CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
HAMSA
"If you know something, you can never unknow it again."
―Anonymous.
Uncle Yusuf's ghost follows me everywhere these days and ignoring it doesn't help anymore.
It has been twenty days since I returned home and twenty one since I watched Uncle Yusuf fall to his death. I see his blank eyes in my sleep and my wake the same. I hear his voice everywhere and in everyone else's. It's become impossible to not think of him. How he betrayed me, lied to every one of us for the past God-knows-how-many years and how he failed himself and his faith. It seems unimaginable to me now, how oblivious I was to his true self.
I feel like crawling into a corner and breaking down every time his name is mentioned. And I just want to tell everyone the truth about who he was, what he was doing whenever he was away on a 'fishing trip', and that he is never coming back this time. But I do not know how to break such news. I think it would be selfish of me to destroy the image of the honorable man etched into minds. After all I feel like I owe it to that man - even if he was never real.
Being a hostage in my own house doesn't help my case one bit. Yahiya has made it his sole living purpose to make sure I never see the streets again. He won't admit it but I know he is scared of what will happen if I get the freedom to walk out the door. That I'll go back to my reckless ways and disappear again, this time for good. And I can't convince him otherwise, because then I'll have to tell him the truth, that the dangers in this nation are not just from the English and that they wouldn't just take me away if I roam around the neighborhood.
Lamees has been visiting me frequently so I won't lose my mind, but the curfew gives us very limited time together. She tells me about her day at school and what I'm missing on with all the kids. She brings a book every two days and discusses it with me when I'm done with it. She blushes every time Yahiya pokes his head into the room to see if I need anything -I know he is actually checking to see that I didn't sneak out the window. We have a lot of fun and I feel like a normal girl spending time with her best friend but no matter what, I hate all the restrictions and the rules.
"Hand me another pin," I say to Lamees, my eyes fixed on the mission at hand.
Like every afternoon for the past two week, Lamees and I are in my bedroom. Today we decided to do some experimenting with our hair. Painstakingly, I tuck the last pin in place to hold her wavy strawberry blond hair up in a milkmaid braid and then I clap my hands, slightly bouncing on the bed.
"Done," I exclaim.
A jubilant smile breaks across my face as I look down at Lamees, taking in my accomplishment. The hairdo makes her seem younger than she already is and it suits her perfectly.
"You look like a princess," I say and then roll my eyes at how cheesy this sounds.
"I always look like princess, duh!" she says, flipping the air where her hair was a few minutes ago.
"Well, you look princessier," I say and then scrunch my eyebrows at the word I just made up.
"Alright, now turn around. It's my turn to work my magic." Her eyes widen as she emphasizes the word magic, wriggling her finger and I laugh, settling into a comfortable position with my legs crossed.
Lamees shifts, propping herself up on her knees so she can be at a higher level than my head. She pulls my hair out of its messy bun and the headband lands on my lap. I shake my hair free, allowing it to fall into curls over my back and then move slightly forward, reaching for the bowl of dates and cashew nuts that Lamees somehow managed to get her hands on. She says she had to cajole and bargain, and in the end she bought them for three sacks of rice. Three sacks cost a lot, but the dates are so worth it. I don't remember the last time I had dates and it's refreshing to eat something so sweet and nutritional.
Bowl in hand, I sit back in place triumphantly and gesture for Lamees to go ahead and start. Having my hair brushed for me dredges up memories I very much rather be kept in the back of my mind. The last thing I need right now is to have Aminah's ghost follow me around too. I feel horrible about leaving her and Yasmeen behind and I avoid thinking of what happened to them at all costs.
"So, I really don't know what to get Anas for his birthday," Lamees says with a sigh, as she runs the comb through my hair and I am very thankful for a distraction.
"Why are you worrying about his birthday present now? It's isn't till another month," I say, taking out the date pit before munching on the date.
Setting the comb down on the mattress, she starts dividing my hair into numerous strands carefully.
"I think you're confused. Anas' birthday is tomorrow."
I swop my head back around to look at her over my shoulder with widened eyes. "Tomorrow?"
"Hey, don't move!" She yanks my hair, holding me in place and I have to turn back ahead, wincing with pain. "You'll ruin the magical fish tail."
"Ouch!" I say and then go on in a mumble, "you're not turning me into a mermaid, are you?"
"You wish."
"No, you wish. I'm fine with feet," I say, patting my laps.
"Yeah, 'cause you're lame." I can't see her, but I imagine she pokes her tongue out at me. She brings the strands together and begins braiding.
"No but for real. Are you sure it's tomorrow?" I ask, rubbing my brow.
"Yep. For real."
"Maybe you got the dates wrong or something."
"Nope, I'm sure of the date."
"Argh! Oh my Allah! How could I forget?" I throw my face into my hands and again Lamees tugs at my hair, this time accompanying it with a smack to my head.
"It's not your fault. You are a prisoner, you can't feel time," she says as if she didn't just give me a concussion and probably plucked out half some of my hair.
"Lamees, this is physical abuse," I shriek, heaving my hands up in the air. "Seriously, I'm calling my lawyers."
"We have no phones darling girl and your Zayn is miles and miles away from here." Her tone is teasing and light but suddenly it is as if she splashed me with freezing water.
"Who said anything about Zayn now?" I ask and notice that I sound bitter.
"Is this annoyance I hear in your voice, Hamsa Tahir?" she goes on in the same mocking tone.
"No. Why would I be annoyed? There's nothing to be annoyed about." My attempt to be nonchalant jumps out the window.
"That's what I'm asking you. And you obviously are since you've suddenly become so irritable."
I pick a date and toss it into my mouth, chewing at it frantically. I realize a second too late that I forgot to take out the pit and yelp in pain, wincing as my tooth collides with the rock hardness.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" My mouth hangs open and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting a moment for the pain subside and then I slowly spit out the pit.
"What is it?" Lamees asks, concern lacing her words.
I hold the pit in my palm for her to see and she makes a burning sound.
"That hurts," she says, rubbing my shoulder soothingly with one hand while holding my hair in the other. And I know she doesn't only mean the pit.
"Yes it does." I sigh, letting the pit fall into the small pile by the bowl.
"I assume it's not the pit that you are so frustrated with. So are you going to tell me what Zayn did to upset you this much?" she asks me, going on with the braiding and I thank Allah that she can't see me.
"Why is this fishtail taking forever?" I ask her in attempt to change the subject.
"It's not my fault that your hair is impossibly long Masha'Allah. This braid takes a lot of precision." I know she didn't take the bait but simply played along for my sake.
Lamees is right. I am actually annoyed and angry with Zayn. We ended things on very good terms the day of my home coming party. At least I thought we did. But then he severed all ties and I haven't heard from him in the past couple of weeks. I know he is fine, I hear of him a lot whenever Auntie Samiya or Fatima are over here -whenever he drops them off and then leave without so much as a Salam. It's almost like he is avoiding me. Once upon a time he'd be coming over every day, twice a day sometimes but now he doesn't even show his face. I never ask though, if there is something I won't know it by asking. I learned this much with Zayn. He only talks when he feels like talking.
"Hello! Earth to Hamsa," Lamees says, snapping her fingers in my face. I blink twice, my eyes zeroing on her knowing ones. She is hovering over my shoulder, her hold still firm on my hair.
"Sorry," I say with a shaky laugh.
"God! You're hopeless," she says shaking her head at me but her smile is warm and... understanding.
Whenever you're ready, it says.
"Hamsa, where did you put my -" Yahiya says, walking hastily into the room.
The rest of his sentence is drowned by Lamees' squeal as she jumps off the bed - my fishtail disregarded and forgotten -, diving for her scarf that is laid on my hairdresser. She's in such a hurry that she bashes her hip on the corner of the desk but doesn't seem to register the sting and I flinch for her. Yahiya's eyes bulge out and he gasps, punctually turning around.
"I - I... sorry," he stutters, taking a few steps out of the room and into the hallway. "The door was open... I didn't know you had company..."
"I thought you were asleep and didn't think you'd be waking up soon," I say.
"Oh... okay. My apologies Lamees. I didn't see anything really."
He is stammering. So unlike Yahiya.
I want to point out that he wouldn't have known it is Lamees if he hadn't seen anything, but decide to cut him some slack. Lamees is already bright red and I can almost feel the heat radiating off of her.
"It's... it is okay," she says, throwing her head scarf in haste and fixing down her dress. The scarf looks funny and is standing out at weird angles because of the hairdo, but I don't think she cares. "No harm, no fowl."
She sits on the edge of the bed with her hands laid timidly over her lap.
"Tell him he can come in," she whispers to me.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her and call for him.
"Yahiya, come on in."
"Yeah... okay."
He turns around slowly, as if ready to swoop back around if needed and walks into the room.
"AlSalam Alaikum, Lamees," he says with and acknowledging nod.
"WA Alaikum AlSalam," she replies, fidgeting with the end of her scarf.
"What is it Yahiya?"
His head snaps up to me and it's like he just remembers he is here for something.
"Uh, yeah. Where did you put my street pass? I'm heading out for my second shift," he says.
"You're back at work?" Lamees asks, a smile breaking onto her face.
"Yes, since yesterday. Alhamdulillah, I finally convinced the chief to take me back. My friend Hussein came through as well."
"Yeah, he's a good guy, may Allah bless him," I say my voice laced with respect.
"Hamsa didn't tell me," she says, narrowing her eyes at me accusingly.
"Oops, I forgot to mention that," I say, scratching my neck and smiling at her sheepishly. "No harm no fowl right?"
The flush on her face that was starting to fade away, creeps back up and I stifle a laugh. Ya Allah, I love teasing her. I clear my throat and turn to Yahiya.
"It's above the fridge," I say to him. "I found it on the kitchen counter while cleaning yesterday. You should be more careful where you place that thing."
The street pass is for the workers who have second shifts which go on after four. They have to keep it close if they don't want to get molested by lowlife guards.
"Yeah you're right. Well, jazakiAllah khayran sis."
"Wa iyyak. Be careful out there."
"Aren't I always," he says, raising his eyebrows, a playful grin on his face.
"Always," I say, nodding my head fervently.
He turns around to leave the room but then he pauses in the doorway and I know what's coming. Guess I hopped he'd pass on the lecture today since we have a visitor and all.
"Oh and Hamsa, you remember to follow the rules, right," he says over his shoulder, face serious.
I roll my eyes, huffing indignantly. Here we go again.
"How can I ever forget," I say dryly.
"If you need anything, need it from inside the house. Do not leave the house no matter what," he says, overlooking my tone.
"Yeah, but what if I need water?" I say, getting to my feet.
He is facing me now and I can see that he is tired of this argument but that he is not backing down.
"There's a full bucket in the kitchen."
"What if we run out, hmm?"
"In theory you won't die of thirst until three days," he replies in the same dry tone I'm using.
"What if there's a fire. Am I allowed to leave then? Or would you rather I burn to a crisp than leave the house." I lean forward, narrowing my eyes at him.
"If there's a fire then you can leave," he says with a tight smile. "But don't start the fire yourself."
"Okay brother," I say monotonously, a fake sweet smile on my face. "So in conclusion, I should rot in this house and never step foot out of it. Wonderful."
Lamees shoots me a disapproving look and I all but snap at her to stop taking his side. She clearly sees he is right only because she likes him. She's supposed to be my friend! Yahiya on the other hand totally ignores my sarcasm, partly because he is accustomed to it by now and the other part is because he knows there's no point in saying anything.
"Salam," he says and then turns around and disappears down the stairs.
"Arghhhh!" I groan, throwing my whole weight back on the bed. "He is impossible."
"No! Get up, get up, get up, get up. Oh my Allah, the fishtail! You'll ruin it," Lamees shouts, gesturing for me to sit up. I promptly jump to my feet, my irritation with Yahiya long forgotten.
"Don't kill me please." I put my hands up in front of me defensively and stare at her with bewildered eyes.
I guess I really look scared, because she bursts out laughing and I follow close behind.
"You should have seen your face," she says in between laughs.
"You have seen yours! I thought you were really going to pulls my hair out."
"I still may if you don't sit down so I can finish this braid," she says, trying to be stern.
We sit back again in the same positions as earlier and she completes braiding my hair. When she's done, she asks me to hand her the hair band which I give to her eagerly.
"Your impossibly long hair looks amazing Masha'Allah," she says, bringing the braid over my left shoulder for me to see. It looks different and fascinating but I have no idea why they call it a fishtail.
"JazakiAllah khayran," I say, beaming at her.
After this we lie on my bed, falling into comfortable silence for a while before she shifts onto her belly beside me. I can feel her gaze boring onto my face, but I don't look up.
"You shouldn't give Yahiya such a hard time you know," she whispers.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath.
"He's the one giving me a hard time," I say with a stern face.
"He's only trying to protect you. He has already lost you once; he doesn't want to lose you again."
Now I look up at her to see that she's glancing out the window. I prop myself up on my elbows, following her gaze to the oak tree in our backyard. A bird lands on my favorite branch and I almost fling myself up to a sitting position, surprised. There are no birds in the Factories Province, at least not this far from the woods. Maybe it is the cold weather driving it south, looking for warmth. Its feathers are a hue of blues and when it opens its wings I notice some blacks too. Lamees wants to be a mermaid, but what I would give to be this bird. To be free; of Yahiya's overprotectiveness, of the ghosts that follow me, of the guilt eating me up and of the evasion which is the reason behind all of these things.
"I know he is," I whisper after a while. "But it's choking me."
Lamees stays quiet and if it weren't for the sound of her breathing, I would have thought she left. I don't know what she is thinking and I don't ask.
"So did you decide what you'll get Anas for his birthday?" Is what I ask instead.
"No, but I'll figure something out." She sits up and blows her cheeks. "I should be going now; curfew will start in a bit."
My eyes dart to the clock on the wall - it's ten minutes to four 'clock - and then I get up too, tugging my worn out sweater closer to my chest.
"Let me walk you out. At least one of us can step into the street," I say.
Before we leave the room, I look out the window again to see the bird flying away. What I would give to be a bird indeed.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"I'm home," Yahiya shouts from downstairs, shutting the newly fixed front door behind him.
Kicking off my slippers, I jump into my bed quickly and crawl under the warm covers. The light bulb is turned off and the little illumination in the room comes from the candle on my nightstand.
I hear Yahiya's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and then stop by my bedroom. He knocks on the door and when I don't answer he opens it slowly, letting himself in. He's here to check on me, as usual. The floor boards creak with his weight as he approaches my bed, stopping by my head.
"Hamsa?" he whispers.
He doesn't know that I'm not really asleep, but if he does, he says nothing more. I feel the covers being pulled up further to cover me better and then a kiss being planted on my forehead.
"I'm sorry," he says with a tired sigh.
Moments later I hear the door click into place and then his footsteps retreating down the stairs. My eyes fly open and I pull myself up to a sitting position, still covered up to my shoulders.
I stare at the closed door, feeling slightly guilt-ridden for playing Yahiya. Normally I would wait for him with dinner and then we would pray Esha together in a jama'a before both going to sleep, it is the time we two spend together as a family. Today though, I'm not feeling up to any of this because I know eventually something will lead us to another fight. So instead of waiting for him, I prayed alone and on the kitchen counter, I laid out his share of tonight's dinner - potato soup and bread - and a note that it's his turn on dishes duty.
I can hear the clatter of dishes so clear all the way from my room even with the door closed. This is how quite it is at night in the Factories Province. When Yahiya is done washing the dishes, I follow the sound of his footsteps going up the stairs again and then disappearing into his room.
I wait for him to walk out again and head to the bathroom to take his shower as he would every other night. When I receive the sound of the bathroom's door being closed and then the running water in the shower, I push away the cover, slinging my legs off the side of the bed. The floor is cold even to my socked feet and I punctually lift them up, cringing away. I lean down, looking for my slippers under the bed, all the while careful not to touch the wooden boards again.
"Gotcha," I say, holding the slippers in hand.
I put them on over my socks, which is not an easy task and then get to my feet. I take my sweater and large-sized scarf off the hanger, throwing them on and then walk to my door, avoiding the boards which make sounds. Slowly I creak open the bedroom's door, biting my lower lip and crinkling my nose at the sound. Alhamdulillah that Yahiya is under running water.
I tiptoe down the stairs into the empty living room. Yahiya and his friends did an amazing job fixing the room up and if not for the faint burns on some boards and the roof, one wouldn't know it was once pitch black. But the repairs didn't fix the furniture nor did they fix the electric cables. Nothing could be salvaged of them and now the living room has nothing but a homemade wooden table and a chair sitting on the far corner. Auntie Samiya offered us a couch but I wouldn't accept it; they need furniture far more than we do.
I see that Yahiya has lit a candle inside a lantern, placing it on the table. The light is dim but enough to lead me the front door. Something about the wooden barrier between me and the street pulls me in like a magnet; it is like my imminent freedom is calling on me. I strain to hear the running water upstairs, to make sure Yahiya is busy and won't catch me in action and when I get my confirmation, my hand reaches for the lock on the door, then the handle and I turn it, swinging the door open.
Cold air fills my lungs and blows back my scarf so I have to hold it firmly in place. I take in a big whiff filled with the smell of the approaching winter. I walk out, pulling the door half-close behind me. The street is empty and dark, the wind blowing through the few trees and the song of the crickets fill the night, breaking the dead silence. It is way past curfew and if a guard is to pass in front of our house I'll be done for, but I hope for the best and stride down the front yard to the gate. Every step I take is hesitant but after each step I feel freer, in control. What would happen if I go through the gate now? If I just go to the river for a couple of minutes. Yahiya won't be checking on me for a while and if I'm fast and careful enough no guards will see me.
Determined I push the gate, observing the street for any sign of nearby guards and then I make a run for it. I make sure to walk behind buildings and check the streets thoroughly before making turns on them. Finally I reach the hill, and with a madly beating heart I climb it, slightly out of breath. It feels good to use my muscles to walk further than the kitchen or the bathroom and it is exciting being out when I know I shouldn't. When I reach the top of hill I see the river running in the distance. But that's not the only thing I notice and my blood goes colder than the air around me.
Without a second thought I pick up my night gown and surge down the hill. Beside the body which is lying on its side - a Muslim man I realize - I crouch on my knees, eyes wildly scanning his body, scared to touch him.
What happened to this man? Is he.... Is he dead? Oh God! Am I ready to witness something like this this soon? Oh Ya Allah, help me.
With a frantic heart, I extend two shaking fingers to his neck and there, I feel a pulse. It is weak but it's there, I can feel it. I let out a sigh I did not know I was holding and reach for the man again, turning him over so that he is now on his back And when I see that he is holding a tiny shivering boy, I gasp so loud that I startle myself. The boy stares up at me, eyes filled with tears and terror.
"Oh my Allah," I whisper, tears coming to my own eyes.
I reach for the little boy, probably no older than three years old, and he cringes back, cuddling further more into the man's chest.
"I won't hurt you dear, come," I say softly, managing to bring myself to smile instead of cry. I do not know if he understands what I'm saying, but I think not because the panic on his face doesn't fade, not one bit.
They have been through something traumatic. This much I know.
Looking back at the man, I notice the gashing wound on his forehead and I lose what's left of my nerves. I pull my sleeves over my palms and try to stop the bleeding by pressing on the wound but it just wouldn't and I don't know if I'm doing it right. My hands are trembling, the boy is starting to wail loudly and I can feel myself getting sick to my stomach. This man is going to bleed to death on my watch.
I feel helpless as I get to my wobbly feet, running my bloodied hands over my face and looking around me hysterically for help.
Someone, anyone. But who? Nobody would be out in the open at this time. At least no one in their right mind.
"Ya Allah. Ya Allah," I chant into the night.
My eyes bore into the kids' tears-filled ones and I know I have to do something so I turn around and run again, this time back home. The man needs help and even if I'll get in a lot of trouble for being out in the first place, it's better than him dying out here. I don't bother to look around, checking for guards on my way back and miraculously I make it home without running into any. I push the door, slamming it against the wall and dart up the stairs and into Yahiya's bedroom where I find him sitting on his praying rug with the Holy Qur'an in his hands.
"Yahiya!" I say, my voice is hoarse and urgent.
"Hey, I thought you were asleep." He looks up at me, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion and surprise. And then he takes in my demeanor -I must look like hell, all shaken and pale because his eyes widen and he jumps to his feet, setting the Qur'an on his study table.
"Oh my Allah! What happened to you Hamsa?" he says, eyes fixed on the blood on my face.
"It's- It's not my blood," I stutter and then swallow. "I'm not hurt."
He grabs my shoulders firmly and I'm actually thankful because I feel like this is the only thing holding me up. "Where were you? Whose blood is this on your face and hands?"
"There's no time to explain, you can shout at me later. Right now someone needs our help." I don't know if it's the tears in my eyes or the urgency in my voice that does it but Yahiya simply nods, letting go of my shoulders slowly and I can see worry writing itself all over his face.
"Quickly," I add, yanking his wrist and pulling him after me. I don't give him any chance to put on something warmer or even shoes.
When we get back to the river bank, the man and boy are exactly where I left them, due to the fact that the man is still unconscious. Yahiya is silent as he squats beside the man, doing exactly what I did before to check if he is still alive and then to survey his injuries.
"What happened to him?" he asks, looking up at me. "Did you witness this?"
"No. I don't know... I found him like this, I was just going to come here for a drink and then I saw him lying on the ground," I stammer, pacing back and forth behind Yahiya.
"He needs medical attention; his wound won't stop bleeding on its own," he informs me.
"Do you think the guards did this to him? Because he was out after curfew?" I don't need to ask, I know it can only be their doing. Talal and his men are well capable of doing this but his territory is beyond the river.
"Probably, but this doesn't matter right now. We have to get him some place warm before he freezes to death."
"But you said he needs medical attention. He'll die if he gets none." I look at the boy who has gone silent beside the man - I realize he must be his father and my heart aches for him.
"There is no place where he can get medical attention at this hour. We can only do our best to make him comfortable."
"Make him comfortable so he can die? How can you say such a thing Yahiya?" I do not mean to sound so accusing.
"Hamsa, we can't do anything. I'm sorry." His voice is low and I can tell this is hurting him as much as it is me, maybe even more. He feels like he has let me down too.
I glance at the man again and the gash on his head reminds me of Sebastian for some reason. How seriously injured he was when Abu-Bakr threw him back into the cell our first day there. Back then he would have died as well if not for the herbs Madame had given me.
With this thought I stop pacing and it is like a light bulb goes off in my head and I regain some of the lost hope. SubhanAllah how this escaped my mind.
"We can take him to Madame Moneera's house!" I exclaim, turning to face Yahiya who is still bent beside the man. "She would know exactly what to do. She used to be a doctor and she's excellent with herbs."
I can tell that he doesn't fully like the idea but he knows we have no other solution. I have yet to know what my brother has against the sweet Madame Moneera. But I have a feeling that it has to do with her supporting my crazy actions.
"Yeah, I guess we can do that," he says, nodding his head slightly. And then more firmly he adds, "We should do that."
Right away he places one arm under the man's thighs and the other under his head, lifting him off the ground, grimacing a little. The man is slightly on the heavier side and seeing Yahiya carrying him with no complaint whatsoever I feel proud.
"Get the little boy," he instructs me.
"Okay."
It takes some convincing but in the end the little boy agrees to let me carry him. He hinges his legs around my waist and I secure my arms around him. It surprises me that he is spiking a fever and that his cloths are slightly wet but then it hits me. His father was probably out to get water to relief this boy's fever.
I follow Yahiya back to our neighborhood, this time carefully and at a slower pace since we are both loaded. When we stop in front of Madame's door, I wonder if she will even open up. She would never expect visitors at this hour and she knows it is not wise to open the door for anyone under the circumstances.
I knock the door and pray that she is awake, all the while harassing my lips with my teeth and looking over my shoulder for approaching guards. The man lets out a loud moan as he starts to regain his conscious and Yahiya shifts his weight from foot to another. I am getting impatient and desperate as I knock the door to no avail, and just as I am about to give up, I hear Madame's voice call from inside the house and a relieved sigh escapes my mouth.
"Yes? Who is it?" She asks just behind the door.
"Madame Moneera, open up. It's me, Hamsa."
Upon saying this, I hear a lock disengage and then another before the door flings open and I am met by a panic-stricken Madame. I notice that she is holding a wooden spatula in hand, probably wanted to use it for defense if the visitor wasn't friendly. I shudder just to think of Madame Moneera having to defend herself alone.
"Hamsa darling what brings you out this late? Are you alright?"
Her eyes flicker to the boy in my arms and then to Yahiya who is standing behind me, carrying the man.
"Ya ilahi (Arabic for Oh my God)." She gasps, opening the door wider. "Come in, come in dear."
She ushers us inside, closing the door behind us and leads Yahiya to the living room's couch which she quickly empties for Yahiya to lay the man on. Cautiously Yahiya places him down, resting his head on a pillow that Madame has set. The room is warm and I can see Madame was already up on her sewing machine. I take a seat on a chair nearby, the boy still in my arms, shivering but quite.
"Poor man," she says, hand placed on her chest. "What happened to him?"
"We think he was attacked by guards for being out after curfew," Yahiya says, his words drip malice and I can understand his frustration. What did we do to deserve not even being able to walk out of our homes?
"Those savages," Madame says. The corners of her mouth sag down as she takes in the man's condition. "Allah is sufficient for me, and how fine a trustee he is."
"Do you have anything to stop the bleeding?" Yahiya asks her. He towers high above her, Masha'Allah, and she has to cock her head up to look at him.
"It looks deep, he needs stiches, but first we have to clean it." She fixes the shawl on her shoulders and then walks to the kitchen and calls for Yahiya. "Yahiya would you be a dear and come give me a hand with the water?"
"Of course, I'll be right there." He disappears into the kitchen and I am left behind, rocking the child. He doesn't look scared anymore, but his fever isn't going away.
Minutes later Yahiya comes back with a basin of hot water and Madame Moneera follows him closely behind carrying a clean towel and her first aid kit. Yahiya cleans the wound and checks for any other cuts but thankfully there are none. Then Madame stitches it up and places a plaster on it.
"He'll regain consciousness soon," she says, getting off her stool to go wash her hands. "His condition is stabilizing Alhamdulillah and he'll get better after resting."
I sigh, a smile breaking onto my face and my back relaxing.
"Alhamdulillah," I say and then look down at the boy, "You heard this little fella? Daddy is going to be alright."
I don't know if I imagine it but the boy looks relieved. It then comes back to my mind that he is really sick and might need Madame's help as well.
"Oh Madame, this boy is spiking a fever. You don't happen to have something to relief it, do you?" I ask her, just as Yahiya enters the room again. He was taking the basin out.
"How bad is it?" she asks, coming closer to where I'm sitting. She places the back of her hand on the boy's forehead and promptly withdraws it, wrinkles forming on her forehead.
"He is burning up," she says, shaking her head. "He needs cool bandages."
I get up and gently set the boy down on the chair.
"I'll get it, you rest Madame."
On my way to the bathroom, I pass by Yahiya and squeeze his shoulder, giving him a grateful smile which he returns with a kind one. He looks tired and sleep-deprived but alert at the same time and I feel bad for dragging him into this.
I wash my hands and face thoroughly because they are starting to give me the creeps - who wouldn't be freaked by having someone's blood on them - and then I dampen a hand towel with water which is freezing cold. Back in the living room I hand Madame the towel and she uses it to blot the sweat on the boy's face before placing it down on his forehead. The boy lets out a low moan, closing his eyes and I can't begin to imagine how he must be feeling.
After everything is settled and the boy falls asleep on Madame's bed, Yahiya and I say our Salaams and then find our way home. Yahiya is to check on them tomorrow morning Insha'Allah, explain what happened and then and help get back to their family which is probably worried sick about them. I don't know what we would have done if Madame hadn't been so graciously helpful.
"We made it!" I exclaim, engaging the door's lock in place.
The fact that I ran down my street five times this night without being caught by the guards exhilarates me and makes me feel accomplished. I'm not a prisoner after all.
"Yeah Alhamdulillah we did." I notice the switch in Yahiya's tone and immediately I know that it is already 'later'. What was I saying about not being a prisoner again?
The candle has died away and I can't make out his expressions but I can see that his arms are folded across his chest and I assume this is accompanied by pursed lips.
"I am very disappointed in you Hamsa." Is how he starts off and all I think is, really? Disappointed? I just saved two people's lives - okay he and Madame Moneera saved them but I aided - and disappointment is his response?
"I thought I made myself pretty clear when I told you not to leave the house, ever. And you don't just leave the house. You leave after curfew, at night, and go to the place that you were... taken from not even a month ago," he says angrily and I thank Allah that I can't see his face.
"I just wanted to breathe some fresh air," I say, throwing my head back.
"You should have opened your window," he snaps.
"Yeah I could have, but I didn't and now what's done is done. So please, can you let it go? I'm really not in the mood for one of your lectures." I try to move around him, but he moves too, standing in my way up the stairs.
"Well you are getting one anyway," he says in his I-mean-business tone. "You screwed up big time Hamsa. You didn't just disrespect me by throwing my rules out the window, you endangered yourself. You could have been caught by the guards outside and that man could have been you. Can you imagine my reaction if I had woken up tomorrow to find your bed empty and then after looking for you everywhere, found out you were beat up to death or even taken by the guards again?"
His words are meant to make me feel guilty but they only anger me. Why can't he see that I wouldn't have done any of this if he wasn't holding me under water?
"I know I screwed up Yahiya." I draw quotation marks in the air. "But if I hadn't, that man would be dead now and so would that boy. So sorry but I'm not sorry that me breaking protocol saved two lives tonight."
I shoot him the most indignant look I can muster even though I know he can't see it and then I brush by him, storming to my room. From upstairs and before I slam my door shut I shout,
"Please just stop cuddling me; I can take care of myself."
It doesn't take him long to follow me into my room. I'm already back in my bed, bloodied sweater thrown in the laundry pile. I roll over, giving him my back as sign for him to get out, but he doesn't take it.
"I don't want to fight Hamsa. I hate it when we fight," he says and I can no longer hear the anger in his voice.
"Then leave my room and go to sleep," I say, pulling my covers up higher.
"I can't." He is standing by my head.
"Just pretend to be coming in through the door like you just did but instead go the opposite way, and then enter you room, lie down on the bed and close your eyes, you'll be asleep in no time," I instruct sarcastically.
"I mean," he says, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. "I can't go to sleep with you mad at me."
I scoff. "Save it Yahiya. I'm tired."
"Just listen to me Hamsa. I know you believe yourself to be indomitable and that nothing can harm you, but it isn't at all safe for you to be strolling around the province alone. And I know you don't believe I'm doing this out of my love for you-"
"blah blah blah." My goal is to annoy him enough so he would leave, but of course he doesn't.
"- but to control you or something. But trust me; I don't enjoy this anymore than you do. And to prove myself, I come here baring gifts."
"You're not going to bribe me into making peace with you, Yahiya," I mumble, rolling my eyes. What does he think I am? Five?
"I'm not here to bribe you." He pauses and I understand it's for dramatic effect. "I'm here to make you a deal."
I roll over slowly and the triumphant smile on his face tells me this is exactly what he is hoping for.
"What kind of a deal?" I ask him, narrowing my eyes dubiously.
"Well, the kind you'll love." His smile becomes a full-fledged grin.
"I'm listening."
"I was thinking," he says, gazing up at the ceiling, "since you proved there's clearly no point in keeping you here forever - let alone that it's impossible. That maybe I'll be allowing you to leave the house, you know go to school, go to the market, visit your friends and whatnot."
He looks back at me, shrugging one shoulder. I'm sure my eyes are the size of apples and before he could continue I push myself up to a sitting position, attacking his neck with a hug.
"Oh My God, thank you, thank you, thank you Yahiya," I exclaim, squeezing him so hard that I feel like I'm strangling him.
"Can't.... Breath," he croaks and I laugh, letting go of him.
"Sorry." I'm smiling so much that my cheeks are starting to hurt. "Are you serious Yahiya? I swear to God if you're just playing me I'll soak you with water in your sleep."
He cracks up, shaking his hands in front of him.
"No, I'm not playing you. I'm seriously lifting up your probation, but it'll have to be on my terms."
"I don't care, any terms. I just need to get out!"
"We're good then," he says, poking my nose.
I clap my hands together, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek. He laughs, ruffling my hair which is still in its fishtail. If it gets ruined I'll just Lamees it's Yahiya's doing.
"So I can go to school tomorrow right?" I still feel like I need to make sure.
"Yes, I'll drop you off on my way to the factory Insha'Allah." He gets to his feet, a yawn escaping his mouth. "Now get some sleep champ, It is going to be a long day."
Yeah, tell me about it.