The Endless Golden Dunes

Chapter 12: Wisdom for the Lost

HAMZA

  
There had been a great deal of talk about the moment. It wasn’t something that was gossiped about, but rather something you would often slip into conversations. You could be talking about something else and someone comments ‘just like what Umar did to Abbas!’. It was a laughing matter to them, a little jest. Not to Hamza.
  
He had stared, gaping when the two had fought. How much more could it escalate from there? What if they were to kill? That could be a possibility considering how things were going.
  
On the night before Shaban, the eighth month of the calendar, as Hamza lay on his bed, staring at the limestone ceiling, he decided something. For some time, he had thought about it, hesitating to resolve to it in fear of being wrong or being wronged. Yet, it wasn’t the question of him being ridiculed, but rather of whether there would be peace between two people.
  
He closed his eyes, thinking of how the conversation could end up.

***

  
It was on another sparring session when Hamza spotted Umar sitting on a bench. Hamza’s mind showed a little hesitance, it faltered. His legs, for a moment, refused to go forward. Hamza forced them to do it, to the point where he was practically dragging them.
  
When he reached the Persian, he barely looked up. He might have stared at Hamza through his eyelash, but it was only for a moment. Hamza willed himself to sit next to him.
  
For a moment, he simply just looked at him, staring at his gaunt features. He noticed that he had dull, hazel eyes that seemed to have gone black with dread. Umar might have felt quite awkward with Hamza silently sitting with him, so he turned his head to look at him.
  
‘What do you want?’ he asked, not kindly.
  
‘I was simply seeing if you were … doing all right.’
  
He chuckled.
  
‘It’s not like you care, you’re just giving me the illusion you do.’
  
‘I do care.’
  
‘How do I believe that? Oh, I get it. You pity me. You pity me because I’m pathetic. Is that the case?’
  
‘Certainly not. Not in a thousand years will that be the reason.’
  
‘If not, what other reasons are there?’
  
‘I believe that there is a reason.’
  
‘Reason for what?’
  
‘Reason for why you act the way you do.’
  
A pause followed. For a moment, Hamza thought that Umar would try to strangle him. Mercifully, he simply shook his head.
  
‘This is just me; no reason.’ He said.
  
He was a bad liar. That would be one of the first things that Hamza would realize about Umar.
  
‘Surely there is a reason?’ Hamza said. ‘What Abbas said about you were baseless. It wasn’t true. But you know the truth. Can you tell me? Every “terrible” person that I have met had a reason for their behavior. It’s natural for us men to mirror what we experience. All you need to do is consult them for it, talk to them about it, and let it heal. I have done that to many people.’
  
Umar shook his head. This one was reluctant, as if he wasn’t shaking his head to Hamza, but rather to himself.
  
‘I swear on – I swear …’
  
Umar hung on his words. He picked them up when he dropped them, but then he dropped them again. Hamza understood what this meant.
  
‘You are lying.’ He said.
  
Umar stayed silent.
  
‘If you want, I will not talk about this any further.’ Hamza offered.
  
Umar nodded slightly and quickly. Hamza could have mistaken it for a grimace, or him on the verge of slumber.
  
‘But I will say this one thing: talk about it to yourself,’ Hamza said. ‘Pretend you are not yourself. If you aren’t able to do that, try to convince yourself to talk about it with someone else. If you can’t do either … tell me about it, not that you have to, of course. I am simply saying it would be the best course of action.’
  
To his relief, Umar nodded again. This wasn't done on instinct. This one was genuine.
  
‘Thank you for your time; I – I understand that you’re going through some kind of pain. I see it in your eyes, I see it everywhere around you. I just want you to know that I’m always here if you need me. All right?’
  
Now, Hamza didn’t need an answer. He already knew that Umar was paying attention to him. Nonetheless, he waited until Umar nodded. He nodded back.
  
Hamza stood up and walked two paces.
 
‘You are a good man, Hamza. Thank you.’
  
Hamza turned around and looked at Umar’s face. There was no smile, yet his eyes showed so much at that moment. There was a story with no words, meaning with no harf, with no letters. No longer were his features gaunt, but rather alive with some kind of thing … hope.
  
Hamza smiled.
  
‘I’m glad that I could be of help.’