Before Our Dawn| ongoing

sixty-four

Chapitre soixante-quatre
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The house settled into a tranquil stillness as Klaus and Heidi slumbered peacefully in Isra's former bedroom, their gentle breaths the only sound that travelled down the narrow corridor. The cool night air, infused with the delicate fragrance of jasmine and the tang of sea salt, drifted in through the open windows. In the living room, bathed in the warm glow of a single lamp which cast elongated shadows against the stone walls, Marcel, Isra, and Samia sat together. It had been years since they had shared such intimacy, and now, with the children asleep, they could finally converse without reservation.

Samia adjusted her position on the seat, her hands clasped in her lap as she gazed at Isra, her expression a blend of relief and lingering anxiety. "When the war ended," she began, her voice hushed and measured, "and I received your letter, words cannot describe the relief that washed over me. Every day before that, I was consumed by the fear that I might receive the most dreadful news... or that I would never hear from you again."

Isra nodded in understanding, her fingers tracing the border of the cushion beneath her. "I know, Mama. I apologize for the delay in writing. The aftermath of the war was chaotic, and we were struggling to make sense of it all." She glanced at Marcel, who sat beside her, finding solace in him.

Samia offered a wistful smile. "There's no need for apologies. Simply knowing you were alive was enough." She paused, her gaze dropping momentarily as if collecting her thoughts. "After that initial letter, being able to correspond with you was an immense blessing. I have treasured every letter you sent, you know. Your words... they sustained me."

A surge of guilt mingled with gratitude welled up within Isra. "I have kept yours as well. Each time I received a letter from you, it felt like a lifeline."

In the years following the war, their letters had formed a bridge across the distance that separated France and Algeria. However, it was an imperfect substitute for physical presence, and there were questions that remained unanswered, emotions that written words could not fully convey. With each letter she signed, Isra felt the distance, the inability to reach out and touch the mother she yearned for.

After a brief silence, Isra spoke, "What about Baba's grave? I have thought about it countless times." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You moved back to Algeria... I never had the chance to say goodbye."

Samia's face softened, her expression etched with a grief that had clearly endured over the years. "I know, my love. Your father... Tarek was so proud of you. I wish you could have been here when we buried him, but we couldn't wait. After his death, I couldn't bear to remain in France any longer. His heart had always belonged here in Algeria, and I felt compelled to bring him back to his homeland." She drew a steadying breath. "He is buried just outside the city, in the family cemetery. I will take you there tomorrow. I will take all of you. It is a serene place, and I believe... I believe it will bring you some solace to see where he rests."

Isra nodded, her throat constricted with emotion. It was only at this moment that she realized the profound need she had to visit her father's grave. It was another unresolved aspect of her past, left incomplete, like so much of her life.

A stuffy silence descended upon the room, their conversation coming to a brief halt. Marcel sat beside Isra, his hand resting on her knee. Samia's gaze turned towards him, her expression harbouring curiosity and kindness.

"I never inquired in our letters," Samia began, her eyes fixed on Marcel, "but I have always wondered what you endured during the war. Isra was initially reticent to share details. I know you were drafted... but after that, everything became a blur for us here. You never spoke about it."