The Coldness of Revenge

The Coldness of Revenge
by
E.E. Coder

The sunlight filtered through the tree branches, but its warmth could not touch her. Farah had hoped that coming here would bring closure, help the terrible ache gripping her heart, but all she felt was cold emptiness. She was so tired of grief and sorrow; it was all she felt for so long it seemed like it was ingrained in her soul.

It had not always been so; just a few short months ago the possibilities in life seemed endless, Farah couldn’t believe how happy life could be in those times. She had been accepted at the university after high school; there she had met a young man that filled her heart with joy. Soon the two of them were inseparable, a fact that never completely pleased her parents, but soon they grew fond of the young Yusif too.

Just before the start of her third year in college Yusif’s mother had gone to her parents to ask for her hand in marriage. Farah’s father at first was reluctant to give his blessing, but he couldn’t deny Farah’s happiness. After the traditional family negotiations, he finally gave in and granted his blessing. Their engagement party was a joyous affair, friends and family sharing in their joy.

Oh, how we danced and laughed, Farah thought, life was so full of promise! She and Yusif had been married four years. Those years were so full of joy and happiness; we knew we were surely blessed by Allah.

Yusif had been ecstatic with joy at the birth of his daughter Maryam, frequently showering her with small gifts and showing her off with much pride. “She is without doubt, the most beautiful baby girl in all of the land.” Yusif bragged often to any and all.

Then, joy of all joys, last year Farah was able to provide him with a baby boy. Always Yusif had been a doting father to Maryam, but Issa was a son! Farah smiled at the memory of the look of absolute joy on Yusif’s face when Issa was presented to him.

“Look, Farah,” he exclaimed, holding up the bawling newborn. “Look how strong and perfect his body is. He will grow up to be strong and wise, look at the intelligence in his eyes! I believe he knows that he is destined for great things.”

“Yes, Yusif,” she said with a laugh, weary from the long labor. “He is strong and perfect! He is also surely intelligent, he feels the safety and comfort of his father’s arms; but I think he also knows that he is hungry and his loving mother is here for him!”

Gently, she took him from his father’s hands and set him to her breast. Yusif had smiled down on them both with such love in his eyes, the wonderment over his new son causing tears of joy and he laughed in delight watching his strong young son feast hungrily.

“Look how he goes after his food, he is such a wonder.” He proclaimed. “Allah has surely blessed this house!” She had to agree; at the time it did seem like their house was blessed.

Life under Saddam Hussein was difficult at best, but Yusif had a good position with the water department, making an adequate enough living that they had their own small apartment with a tiny enclosed yard, living close to both of their parents’ families, a blessing as the children were born.

Their life was no different from many other people’s she assumed, at least then it was. They lived a quiet life, enjoying their children, being close with their families as was tradition.

How the house would resonate with the laughter and the joyous singing! Farah remembered. Yusif had a terrible singing voice, but he was usually the loudest and then his laugh would fill the room.

They had many friends of their age as well and would sometimes go outside the city on jaunts to the country. Picnics and walks by the river under these very trees had been especially pleasant for the whole family.

Just one year ago, we sat right there and had a wonderful meal with Hakim and Leyla. I remember we didn’t go home until well after darkness fell, because Yusif and Hakim were discussing their work.

Yusif worked many hours for the government water department with his friend Hakim, but after the birth of Issa he decided they needed extra income. Asking around, he was able to obtain part-time work with his cousin Mustafa doing apartment remodeling. The extra income was an added blessing and soon they were able to start a small savings account. Yusif was so proud that he would be able to save for his son’s education.

“Someday, Farah,” he proclaimed proudly, “our son may become a doctor, perhaps something even greater!”

Unfortunately things change; becoming worse as the trouble with the Americans began to build. After many months of negotiations and threats from the American president, it finally looked like he might be serious enough to challenge Saddam’s stubborn pride. Yusif and Farah couldn’t understand it completely; never very political, religious, or patriotic enough to get involved in such things. Politics and such worldly things were not their concerns; after all, it wasn’t from Iraq that the World Trade Center bombers came. Secretly, much like most of their friends and family, they hoped Saddam would soon be overthrown, and then perhaps life would get better for everyone.

The news reports began to warn of the Americans’ impending invasion. Though the reporters proclaimed early Iraqi victories, soon it was obvious the American troops were pushing ever closer to Baghdad. Still Farah hadn’t worried much; surely things would settle down, maybe the tyranny and corruption of Saddam would ease perhaps.

One night they heard the booms of distant bombs and artillery fire; over the next few days the sounds grew ever closer and closer. Farah didn’t worry too much even then; surely things would settle down and life would return, she had always thought.

Then they began to have intermittent power outages, food and medicine began to be even harder to obtain at the market and the sounds of the bombs and battles still closer and closer. They could see the searchlights and flares lighting up the night, the noise and excitement keeping the children awake, sometimes well into the morning.

“Do not worry, little one,” Yusif had whispered, holding his son close, “I will keep you safe.” Farah could see the worry etched upon his face though.

One terrible night the missiles began landing closer and closer. Terrified, the four huddled in the bedroom together. The electricity failed completely, a couple of days later, the water followed. As they hid and prayed, Yusif became incensed about not being able to find food for his children, he began to rant about the barbarous infidels that would keep children from milk.

On the third night of almost constant bombardment, their apartment building took a direct strike, in an instant their lives changed forever. Yusif had been out trying to scavenge some kind of food for the children; Farah had just laid Issa down for a much needed nap during an unusual lull in the bombing. The direct strike their building received was just beyond the room where Issa slept.

All Farah remembered was a loud boom and crash as the walls shook then came tumbling down, a falling beam struck her and she fell unconscious. Desperately trying to shield Maryam from the falling rubble; Maryam's screams, the last thing Farah heard.

Farah was told that it was hours later before Yusif managed to get home, only to see a pile of smoldering fires. In a panic, he had joined with other men trying to dig through the ruins, in hope of finding their families.

Farah remembered waking to the sound of scraping and digging, a heavy weight holding her firmly in place. Feeling around with her unbroken left hand, she managed to locate Maryam pinned underneath her body, but she detected no sound or movement. Summoning up as much strength as she could, Farah weakly called out until someone finally heard her. The digging, more desperate and quick until she was finally pulled free, seemed an eternity to all.

“Farah! Maryam!” She heard Yusif call. “Oh please, Allah, I beg of you, please let them be safe!”

Maryam had received a terrible blow to her head, and remained unconscious for quite a while. The diggers weren’t in time to save Issa though. Yusif dug desperately, crying and pleading with Allah for hours to no avail.

At last a small bundle was located under a massive pile of rubble. A first glance sparked false hope that the child was just sleeping, still wrapped snugly in his blankets. After a closer inspection, Yusif uttered a terrible scream. Dropping to his knees, he clutched the tiny bundle tightly to his chest, beseeching Allah for relief.

Farah carefully attended to Maryam as best she could, afraid to approach Yusif, who after his initial outburst remained uncharacteristically quiet. Even later, after they walked to the morgue bearing their tiny burden, he didn’t say anything. Instead Yusif handed the baby to the attendant, looked down on the small bundle a moment, then turned and quietly walked away.

The bombing was over after that night. The Americans, claiming victory, drove their tanks and trucks into what was left of the city. After a long wait outside a makeshift hospital, Maryam and Farah were pushed out almost as soon as they were bandaged and checked over. More and more casualties were flooding into the already overwhelmed temporary medical tents; they were told to try and find shelter where they could.

The next few weeks and then months, Yusif was unable to rest much as he tried to find food, shelter and water, for his remaining family. During those times away he spent a lot of the time with other men; some young, some old, also suffering devastating losses in their families. Oftentimes other men would show up to try to give assistance; men from Syria, some from Jordan and Saudi Arabia, even at times, men from Afghanistan.

Most of these men would talk of exacting revenge from the Americans and British who had so destroyed their homes and families.

“There will be revenge; the infidels will pay dearly for this outrage.” they said, “Men who are brave enough to jihad as-sayf will be martyrs, their families will be cared for evermore. If the Americans do not leave soon there will be a heavy price to pay for the infidels.”

The talk among the men, spurred on by the foreigners, was about ways to deal revenge on the Americans. Yusif didn’t speak to Farah much about that kind of talk; he was much too busy trying to ensure their survival, but she could tell he was listening. She knew his heart was broken by the loss of his son, but he kept working and scavenging for food and medicine.

The news, mostly heard only on radio loudspeakers or in rumors, said that Saddam’s sons were reported dead, and then the shocking news that Saddam himself was captured. They said he was hiding in the ground like a desert spider while his country was being destroyed. They were glad that Saddam was overthrown; the hope was now the Americans would be satisfied the oil was safe, and soon they would leave so the Iraqis could get on with the rebuilding of their lives.

Maryam remained weak and confused in her mind after the bomb; she never played or smiled much after that. The lack of food and shortage of water weakened them all; especially Maryam, a raspy cough was about the only sound she made. One morning Farah awoke to find her unconscious, unresponsive to sound or touch. A few days later she died quietly in her sleep.

The loss of Issa had devastated Yusif, but it didn’t keep him from working and struggling to keep Maryam and Farah fed and sheltered. The loss of Maryam seemed to completely destroy him; he wailed and banged his head over and over again. Cursing Sadam's obstinacies and the American's indifference, he rushed out of their little shelter into the cold dark night. Farah heard his screams and curses for some time in the distance. She waited, shivering alone in the darkness of their shared devastation, until just before dawn.

When Farah heard Yusif come into the shelter she was relieved, knowing soon he would come to her, and they would find comfort in each other; somehow they would get through this pain. He came slowly, almost hesitantly to their bed and hugged her fiercely. When Farah tried to ask where he had been, why he had left her alone with her pain, he gently placed his finger to her lips and whispered, “Oh Farah, my love, my fair flower.” Quietly he sobbed into her hair, gripping her tightly in his arms. “We will have justice, this I swear!”

In his arms Farah soon slept, in the morning they would take their beloved daughter to join her little brother at rest in the crowded cemetery. When Farah awoke though, Yusif was already up. She saw that he had carefully washed Maryam’s body and dressed her in her best dress.

“As soon as you dress we will carry her to the morgue.” Bravely he smiled. “Then I have some things I have to attend to.”

Instantly Farah was afraid, not by what he said or how he looked, mostly a cold feeling that ran through her body. Farah had been deeply cold ever since the night of the bombing, but this feeling ran even deeper and ever colder.

“What things?” she asked, perhaps too quickly. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t ask so many questions, woman!” he barked at her, uncharacteristic of Yusif. “All you need to know is that there will be enough money for food for us and for our families.”

“What money? What FAMILY?” Farah reached out for him, but he quickly turned his back. “Yusif, what are you going to DO?”

When he turned back to her, she saw he had a large bundle of money clutched in his hands. Sadly he smiled at her and gently pushed the money into her hands.

“Put this away someplace safe,” he said. “Then get dressed. Hurry up now and make yourself beautiful for me. Make your self beautiful to see our daughter off to glory.”

Trembling with an unknown fear, Farah quickly did what he asked. After she was ready, she saw that Yusif had put on his suit and carefully combed his hair. He was so handsome even in his sadness that Farah reached out to him again. He let her hug him for a moment, returning the hug strongly for the briefest of seconds. Then he turned and picked up Maryam, and together they made their way to the morgue. Afterwards, Yusif smiled sorrowfully at Farah for a few moments then quickly embraced her.

“Return home, woman." he said softly. “Return home and be well, my lovely wife. I have things to attend to. Soon I will be with you, but for now I must go.”

Farah tried to meet his eyes, but he looked long into the distance before patting her shoulder briskly and striding off. Farah watched his purposeful stride until she could no longer see him; not once did he turn to look back. Still Farah stood there for more than an hour, like a statue she stood frozen until the blare of an American military truck startled her into motion.

Thinking that maybe a walk in the sunshine would help dispel the terrible cold shrouding her before returning to the shelter, Farah decided to walk down by the river. There, only a few months earlier, their family had shared so many happy hours. She strode as purposefully as she could down the street. The sunlight filtered through the tree branches, but its warmth could not touch her.