Excerpt
When they took us to our house, I remember looking at what was left of my
parents. Their bodies were charred, almost nothing left.”
Hakim feels a terrible sadness hearing of Talal’s pain, and doesn’t know what
to say to him. What can he say to make his friend feel better? Nothing can be said
when death comes between two people who share the horror equally as good
friends. He gets up and puts two plates with food on the table. Talal brings the
salad which they share. They start eating, with pain on the table like their food, as
if pain is their food as much as the prawns and the rice and the salad. Then
something else appears in front of them—hatred sits in the middle of the table as
it sits in their hearts, commandeering their thoughts and their evening. Hatred
slides down the mountainside like the black horsemen of the apocalypse, like the
lava of a volcano ready to sear everything in its path. The hardest thing for them,
right now, is to get the food into their stomachs.
“Try to forget all that, bro. Those were bad days. We’re here and we’re alive
and healthy. Look at these prawns and the rice and the salad we are eating.”
“I know, I know,” Talal says, trying to chew his food. What happened to you
that night of the bombing?” He gulps his wine.
“I vaguely remember I was buried under cement pieces and broken
furniture, and couldn’t get up. I remember being in the hospital; so many
injured people groaning and the nurses running back and forth like chickens
with their heads cut off. I remember Uncle Ibrahim and Aunt Mara being there
next to me. They never told me the details of what happened to my parents.
Come to think of it, I don’t remember ever asking them. I should, I suppose, find
out sometime. Yeah, I should ask my uncle to tell me everything when he comes
here. Maybe it will help me feel better so that I can put it behind me.”
An unbearable silence comes between them, as if trying to erase all the horrid
images. Their eyes show what’s in their minds and hearts; however, the wine helps
them relax. Hakim notices his friend is very sad. His eyes betray his sadness,
although the wine has calmed him. Hakim takes another gulp and sees that their
wine is finished. He fetches a second bottle from the cupboard and opens it.
“Alright, Talal, this is it. No more after this bottle, deal?” He tries to make
light of how they are feeling.
“Oh, I forgot to mention to you, my uncle is on his way here. He arrives on
Friday. He’s going to stay for a few days.”
“Uncle Ibrahim is on his way here?” Talal asks in a strange tone. “Do you
know Uncle Ibrahim is ill?”
Hakim is surprised by this news and says, “What do you mean, ill? How do
you know? How sick is he?”
Talal looks deep into Hakim’s eyes and says, “He is very sick; cancer, I think.”
Libros Libertad 