with him in my arms, with his eyes embracing mine. When will I get to see him again?
How is he? What sky is he beneath? which clouds are hovering over him? which soil is he sleeping on? is he sleeping or is he too distressed? is he eating or has he lost his appetite? How is he?
I flinch removing my hand from near the stove, the maraq flew onto the back of my hand. I was too immersed in my thoughts but I'm not surprised, lately, it seems like I abide in my thoughts more than I live in actuality.
I squeeze a lemon into the maraq and drink. It warmed my insides for a few minutes albeit the thoughts didn't disperse. Then the sound of the athan emerged from outside and I prayed. In prostration, I pray for Abbas, I pray for his safety, I pray to see him again soon and I pray for the safety of my baby. Then I pray for the entire world because I think there is always someone out there suffering.
I think what i hate most about being alone is not the silence around me but how loud my thoughts become. Like voices that are trying to eat me out alive
what kind of mother can I be? what if I fail and he ends up like the street boys? how can I possibly protect him. He needs a father, abbas would've been better than me, so much better than me.
so I went into the yard wrapping a light cloak around my whole body and head. I sit on the stairs in front of the door. The sun shone brightly on the fig tree and I hid in its shade. I open the Quran to a random page, praying that the page will like always provide me with the tranquility I desire. it was page 193, I stutter the letters and repeat them slowly, calmly, and I feel the blur in my eyes, I feel the tear trickling down my face and onto the page in front of me. "Do not grieve; indeed Allah is with us"(Quran 9:40) and indeed he is. I wipe the tears with the back of my arms sniffling my sobs.
My throat was dry and burning, I felt shame, I swallow, subsiding my cries. if Allah had taken care of me for this long how can I question the future? it will be alright. I massage my temple repeating this to myself deliberately in an attempt to dissipate the previous thoughts. . The pain will disperse, it will. I was not lonely, Allah is near.
I felt the moons light on my face and eventually after feeling calmer, I close the Quran and head back inside. I gaze at the ceiling and realize it was leaking. It must have started raining, I think about pulling myself up and placing a bucket under the leakage but somehow my body was chained. I couldn't move and I certainly didn't want to move.
I watch the drops of water trickling down the ceiling and hitting the floor. I should really put a bucket there I tell myself but I was too worn out. I close my eyes and listen to the water drops
Trick ... trick ... trick
And then I hear the wind blowing against the fig tree in front of my window. The wind howls and the branch scratches against my window. I felt a shiver run down my spine and then I thought about a Jini outside, causing that sound; scared I pull the blanket over my head. I make tasbhee perpetually until my thoughts fade and i fall into slumber.
"it's going to be okay, i raised you without your father, or do you think i was a bad mother"
"Mama, mama" i run trying to catch her in my arms but the more i ran the further she got.
"don't run, you silly girl, listen you will do just fine, you are my daughter and bint athman, be strong qalbi. have faith! she smiles gently and her eyes seem filled with joy. The type of joy she had when we were younger.
"mama" my lip trembles, she was so beautiful standing there. i walk closer to her but her features faded "mama" I yell, running this time. i open my eyes and find my legs moving in a running motion on the bed. i bite the bottom of my lip, it was just a dream. I let out a silent cry. This was the last time I cry, being a crybaby won't get me anywhere. It won't change anything. I'm going to be fine, i have to be strong. My mother had raised both me and my sister, i can raise one baby. I can. I'm not alone after all, Abbas will return.
I will show him how well I have raised our baby until he returns. He will come and he will be so proud.
****
"Hadiya, Hadiya" Maryam runs into the house with a wide grin that can almost reach her ear. she sits beside me with her burqa still on and holds my hands. I finish the dua "رَبِّ هَبْ لِي مِنَ الصَّالِحِينَ" "My Lord, grant me [a child] from among the righteous." before looking up at her
"ya Allah make it good news," i say gesturing my hands to the air
YOU ARE READING
A silent cry
Historical Fiction"and after all this time of waiting the devil would reach out to me and whisper, he's dead and you are here, how much longer will you wait, how much longer would you deny the truth, at some point, I was afraid that he would unlock my ribcage and sen...
