Living on the Other Side

Chapter Nineteen

As the seasons changed and weeks turned into months, any lingering fears of being found by my father began to fade away from my mind and that of my mother. We were now an integral part of the congregation, and it felt almost as though we had been here all our lives. Our previous life and the influences it had imposed on us faded away, until it seemed like it had simply been a nightmare.

I had progressed mightily in my studies, and had graduated the beginner classes with honors and distinction. My teachers and mentors spoke highly of me, and those who taught the advanced levels welcomed me happily into their classes with their expectations sky-high. My ability to retain and absorb the knowledge presented to me was unrivaled, and I was soon given the honor of being an assistant teacher in the beginner-level classes during my free time.

My studious nature, classroom distinction, and lack of companions my own age, all manifested in a distinct isolation from other members of the congregation. I had no friends, but I didn't mind at all; I was well-liked and respected by everyone, regardless of my age. My mother remained my best friend and closest confidante, followed closely by 'Abdul Rahman, who I considered my mentor.

My teachers and the Imam encouraged me deeply in the pursuit of my goal—a da'wah worker of our kind was very rare, and they treasured my courage and determination. They cheered me on, supported me, and offered me their wisdom and experience whenever I sought their counsel. I had never felt such belonging anywhere in my life, and I spent many nights in sujood, thanking Allah for these gifts He had showered upon me in such abundance.

One day, as I lead the young toddlers under my care through several repetitions of surat'al-Ikhlas, 'Abdul Rahman appeared in the door of my classroom with one of the sisters from the congregation. "Assalamu alaykum, Xavier," he offered as he stepped into the room. "I would like to speak to you on a topic that is concerning me. Sister Nada here will stay with your class for now."

Curious, I stood up and smiled at the children, gently closing the mus-haf that I had been reciting from. "I will return soon, in sha Allah," I told them. "Assalamu alaykum, everyone." With their chorused farewell following my departure, I followed 'Abdul Rahman to Imam Malik's office. We would have privacy there, as the Imam had gone with some members of the congregation to attend a seminar at the Others' masjid.

"I have some troubling news," 'Abdul Rahman spoke up as we took our seats. "I don't think that you should let it concern you too greatly, but I just wanted you to be aware. Do you recall the friend that I mentioned to you, the one that works for Genghis?"

A creeping dread filled my stomach as he spoke these words, and it took some effort not to choke in my response. "Yes, I remember him. Has there been some news?"

"Nothing too alarming, for I'm sure that you would expect this already, but—" he looked directly at me, "—your father is combing the world for you. He has called in the services of those who owe him favors and other leaders who fear him to help him find you and your mother. It has been said that he will not rest until he finds and punishes you, for he can't bear the idea of his own family betraying him with impunity. My friend has said that his rage is at a peak he has never yet seen it before, and it is worsening by day."

A hiss of air escaped me as I exhaled. I realized that I had been holding my breath. "What of Cory?" I asked quickly. "Is he safe? Was it discovered that he shielded us?" I had already known that this would happen; while the reality was more frightening than I had expected, in this moment I cared more about knowing whether my brother was being punished for my misdeeds.

'Abdul Rahman hesitated before he spoke, and my beating heart almost doubled its rate. "He is alright, isn't he?" My voice was pleading, and I realized with shock that I was close to tears. Did I really care so much for a brother who had betrayed my trust and lied to me? Yes. Yes, I do.

'Abdul Rahman spoke reassuringly. "He is alive and safe, but..." he trailed off, then spoke up bluntly. "My friend says that your brother looks like a walking skeleton. He doesn't know if he's going to live much longer, for he is looking sicklier every day and no one knows why or what is causing him to waste away in such a gruesome manner."

Tears filled my eyes as I thought of my brother, always so healthy, reduced to this state. Huskily, I spoke as I tried to fight back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. "Jazakillahu khayran for the information, brother. I will keep it in mind, in sha Allah. If sister Nada doesn't mind staying with my class, I think I would like to go and rest for some time."

He stood and nodded. "I am sure that this was a shock for you, and that you need some time to be alone. I will arrange for your class to be covered today, and for you to be absent from your lessons. Is that alright?" Blinded with tears and memories, I nodded unseeingly toward my mentor and quickly left the room.

***

While my mother was my closest confidante, the subject of my brother was the sole subject that she refused to broach or discuss with me at all. Any time I had brought up his name, she had quickly changed the subject or politely informed me that she would rather not speak of him at that moment. I had soon learned that the subject brought her great pain, and refrained from bringing it up again out of respect for her emotions.

However, the bottled up turmoil inside me had continued to grind. While I had sought the counsel of 'Abdul Rahman to pour out my own emotional grief, he could only offer sympathy and a kind ear. He did not know Cory in any shape or form. He had never met him, and couldn't discuss the events of the night we had escaped with any knowledge, as my mother could; he couldn't know what was in Cory's heart, nor could he guess, as a family member who had grown up with him could; he couldn't feel the pain that I felt, as my mother could; so, while I wished fervently to speak of the matter with my mother, I suffered alone in my confusion and sadness. Slowly, I had numbed the pain by simply not thinking of my brother, and I had been fine.

However, after the conversation with 'Abdul Rahman, emotions that had been dulled and numbed over the past few months swelled and poured over me in earth-shattering waves of sharp pain and grief. I automatically made my way to my room, acknowledging no one and seeing nothing but my brother's face before my eyes.

My mother looked up from her seat on the floor as I entered. Seeing my grief-stricken face and the tears pouring down my cheeks, she said nothing and asked no questions; she simply opened her arms. I went to her, and sobbed in her embrace. All of my emotion seemed to manifest itself in an ocean of never-ending tears, and I heard nothing of my mother's comforting voice as she spoke to me softly. Deaf and blind to the world around me, I finally grieved.