The Puppets of the Marionettes

Chapter 3

Mohammed spent the subsequent month following the war between hospital wards and never-ending tests. The final word received was that curing his back was out the scope for local hospitals, he would need to travel abroad for more suitable care.

Layla sat on the kitchen table, counting the money she had had saved. It was not enough to pay for Mohammed's medical expenses. Tears filled her eyes. A knock was heard at the door.

She quickly hid the stash of money, wiped her tears, pinched her cheeks and headed to the door with a smile. "Sumaya, how are? Come in."

"Thank you, Layal, but I am in such a hurry. I just wanted to stop by and tell you the news."

"Good news inshallah."

"Yes, yes very good news. I heard the government has offered to pay for the medical expenses of anyone injured in the war."

"That's wonderful!"

"The news I heard concerned foreign soldiers who were injured, but I am sure this would also apply to our veterans."

"Yes, of course, without a doubt. This is absolutely wonderful! We had just been told that Mohammed would have to travel abroad for his medical care and we were worried about the expenses, but now, oh my apologies, with the excitement of it all I forget to ask about Naeem. How is he?"

"My dear husband. He's great, just a few scars here and there. Nothing serious at all."

"And how's the little baby?"

"Oh, the little baby," smiled Sumaya. "I call these children the blessed children. They will come to brighten our days, after they have been so dark."

"Yes, they will, inshallah," smiled Layal.

"I must go now Layla, please come visit soon."

"You as well Sumaya. I really can't wait much longer; I must go and tell Mohammed!" Sumaya laughed and went on her way. Layla closed the door hurriedly and turned to head upstairs but Mohammed had already made it down, still holding the railing.

"Mohammed, you will not believe what Sumaya just told me. What a lovely neighbour she is-"

"It's not true Layla."

"What is not true?"

"I didn't want to tell you but now you heard."

"Did not want to tell me what Mohammed?"

"I was headed to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat when I overheard your conversation." He looked at the floor.

"Mohammed, tell me already," she implored.

"Sumaya is right about the government paying for foreign soldiers' medical expenses, but she's wrong about the government paying for their citizens'."

"What do you mean? That can't be true."

He did not speak.

"Mohammed that can't be true! Where did you hear this?"

"I heard it today, at the hospital."

"But why?" she heaved a broken cry of despair and defeat.

"Because we're slaves of slaves Layla. Were slaves of slaves," his jaw clenched. Every word had been enunciated with slow indignation and resentment. "And slaves Layla have no value," he began up the stairs. Holding the rail with one hand and gripping his lower back with the other. He went up four steps when he turned and stared intently at his wife. He descended and stood before her. He held her hands in his. His eye was wide and terrified, perhaps earnest; tears began to form. Rather, tears were finally allowed to escape. "Layla, if there is anything you should do, if there is one thing you must do, do not raise our son a slave. He mustn't be a slave. Do you promise me Layal?"

She nodded.

A week later, Mohammed passed away peacefully in his bed. The cause of his death was unknown however, it was highly expected that his injuries were to blame. A month later, a healthy boy was born, just as Mohammed and Layla had happily and excitedly agreed, they named him Omar.