C H A P T E R
28
"The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only."
― Victor Hugo
- S e b a s t i a n -
A loud, sharp meow, sounding inches away from my ear, makes me start violently. My eyes fly open and I jerk away from the sound, hitting the carpeted floor with a muted thud. A grunt dashes past my lips.
Alex's infamous snicker rises. "I've never seen anyone sleep with their head hanging off the back of a wooden chair before. Was the living room's couch not comfortable enough for you?"
I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands and blink sleepily up at him. Next to his chest, Alex's hand holds something small - the source of the inhuman sound - while his other hand runs gently over its black fur. My eyes narrow in a glare as I push myself up to a proper sitting position.
I utter a curse. "Is that a cat?"
"Kitten."
"Tell me you did not bring a cat into my room," I say with a scowl, ignoring his interjection.
"I can't tell you that." He continues to stroke the fur at the back of its head. The cat goggles at me, eyes so blue they hurt to look at.
Alex glances up at me. His lips curled into a wicked smile.
"Alex, you are well aware of the fact that I am-" a sneeze. And then another. "-Allergic to cats!"
"You are?" He asks, pulling a fake sympathetic face. "Too bad, cats are wonderful creatures."
"Take that thing out of here!"
His mouth opens in a comical O. He place two fingers over the cat's ears, tugging it closer to his chest. "Blue is not a thing. He has feelings. I found him."
"Lose him then."
"You're never around these days. I need some company," he says, cooing at the cat.
"Befriend Guy. Or Theo. Or write a new cheesy story," I reply witheringly. "Anything I'm not allergic to."
I get to my feet, no longer drowsy with sleep. Another sneeze escapes me, making my whole body shudder. My toe pumps into something hard and I wince. My gaze travels to the object at my feet and Alex's follows. The book I've been reading before I nodded off rests open face-down. The title almost glows against the dark coated cover. Before & After Islam.
I am acutely aware of the mischievous look on Alex's face. We both dive in for the book at the same instant. Alex's fingers curl around it just as mine graze the cover, missing it by a millimeter. I attempt to yank it out of his hold, but fail miserably.
Again I sneeze, rubbing my nose frantically, trying to ease the itching torture.
Alex waves the book in one hand. "Since when do you read?"
His timbre is quizzical, dubious.
I flop down on my bed, one leg hanging over the side, the other tugged beneath me. Apparently the hope of keeping my activities a secret is gone with the wind, so I resolve to nonchalance.
I scratch a brown scab beneath the knotted bands around my wrist - a couple of days ago, Alex and I took turns dragging each other on a moving cart behind the car. Now we both have the marks to show it.
"I couldn't sleep," I lie.
Hamsa, energized, set me up with numerous books for the past weeks. To my surprise, I managed to read through all of them without ridiculing every single concept.
"I didn't know Islamic books are marketed as a new treatment for insomnia."
I don't dignify his comment with a response, just shrug half-heartedly.
His black ball of fur jumps out of his hold, stretching on my carpet. I fight the urge to extend my leg and kick the thing out of the room.
"What have you been up to Bash?" Alex tosses the book beside me.
I debate telling another lie, but I'm too busy following the movement of the cat, preparing myself for defense, to think of something creative.
"Man I'm not messing around with you. I'll toss your bloody pet out the window if it touches me," I spit past gritted teeth.
"You wouldn't dare. You owe me too much," he says matter-of-factly.
Unfortunately he's right. Without Alex's help I wouldn't have once made it to the Factories province. Theo would have shadowed me, and I wouldn't have been able to meet with Hamsa.
On the thought of Hamsa, I swing my feet to the floor, lurching off the bed. "What time is it?"
My eyes dart to Alex, demanding.
He quirks up one eyebrow, but glances at his hand-watch anyway. "Minutes past nine. Is that supposed to mean something?"
"I'm late!" I shout this from inside the bathroom. I don't even bother to shut the door as I quickly splash water on my face and rush through the morning routine.
"What is so urgent to make you unglue your butt off the bed in this weather? It is monkeys outside," Alex mutters as I peel off my shirt, grappling with the top button with one hand, bending over to rummage a pair of jeans with the other.
"It has been cold for the past month," I say, sneezing.
"Not this cold."
Fighting with my trousers, I hop towards the curtains, tugging them open. Everything from the garden to the main court is covered in a white blanket of snow.
Great. Like I'm not late enough, I'll have to make my way through a mini-storm. Sneezing.
"I'll just have to put on a coat," I mutter.
After pulling on a shirt and jacket, I run my fingers through my hair to tame it and then dash downstairs to the kitchen. Alex follows and of course Black-fur-ball-from-hell makes an appearance too.
I yawn the fridge wide open, surveying the shelves. My hand reaches for a beer can, but end up closing around a container of flavored yoghurt. Snatching a spoon, I jerk out a chair and sit.
Leaning against the doorframe, Alex speaks up, amused. "Since when do you eat anything healthy?"
"Since... oh I don't know, none of your business," I say.
Guy bursts through the backdoor, a bowl full of potatoes in hand. He comes to a halt, his face reddening with anger. His lips form a tight line. It is amusing.
"MONSIEUR ALEX! IS THAT UNE CHAT IN MY KITCHEN?"
Alex chooses to overlook the agitation in Guy's tone. "A kitten. Blue is a kitten." He half-lifts the little animal towards Guy. "A cute one."
"I have a strict no-animals policy in the kitchen!"
"Hell, man," Alex replied, "you can't just throw out Bash like that."
Guy ignores Alex's attempt at making a joke. Just stares at him until he wavers and crumbles.
A grin breaks across my face as Alex reluctantly peels himself off the doorframe and carries his pet out into the living room. He comes back, snapping the door shut behind him.
"Wash your hands before you touch anything," Guy instructs firmly.
Of course Alex has to oblige. Guy's kitchen, his rules.
With a sigh Guy resumes his work and Alex moves towards me. He leans on the counter, across from me as I slurp down my yoghurt. When I'm done, I get up, walk to the rubbish bin to toss the yoghurt, ignoring Alex's fixed gaze.
"You actually threw it away?" He asks incredulously. When I stop by the sink, opening the water tap, he blurts "You're going to wash a spoon? What happened to my careless, good-for-nothing cousin Bash?"
Sending him a withering glare, I drop the spoon into the sink with a loud clink and wash my hands before turning off the water tap.
"What's your deal Alex?" I demand, turning to face him.
In an instant, he drops the amused, smirking look, replacing it with a scowl as he folds his arms.
"What's your deal? You leave every day without blurting a word. You take on reading. You start to eat yoghurt. Yoghurt, Bash! A week ago you called it something along the line of 'slimy gross matter'. Something is up with you and I've been covering for you without knowing much of anything. I need to know what's so damn pressing that you have to sneak out every day."
I close my eyes. A sigh shudders past my lips. Perhaps telling Alex about Hamsa won't be so bad. He deserves to know. He'll understand.
"You've been spending time with that Muslim girl right?" Alex says, taking me by surprise. His tone is not accusing, it's knowing.
And I know, I just know, he wouldn't understand at all. I spare a last glance at him. A frown marks his face.
"I'm out," I say and turn to go upstairs for my shoes.
"Sebastian," he calls for me. "I don't have to tell you to stay away from Muslims who can kidnap you, right?"
*
I walk through the half-abandoned market at a brisk pace, tugging my coat tighter around myself. Snow swirls around in wispils, attacking my bare skin in painful slaps.
Away from the main court, the buildings act as windbreakers and as the snow settles over everything in thin layers, the view becomes clearer. I rub my cold hands together, blowing hot breath into them.
I notice that there are no guards roaming the streets. The cold does its job keeping everyone held inside. Safe for a man who dashes past me on a bike and a woman huddled with her child into a worn-out blanket, the road is bare.
In the distance I make out a silhouette, standing by the main entrance of the school building. As I get closer, a man comes into view, a lantern in his fist - more for warmth than for light. A man around the school grounds? That's a first.
Walking through the gates, I think nothing of the peculiar way the man eyes me, or the scowl on his face; I've learned to drown all of these out. Once inside the hallway, I come to a surprised halt. The place is live with people and their chatter. Not just pupils. There are at least a dozen men and a couple women scattered across the space. No one slackens, everyone is busy doing something.
My eyes scan the place, searching for Hamsa. I maneuver through the crowd, notice a throng of people huddled at the far end of the hallway. A familiar green scarf catches my gaze and I smile in recognition. I draw closer to them, curiosity dawning upon me. My steps slow, stilling to a stop when Hamsa whirls around, holding a wooden board close to her chest.
"Sebastian!" She exclaims. I don't miss the disappointment in her voice and my smile drops when she fails to return it. "What are you doing here?"
She sounds almost nervous. Her eyes dart to someone, wary. I follow her gaze, puzzled. Then I see her brother -Yahiya - pushing a rusted wheelbarrow full of rocks. His forehead glistens with sweat despite the cold. He hasn't noticed me yet, but the second he does, he stops abruptly. He doesn't bother hiding the sneer but he doesn't storm over to where I am standing and head-butts me either. I take this as a good sign.
We haven't met again after our heated introduction. And for that I am grateful. I don't know what this guy has against me, but I can imagine it's the same thing that Hamsa's bitterness towards me comes from.
Returning my attention to Hamsa, I clear my throat. "What I do every day. I am here for class."
Hamsa tugs her ragged shawl closer around her and starts biting down a nail. "But I told you yesterday that there are no classes today. We are doing some renovation."
She gestures at the place and everyone working.
I bring my eyebrows together in concentration, trying to recall such a conversation. Of course I don't. "I wasn't paying attention," I admit.
"Of course you weren't." She shakes her head. "You never are."
She chafes her arms with her hands. It is freezing, regardless of the numerous lanterns lit around the hallway.
"Alright, I'll just be going then," I say, shrugging nonchalantly. I slip my hands into the pockets of my jacket. "Good luck with the renovation."
She bites her lower lip, her expression contemplating. And then she breaths out a sigh in a cloud. "You should stay," she says, almost reluctantly.
Though she never said much, it's obvious Hamsa is still conflicted about having me around. And I can tell that a huge part of it has to do with her brother.
"It couldn't have been easy, slipping out of the mansion and coming over in such weather," she goes on. "I'll get you a book and you can ask if you have any question."
"I have a better idea," I say. "How about I help around? I am sure you can use an extra pair of hands."
Squinting eyes light with a twinkle of bemusement. "You want to help? With your hands?"
"I am not just a pretty face you know," I say and earn myself a scoff.
"I somehow find it hard to imagine you pushing a wheelbarrow," she says, cocking her head slightly to the side.
"Why imagine when you can see it for yourself. So what do I do?"
Hamsa narrows her eyes at me for a moment, as if trying to figure out if am serious or not. "Wait here."
She brushes past me and disappears out into the playground. Moments later she reappears, followed by Yahiya who is huffing indignantly. Apparently what Hamsa told him didn't sit well with him.
"You'll be helping Yahiya with clearing the hallway leading to the western part," Hamsa informs me. "Play nice you two."
Yahiya wastes no time on pretending we are friends and goes straight to business. "Follow me."
We stop by a group of working blokes, none of whom raises a head to acknowledge my arrival, which is great by me. Yahiya stoops to heft a container full of rocks and with a tight smile, drops it into my unready arms. I swallow back a grunt and fix up the container.
"Empty it in the pile outside," Yahiya says and then gives me his back.
Groaning, I start making my way outside. I catch a glimpse of Hamsa fighting laughter.
I shoot her a fake glare. "So glad that you find this amusing," I mutter.
I stop by the pile of rocks, slowly emptying the container while keeping it away from my white shirt - worst wardrobe choice - and then return inside.
I slip into Lamees' empty classroom and sling off my jacket, tossing it on the front desk. Gripping the bottom of my shirt, I pull upwards, exposing my bare chest. Cold air attacks me immediately and I shiver slightly. Then I hear a small gasp coming from the doorway. Casting a subtle glance over my shoulder I see Hamsa and smirk satisfied, flexing a little.
She clears her throat, and then again, more emphatically. "Ehm!"
I take my sweet time, folding the shirt then place it on top of the jacket. I bend to pick up the empty container, totally ignoring her.
Again she clears her throat loudly. "Ehm."
Smirking, I turn to face her. "Do you want me to get you some cough syrup with me tomorrow? Or are you going to be all like 'English dude, how dare you gift me a bottle of medicine! What do you think I am? A charity case?'" I mimic her voice, throwing my hands around every which way.
She scowls, but this does nothing to hide the flushed face. "Put on your shirt. You'll catch a cold."
Suddenly I get a sense of Deja vu, back to when Hamsa and I were both captors in an underground cell.
Pile of wooden boards in hand she comes into the classroom, heading for the closet at the back.
In the doorway I pause to shrug and say, "You know I'm too hot to catch a cold."
She performs an exaggerated eye roll. "Ukh. Get over yourself!"
But I don't miss the smile playing at the corner of her lips.
*
"You know, you're not like other English people," Anas says out of nowhere, taking me by surprise.
He and I are loitering by the stairs in one of the abandoned hallways, away from the sneering faces and the chatter I don't understand.
I am eating cheerios - which we keep in Anas' hiding spot where Hamsa can't find it - straight out of the box and trying to throw the odd ones down the stairs into Anas' open mouth. The cheerios miss his mouth, landing on the bottom step. He stoops to pick it up.
"How so?" I ask him as if discussing the flavor of crisps we enjoy.
He shrugs, fidgeting with his red cloak. "The others are evil. They go around hitting and killing people. They killed my parents. They killed Misa's as well." A shaky laugh escapes him and I find myself at loss for words.
My mouth hangs open, nothing coming out. He looks at me, flashing a toothy grin which makes his eyes glow. But there is still pain lingering in there.
"But you are not like them. You are not one of the bad guys," he says, observing the cheerios between his fingers.
"Thanks buddy," I say lamely.
Ridiculously I can't find anything better to say to the kid who just told me that my father is the reason his parents - and the parents of the girl I am interested in - are dead. But of course he doesn't know that.
I pick another cheerios and toss it at him; he jumps to grab it between his teeth. A giggle echoes through the hallway, diffusing the glum air as Hamsa and Zeina approach us.
"You look like a dog," Zeina says.
I try to reel in a smile.
Anas brushes off her comment and calls to Hamsa excitedly, hopping from feet to feet. "Hamsa, Hamsa, look what Sebastian can do! He can get them into my mouth all the way from over there!"
"I see the both of you had a productive break from work," Hamsa says.
"How did you know where to find us?" I ask her, descending the stairs.
"Easy, I just followed the scent of arrogance. And asked around for a half-naked bloke with a pretentious English accent, there aren't much of these around y'know," she says, a mischievous smile on her face.
"Ha ha, funny," I say. "So why go through all that trouble?"
She glances over her shoulder at Zeina and Anas engrossed in a challenge. "Zeina gotta go," she says, dropping her voice into a whisper.
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. "Go where?"
"New York City," she says sarcastically. "To the bathroom you idiot."
"Hamtha!" Zeina exclaims, indignantly stomping her foot. Apparently she wasn't that engrossed.
Hamsa bites her tongue sheepishly. "Sorry," she says.
I swallow a laugh and nod at Hamsa.
"Just wanted to tell you we'll be away for a while. If you need anything talk to Lamees. And please stay out of Yahiya's hair," she says, then turn to Anas adding, "and you, stop fiddling around and go help Miss Lamees with the boards cleaning."
"Yes Misa," Anas and I say simultaneously in a robot tone and then dash back into the main hallway.
The men are back from their praying break. Everyone returns to their task. I hear Yahiya say that we are almost halfway through the wall. I wonder what lies on the other side.
Filling a wheelbarrow with rock after another, I stare at Yahiya, trying to work him out. He has hair that gets into his eyes repeatedly, and he would push it away every time to reveal a nasty looking scar over his eyebrow. It's not the only visible scar either, each telling a different story about the hardship of living under the control of my father. Even though Yahiya doesn't appear to be the violent type, something tells me he'd thump anyone who would eye him or his sister wrong. Strangely I find this respect worthy.
Sweat beads my eyebrows as I push the wheelbarrow outside. The cold air is a welcomed contrast to the heat radiating from sweaty bodies inside the hallway. I drop the last rock onto the pile and double over, trying to catch my breath. I wipe my muddied, chapped palms down on my jeans.
The rhythmic sound of rock hitting rock makes me start.
"Who knew an English man had all this in him." A man that I recall Yahiya calling Hussein stands above me, an empty container in hand. The smile on his face tells me this isn't a backhanded insult but an attempt at making conversation.
I straighten up, grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow and return the smile half-heartedly. "Who knew you Muslim folks thought so low of us?"
"Eh, you're not so bad," Hussein says, nudging my shoulder as he goes back inside.
"I see you're making friends," Hamsa says as I walk into the hallway. She is carrying a heavy-looking pile of books, supported by her chin. She looks whacked and out of breath.
"It is still a working progress," I say. "There let me help you with that."
"Nah, I got it," she says making her way to Lamees' classroom. "But there is more from where this came from if you are tired of rocks transportation."
After his initial instruction, Yahiya hasn't uttered a single word to me, but I can tell he is watching me as an eagle does its prey. Which is why I avoided openly glancing at Hamsa. Right now I don't miss the look he is giving me as I follow Hamsa into the classroom.
"Who wouldn't be? I'll gladly help," I say.
Carefully placing down the pile of books, she tosses my shirt at me. "Only if you put your clothes on though."
*
The storage room is numerous hallways away from the classrooms. This far the sounds of axes and shovels hitting rocks fade into background noise.
"Why are you cleaning the storage room?" I ask as I place down the water bucket I've been carrying and turn to Hamsa. She has a look on her face that I can't translate.
"What is it?" I ask with a brief laugh.
"Nothing," she snaps, switching on the light.
"That look wasn't nothing," I persist regarding her quizzically. I step into the storage room, rich with the scent of dust and mud.
Hamsa takes in a breath. "Nothing. I don't know it's... I am surprised you made it this far through the day."
"You thought I was a spoiled brat?"
A grimace of embarrassment. "No! Nothing like that. You're just so... d-"
"Dazzling?" I suggest pleasantly.
"Don't put words in my mouth."
"It was your word," I say with a shrug.
"You assumed it was my word. You can't go around assuming!"
"But that's what you meant isn't it?" I bite back a grin.
"I'm done with this conversation."
Laughing, I raise my hands in surrender. "OK. But don't worry, I got the idea."
"Stop talking Sebastian," Hamsa says, climbing a wooden ladder propped against shelves. "Here, hold this."
She hands me a book then another, wiping the cover of each one with the wet towel in hand first. We work in silence for a couple of minutes and then Hamsa holds up a book, looking at it pointedly.
"This is the next book in your reading list," she informs me.
"What is it about?" I ask, genuinely interested.
"Judgment day."
I snicker. "As in the first chapter of Zombie Land?"
Hamsa stops wiping the book she is holding to look down at me with disapproving eyes. "Didn't we agree you'll start regarding things with an open mind instead of contempt?"
"Yeah, yeah, OK," I mumble. "So you really believe in judgement day, huh?"
Handing me the book she says, "well I refuse to believe this is all for nothing. Sinner has to be punished and the good doers must be rewarded. Don't you agree?"
She passes me the towel which I try to hold in one hand while balancing the ever-growing pile of books in the other. Standing on the tips of her toes, she extends a hand to reach a book at the far end of the shelf.
Everything happens so fast I can barely register much. I see Hamsa losing her balance, knocking against the shelf. She shrieks. Her foot slips off the ladder and she is about to crash down when my motor reflexes kick in. I drop the books like hot potatoes and attempt to gather her in my arms just as the ladder tumbles down.
Her cheeks are flushed pink with exertion, face lit with a soft innocence while her mouth hangs open. A jet black strand that escaped the jail of her scarf hangs over her lips and I get the urge to tug it back in. I fight to catch my breath and so does she. Her palms are resting open against my chest and I am sure she can feel the frantic dance of my heart against my rib cage. I can see her individual eyelashes, like perfect brushstrokes on a canvas portrait; her eyes are dancing with light, burning as though on fire. It's like the flames seep out of her eyes and light my whole body on fire. There is a scent of trees and wild rivers on her, even though we are in the middle of a dust haven. I catalogue the scent in the mental file of what makes Hamsa attractive.
My lids sink over my eyes and I draw closer, craving more of her scent. Suddenly she jerks away as if I were a live electric wire.
"Put me down! Put me down! Put me down!" She squeals, lashing out with knotted fists against my chest.
She jumps out of my hold, pushing me off, fixing her scarf, and brushing her dress, all to hide the crimson red flush working its way up her face.
"How dare you!" She exclaims, her sharp tone a bucket of freezing water to my face.
"I am sorry for saving your butt, next time I'll be sure to allow it to great the floor, closely," I snap, my tone is heated, annoyed. I don't know if with her or myself.
What was I thinking? What was I about to do?
She stoops to collect the books I dropped trying to catch her. I crouch beside her, picking up a book, which she immediately snatches from me. Standing up, she holds the books close, a barrier between us.
I can almost taste the tension hanging in the air and then someone clears their throat - apparently everyone is suffering from coughing symptoms today. Both our heads snap in the direction of the doorway. Yahiya stands a shovel in hand. The look on his face makes me thankful I am not alone with him. Especially with my heart still thundering in my ears.
He diverts his attention to Hamsa. "The Berlin Wall fell," he announces with theatrical effects. "We'll be back tomorrow to fix up the place. Now I have to leave if I want to be on time for my shift."
"Oh My Allah!" A squeal of delight escapes Hamsa as she jumps into Yahiya's arms hugging him. "You did it!"
She rushes out of the room in hazy clumsiness, leaving me alone with Yahiya. Holding a shovel. After just witnessing me with his sister in a shady situation. Thank you Hamsa.
I start past him, but he holds out his arm, blocking the door. I don't step back, my chest presses into his arm. I stare down at his arm, and then look back at his face, quirking one eyebrow.
"Careful English man, you're walking on broken glass, barefoot." Yahiya's voice rumbles on dense air. His face lacks expression. "I don't know what my sister is thinking bringing you into our lives or what your end game is. But know this, one wrong move and you'll wish you never left your home."
I bite back a snarky comment and sip silent, slow breaths, trying to tame the fire eating away at my insides. He is just being a protective older brother, I tell myself.
He lowers his arm and I step outside, without an uttered word. I find Hamsa standing where there was once a collapsed wall. Beyond are just more hallways. She stares at the emptiness with a giddy smile.
"So what's the deal with this wall? Why are you so excited about what is behind it?" I ask, pausing beside her.
"It's the school's library," she says in a dreamy tone.
"A library, huh? All this excitement about a library. Geek," I say, mockingly.
She shrugs. "That I am."
"And what is the cleaning spree about?"
"Well... Ramadan is in five days. Definition: Ramadan is a holy month where we Muslims fast from food, drinks and other things that are normally allowed," she clarifies, leaning against a wall.
My eyes widen and my jaw drops. "You fast for a whole month?"
"No silly! Just from sunrise till sunset."
"You Muslim folks seriously lost your plots. Definition: gone crazy," I say, shaking my head.
"And yet you chose to be a resident of a Muslim country," she says, with an exaggerated sigh.
"True," I say. "But I'm able to supplement it with my wealth of British intelligence and charm." I dust off one shoulder.
"Right," Hamsa says, a hint of a smile hitting her lips. "Charm. When do I get to see some of that?"
I twist my mouth up at the corners. "Wasn't some guy helping you with the books in the storage just now?"
"Oh, yeah," she says, tapping a finger against her chin. "That guy. He was great. I wonder where he went."
"The poor lad was attacked," I say with mock sympathy.
"Well, I'm sure he had it coming."
With a wave, Anas saunters across the hallway and stops before us.
"Classroom cleaning mission accomplished," he exclaims. "What are we going to do now?"
Hamsa chafes her hands together. With the lack of huddled heated bodies, the hallways are cold again. Her lips are slightly blue and chapped.
"We'll close up the school and go home early. I'm sure you'd like the rest of the day off," she says, flicking Anas' nose.
But of course that isn't what happens.
What happens is that we start a campfire in the middle of the playground, the sun still gleaming high in the sky. We ignore the cold, enjoying our newly obtained warmth.
Lamees passes around surprisingly delicious dates and Anas convinces me to throw some dance moves. Zeina teaches me an Islamic song called a Nasheed and Hamsa genuinely laughs for the first time at something I say. The snow doesn't cease and we end up having a good-natured snow fight.
We are loud and triumphant, and I am actually enjoying myself because for a moment there I feel like I belong here more than any other place. More than with any other crowd. I belong.