The Safest Place

The Safest Place

Saira, “little Saira”, to all who knew her,  felt as much as heard a low rumbling in the distance. The sound much like that of rolling thunder shook the glass and delicate items in her home. Slowly it increased in crescendo until sharp cracks of sound could be heard to precede the rumble. The dust in the window sill stirred while the old roof rattled out its frustrations. It wasn't a new occurrence. For what seemed an eternity to a 6 year old, the sound had invaded their lives and caused strange looks and odd behavior from the rest of her family.

Their home was a place for laughter and warmth. Her father was a doctor at the hospital and was able to afford refuge for a large extended family recently come together. Their new home wasn't as nice as their old one, bigger yet more crowded, but Saira never noticed. There were so many new people to play with and talk to she never bothered to reflect on the how and why as her life had changed. One by one the newcomers fell to her bright smiles and unassuming charm. Saira was the giver, the mediator, the care-taker, and was more likely to give sweets won from her mother at  the market to her siblings and cousins than she was to eat them herself.

It was this easy charm that Saira had frequently used on her fathers youngest brother, the family storyteller, to sweep her away into a land of fantasies and dreams. The daily ritual was established the first night that he stayed with them. Saira's father told her that he was a masterful storyteller and could spin magic tales that lasted 40 days and nights without stopping. Saira wasn't sure that the shy young man could possibly know so many, but she begged him for a story anyway.

Once Kateb began spinning yarns, he transformed from a shy young man to a wizened old storyteller. He grabbed bits of clothing and props from his audience, inviting them to be a part of the fantasy. Soon, they were all be enchanted by his tales, not just the children. His older brothers and sisters would stop their hushed conversations to catch pieces of their favorite stories or to listen to new ones. The children would sit with rapt attention and you knew they took time to breath only during a particularly harrowing part of the story when they would cry out for their hero or curse the villain. Night after night they continued the ritual, dispelling thoughts of unease and weariness or the world outside the plaster walls. That was before he went away though.

For a long time Saira's youngest uncle was nowhere to be found and had only returned a few nights before. He returned thin, exhausted, and worn like an old pair of shoes. The quiet laughter that filled his eyes when he would tell Saira stories was gone along with the stories. In their place lay a pained silence. He didn't say where he had been, no matter how many times she asked. “Not now”, he would say when she brought him food. “I will tell you later. Right now, I must rest.“ She recounted her day to him in its entirety, while he sat with his eyes closed listening to her the way she listened to one of his stories..

The sound outside shook Saira from her thoughts and soon grew so loud the earth shook and little tendrils of dust drifted down from the ceiling making dusty spider strands in the sunlight. Later, as the sun set, brilliant flashes filled the sky. Her mother forbade her from standing at the windows, but she managed to take a peek now and then. When she did she could see smoky clouds briefly lite by what appeared to be balls of fire. Her family ate their dinner in hushed silence. Once there was a CRACK so loud it made them all jump. No one commented about the noise even though several nearly jumped out of their seats. Saira could see that her mother was worried and went wordlessly to her gentle embrace without knowing what was wrong, only that something was. The rest of the family were left to glance warily at the windows and doors through out their meal. The adults knew the storm that was coming, and they kept their secret hidden for as long as they could in order to give the children as many stolen moments of sweet innocence as possible.

Early the next day Saira and her mother went to the home of a family close to theirs. Amira was Saira's best friend and they would often play together while their mothers gossiped and did chores. Saira's mother kept her and her sister close while they walked, the tension of the night before not forgotten. Everyone was running on the street today. Even the elderly managed a brisk pace. “Come on, quickly now,” said her mother.  The bustle was contagious so they half walked half ran with their mother holding on to them tightly the few remaining blocks. As they rounded the corner, they stepped into a cacophony of sights, and sounds that held them in place while their minds tried to comprehend what they were witness to.

The building where Amira's family lived was gone. The only testament to the families who lived there were a few standing multi-story walls and the occasional piece of furniture sticking out  from the rubble. People old and young climbed on the debris, looking for friends and family. Many weeping as they tried to lift a slab of floor. People were shouting, some the unintelligible cries of those in deepest despair, others begged for help to search through the rubble. The rest of the day was a blur to Saira. She thought her brothers and uncles and cousins were there helping search the rubble. There were brief fragments of wanting to look for Amira  but her mother pulled her body to her and tried to shield her eyes as if by seeing the destruction and death she would become susceptible to it and it would be her small body hidden by the concrete. Perhaps after that her mother carried her home. Did she eat? She couldn't recall that anymore than how she got to bed.

The next morning when she woke up, she got her things together and stood at the kitchen door. No one else was up. Finally, her mother came into the kitchen.

Saira, why are you up so early? You're dressed, where are you going?
“Its time to go to Amira's. We always go.. She'll be there today I know she will!”

Even as the words left her mouth, tears started to fall from her eyes. The calm detachment receded and pain took its place. Saira and her mother both held each other and cried together. Then her mother made Saira her favorite breakfast and they talked about Amira; what a great friend she was, and how even though she was gone, she was in a good place now, and they would all see each other again someday.

At breakfast, Saira helped her mother prepare the meal but was pulled aside by her uncle, Kateb. “I promised you a story young lady, and now I shall tell it to you.”

“Where did I go for so long? I can not lie on this. I was trapped in the cave of a mad genie who wanted to steal all my stories. If I hadn't found three magic pebbles I never would have returned at all.”

The children all gasped, “How did you get away?”, and he began to recount the fantastic story in full. His voice still wasn't as steady as it used to be and his body a little stiffer when acting out valiant duels, but the magic was still there all the same. The events of the past few days melted away, replaced with crooning maidens and daring escapes from the fortress of the most powerful genie in the land.

By the time Kateb had finished they felt a burden had been lifted. As they drifted away in groups to start work or do chores, each was a little less afraid of the world outside. Before Saira left with her mother, Kateb put three small blue pebbles into her hand.

“They're so pretty.”

“Yes, and they're very valuable. Don't show them to anyone else. Keep them close, don't lose them, and sleep with them under your pillow. They will help to protect you from harm. The same way they protected me.”

“But what if the genie comes after you again?”

“No. They're for you now.”

“Thank You.” Saira said with a smile and a hug.

He chuckled lightly as she left with her mother. The magic pebbles pulling at his insides and stirring dark memories as they were carried away.

--
As a the sun rose on another day a young man recited the same prayers that filled his nights and most moments he had to himself. He prayed for his family. He prayed for those who had fallen and for those who were left. His thoughts drifted back to the dark cell where his tormentors had broken his spirit and, nearly, his mind. He didn't know what he had told them. In truth, he could no longer remember if the story he had told his family was real or a dream. Instead all he could remember was a smiling face bringing him a bowl of rice and the rigors of Saira's days playing with her friends and helping her mother. He knew that there were times and places that the safest place is lost in a world entirely of your own making. So he prayed that with his stories he could give some hope and safety to those around him, ephemeral though it might be. Surely, God would have mercy on them. God knew them all and knew their hearts, surely He would protect them.

What he didn't fully know, and no one person could, is the magic that comes with the gift of story telling be it from a book or orally in a crowded family room. It can move small hands to place their most valuable possessions, three magic pebbles, under the pillow of their favorite uncle to keep him safe. It can even embolden the smallest of shadows to venture out into a dangerous world because there are so few magic pebbles, and a family contains so many people.