Remembering Shauqina

Chapter 22: Going

CHAPTER 22: Going

The operation ward’s door slid opened and amidst the tubes and machinery, I recognized the wavy locks of Zak. He seemed unconscious. His mother ran up to his bed and I watched from afar as the doctor whispered something to her. At length, I could hear her stifling a sob and then her shoulders shook - she was crying. I forgot who I was, and ran up to Zak's bed, which was being wheeled furiously into the opposite ICU ward. He has gone ashen pale. Too pale. His eyes were closed, but the pupils seemed to be moving and I stupidly pointed that to the mother. She stooped down to his ear and whispered calmly.

"Remember Allah...remember Allah..."

Before I could protest, she pulled me into the ICU unit together with her and we watched as the nurse deftly linked Zak up to the respirator. When all the nurses had gone, the doctor came and pulled Zak's mother aside, still talking in whispers. I wasn't thinking as I went up to his bedside. There were small beads of perspiration on his forehead. I looked at the monitors and recognized the heartbeat screen from endless of television shows.  It was surreal, being in this room with Zak, alone.

"Zak... akhi…"

I thought I saw Zak's eyelids fluttered in response. I saw his long slender fingers trying to move. I was so hoping to hold those fingers, to give him warmth, to reassure him. He looked so cold. A sudden thought crossed my mind - I took hold of my long tudung and hid my right hand in it, so that it was fully covered. With that, I reached for his hand - feeling, but not 'touching'. His right hand was slightly warm. I withdrew my covered hand, almost instantaneously. His breathing was becoming raspier, harder, more difficult. The heartbeat monitor then sounded familiar. And then I knew. Zak was dying.

"Makcik!!!"

His mother came into the room with such speed, yet still with the same calmness as before. She sat by his bed, cradled his head as if he was a baby, afraid of letting go, whispering all the time into his ears,

"Ashadualla - illa- ha-illaAllah,..Wa-ashhaduanna-Muhammadurr-Rasulullah...".

His eyelids fluttered, his eyes seemed to open just a fraction and then it happened. He

just passed on. Just like that. As if to mock us further, the heart beat monitor showed a straight line and the beep went monotonous. The grieving mother kissed her son's forehead, her tears falling clearly, yet never weeping, it was her way of respect to a son who had always tried to shield and protect her from an abusive husband. I backed against the wall, understanding yet not fully comprehending. No feeling. Nothing. Just nothing. I remembered seeing, as behind a camera lens, doctors and nurses streaming in, frantically trying to resuscitate him. Then, the mother was pulled gently away as the nurse pulled the white blanket over him.

There was just one thought in my mind as I whispered,

“When will I see you again....?"