Moment

Moment

By Ahmed Elfeky

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, La Illaha Ila Allah...
         The initial sound wave departed from the shaky speakers of the mosque. The newborn spherical wave was full of fresh life, ready to expand in all directions, conquering its neighborhood of birth. With a core full of energy, it found its way upward to an infinite universe. It was still dark, but it felt a glimpse of dawn rushing its way. It looked down, and if only it was able to freeze this moment in time, it would have taken a picture of the world beneath it. Small and old buildings, mostly beige in color, filled the land like Tetris blocks. From up there it looked like they supernaturally overlapped. They were connected; quite literarily. Thousands of colorful triangular flags and balloons held on to their dear lives, hanging on miles and miles of strings. The decorative strings went from one building to another like blood vessels, spreading in a body, enriching its organs with life. Downwards, it fearlessly collided with the walls of its 800-year-old mother. The mosque echoed back its newborn's voice. Growing northward, the sound wave rushed between buildings in the empty narrow alleys, the colorful flags above it, waving in welcome to the rising sun. Soon enough, the wave found itself hovering over an endless ink blue that reflected the color of the sky. It kept going for a long time over the Mediterranean. Southward, the wave bounced from one building to another, as if knocking on windows asking the inhabitants of this neighborhood to wake up. On its left it found some rubble, a lot of rubble, but it chose to ignore it. It must have known that there was no one there to wake up. In a tight alley it zigzagged from one window to another until it reached the end of the alley, gracefully colliding with its resting place: a small window. In its last breath, it caught a glimpse of a small room with three people sleeping inside. It also saw someone standing in front of a mirror in the not completely dark room. The wave smiled. It knew it was about to die. But that was okay because it felt the flood of its siblings following behind it.

***

         The wall clock read 5:25 AM. Malik was already up over an hour ago. He wanted to make sure he was able to shower before his three younger brothers woke up. He looked in the mirror and he couldn't remember the last time he wore clean clothes. But today, he was dressed in his only button-down shirt. He kept it for special occasions. This morning was Eid. Sure, it was a different Eid. A sadder Eid. But it was still Eid.
         In the corner of the mirror frame Malik paused a second too long looking at a picture of a young man. A soccer ball hugged in his left arm and a cheap metal trophy in his right hand. Even though, the picture was taken just over a year ago, Malik couldn't recognize himself. He looked back in the mirror, and he soberly noticed the change. More lines on his forehead, hands as rough as sandpaper, and was he just imagining or did his hairline recede a little? But he didn't care anymore.
         He opened the squeaky drawer of the dresser table to grab his hairbrush. The hairbrush laid on top of another photo. A photo that Malik saw every single day for the last year or so but refused to pick it up. Today was different. He picked it up; it was taken exactly a year ago, in Eid. In the picture a slightly younger Malik and a much happier one sat next to his father in their little terrace. They were both sipping black tea from glass cups. Malik was dressed in the same button-down shirt he was wearing today. His father was dressed in a suit he owned since the seventies. They looked happy. They looked content. Malik only noticed that he was crying when a tear drop escaped his eyelashes and took a free fall splashing against the photograph. He stopped. He made himself stop. He had to. He returned the photograph back in its safe and combed his hair without looking in the mirror. He hated to see himself weak.
          He opened the window, intentionally letting the Eid takbir coming from the mosque, at the end of the street, invade the room.
         Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...
         Malik watched from the little window as the tight streets began to fill with his neighbors, friends, and strangers, dressed in nice clean clothes. Children smiled holding their fathers' hands and mothers laughed lightly with each other. Eid made everything look different. For a couple of days people forgot that the walls of their homes were cracking or that the sewage system has been broken for a week. Kids forgot about their missing mom, dad, brother, sister, or friend. They were distracted by the colorful flags and balloons flying above them. They were excited for the 10 or 20 pounds of Eid money that they were hoping to receive from their parents and uncles.
         Malik found his hand resting on the 3-foot pile of textbooks collecting dust. He unwillingly remembered the long nights he spent studying. He remembered all the medical terms he memorized and all the bones in the human body that he knew by heart. Out of habit he opened the top book, Advanced Science of Biology, to a random page. He recognized the chapter about the nervous system. Sad nostalgia overtook him as his eyes scanned the terminology and the diagrams that his tongue was so used to eloquently explain. A voice inside of him said, 'You can get back to it if you want to, you know?'. He knew that there was still a tiny light of hope in his heart, but no he couldn't, he decided soberly. Who was gonna take care of his brothers, he thought as he was closing the book? But then he stopped when he saw her handwriting. He knew how she connected the dots in the Arabic alphabet instead of writing them separately. He remembered her and he knew how hard he was trying not to. They studied together for hours every week. In his heart, he felt longing for her intelligence, her help, her smile, her eye--. No, that's enough, he decided. He dropped the book forcefully and turned around to his tiny room.
         "Are you dead or what? I've been trying to wake you all up for the last 30 minutes. Get up and get ready!" Malik knew that his brothers were trying to skip Eid prayer. "I will count to three and I swear if you don't get up--"
         He was interrupted by Youssef and Ali, quickly getting off their mattress. Malik smiled as they walked grumpily towards the bathroom. No one would guess that they're brothers let alone twins. They looked nothing alike, and neither were their personalities. Youssef pushed Ali to get to the bathroom before him and Ali looked at Malik, giving him a 'are you gonna do anything about this' look. After their father was killed, Malik was promoted, or demoted, depending on how you looked at it, to being a father.
         Omar was still in bed. He has been doing a lot of sleeping lately.
         "Ya Allah! Omar, get the hell up! You are not a kid anymore so stop acting like one." Malik knew he was harsh on Omar, since their father died, but he had to be. Omar was 16, three years younger than Malik. He needed to take part in the unbearable responsibility that was suddenly bestowed upon him.
         "Omar, I know you are awake. So, stop--"
         "I am not going!" Omar said giving his back to his older brother.
         Malik understood. It was their first Eid without their father. If he was alive everyone would've been up an hour ago. They'd all sit around their father and drink tea with him as he gave each of them their edeya. The twins would get 20 pounds each, Omar would get 50, and Malik would get a 100. They would then all kiss their mother and head out together as a complete family to go to the mosque. Malik does not have money to give his brothers their edeya. Working as a mechanic at the auto shop barely covered their food expenses.
         He walked towards his bed, which is also Omar's bed; he wanted to comfort his brother or tell him something that would make him feel better. But all he was able to say was, "Your father would've been ashamed of you."
          Malik didn't know why he said that. He knew that his brother, was old enough to understand death, unlike the twins who just thought that Baba is gone for a trip. Omar was suffering; his father was killed eight months ago. But if Omar was suffering then he himself is dying, Malik thought. He wanted to feel sympathy for his brother but instead he felt anger because no one felt sympathy for him. Malik looked down at his brother as he heard him cry in bed.
         Youssef and Ali were ready outside the room. Malik left Omar in bed and held his brothers' hands. He walked into his paren-- his mother's room. She was sitting on the edge of her bed by the window watching the street. She almost never left her room since her husband's murder. Malik felt bad for thinking it, but he was worried his mother would die out of heartbreak. He wanted to ask her to come with them, but she never would, he thought. He leaned down and gave her a kiss on her forehead and his little brothers tiptoed up to do the same.

***

         Praying at the mosque was one of the rare moments in Malik's life that felt truly fair. Regardless of wealth, age, race, or background--whether rich or poor, young or old, black or white, orphaned or not--everyone stood side by side, pinky toes touching, shoulder to shoulder.
In Malik's case, no one stood at his shoulder because his younger brother's shoulders brushed against his hips on each side. Malik prayed silently for his father, asking God for mercy and to reunite them soon. He prayed for his father a lot, yet he wasn't worried about him. His father was a man that everyone loved. He was a man that loved Allah. Allah would be kind to him. Malik knew that his father wasn't perfect, but he believed in a God that is perfectly merciful.
         Allahu Akbar. A gently thunderous voice of thousands of prayers echoed simultaneously in the mosque. Malik felt his heart shake in humility and love as his mouth spoke these words. God is greater, a thought that helped Malik believe that things would get better. God is greater than him and his father. God is greater than med school. God is greater than the murderers of his father. God is the Greatest.

***

          After finishing the prayer Malik felt a little better about the day. He realized that he needed to have more faith in God and believe that everything would be fine. Also, hearing the sheik in prayer recite the verse, 'Had you been cruel or hard-hearted, they would have certainly abandoned you', made him realize that he was wrong in the way he treated Omar. He decided to be gentler with Omar. His brother needed him, he thought. Outside the mosque, he was looking for his little brothers, but it was impossible to find them now, he thought. Thousands of people flooded the streets emerging from a half a dozen mosques. Malik walked around looking for his brothers. He wasn't worried about them, he just wanted to see what they were up to. As he walked, he had to stop every couple of steps to say, "Eid Mubarak" to a friend, a neighbor, or a coworker. He walked the streets that he knew like the palm of his hand. The streets that were his backyard. The streets that looked happy and cheerful today, despite their conditions. The balloons waved hanging in every corner and in every alley. Children ran around playing hide and seek, screaming in laughter. On his left, laid the newly destroyed building. A bomb was dropped directly on it last month. They got used to this type of news. But still the decorative Eid strings flew above the mountain of rubble as if speaking for the people of this town saying, 'We are still alive!'
          Instead of finding the twins he found Omar sitting alone outside across of the mosque.
         "You prayed?" Malik thought Omar didn't leave his bed.
         "I didn't want Baba to be ashamed of me."          
          Hearing this broke Malik's heart. He put his arm around his brother and Omar started crying again. Malik let him cry. He put his right hand behind his brother's head and said, "Omar, God tests men like us in our patience. We can't fall down and cry at every single test. Who will feed your mother? Who will ensure that your brothers get an education?"
         "I know, Malik. But the only thing I can think about is avenging our father and killing those bastards!" Omar said this a little too loud; people who were walking by spun their heads towards them.
         Malik ignored the stares and said, "You don't think I want to avenge him too? But this is Allah's will. You need to have faith in God and believe that He will bring us justice. Allah is with us You must have hope that tomorrow will be better. Life is still long for you. You will finish high school next year and become a doctor like baba wanted. You will make him proud." The last words tasted bitter in Malik's mouth. Questions hovered in his brain. Why didn't I become a doctor? Why didn't I make my father proud? Questions, whose answers where even more bitter.
         He watched Omar's face and knew that he was full of despair. Despair at life, despair at the cruelty of the enemy, and despair for God. He will have to move on; this is life, Malik thought. He believed that he needs to get Omar busy because if he didn't, he will die of depression and his family will die of hunger.
         "I expect you to show up tomorrow at the auto shop after your school and start working with me. Amo Ramy told me that he'll offer you a job there. We have a family to feed." Malik got up as he said this. He turned around to his brother and studied his face. He was his best friend. After a long pause he finally said, "Baba would have never been ashamed of you. He loves you." And I love you too, Malik thought. He contemplated hugging him, but he decided against it. He hoped he was going to get the courage to do it one day. He smiled and nodded at his brother, then walked away.
         Malik continued looking for his little brothers. He ended up finding them behind the mosque playing soccer with their neighbors. He found himself smiling. He stopped walking for a minute; he just watched them. They still saw light in life. He thought that he should maybe learn from them. Malik wondered why life had to get so dark. Eid was always his favorite day of the year. He loved eating Fatta with his complete family and lighting fireworks. He knew these days are never going to return because the family was never going to be complete again. But there was some light. His brothers and his mom deserved his love and care. As he watched his little brothers outplaying the little kids in soccer, he whispered 'May Allah protect you." Malik made a mental note of reaching out to his old friends and potentially setting up a soccer game like the old days.
          "Excuse me. Excuse me. Malik! Eid Mubarak."

***

For a second, looking in her eyes, Malik saw no darkness in the world. All he saw was the sweetness of the world that God decided will blossom in Karima's honey-colored eyes. How many times did he fantasized about infinitely starting at these eyes into her soul, he wondered? He felt a rush of heat run through his spine.
         "Eid Mubarak ya Malik."
         He realized that 20 seconds have gone without responding to her. She was extending her hand holding a card for him. It was a homemade card that read, 'Eid Mubarak. Have a blessed Eid. I am proud of you. With lots of love, Karima. Her handwriting put a smile on his face. The flood of memories was coming filling his cheeks with red up to his ears.
         "Thank you, Karima." He wanted to say more but he was lost looking at her face.
         "Are you okay? You look very tired." Karima asked.
         "I am fine. The kids are a lot though." He always loved how Karima listened to him. Her concerned frown created a cute wrinkle between her bow shaped eyebrows. Malik continued, "Anyway, why are you up so early?" Man, what a stupid thing to say, he thought to himself.
         "Well, I wanted to give you your card. But also, you know my mom; she never lets me miss mass at church."
         And here it goes. Malik was reminded, again, why this will never work out. He remembered two years ago when he just mentioned to his mother that he had feelings for Karima and that she did too. His mom wasn't very happy about that. When she heard him, she shouted, "And where did all the Muslim girls go? Did they all disappear?" His dad was calmer when he said, "My son, even if we approve, her parents will never approve. The Coptic church would never approve." But later his dad would tease him about it all the time. Every time Karima would come over to study with Malik for their final exams his dad would wink at Malik and throw not very subtle comments at them. Malik started to think about his father, which he had been avoiding lately, so he reconcentrated on Karima. Karima never ended up telling her parents about her feelings. They would have been so disappointed. He didn't understand it. How come his family and Karima's family can be good friends and celebrate each other's holidays together but not let their children marry each other? It didn't matter at the end because after what happened to his father, Malik and Karima stopped seeing each other all together. There was no reason for them to meet when Malik dropped out of high school one month before the finals. And since then, Malik didn't have an ounce of free time or energy to do anything but provide for his family.
          "Malik, today is your Eid, so can I invite you for some ice-cream from Amo Fawzy's cart?" Karima asked with her blushing cheeks faintly shaking.
          As much as Malik was happy to hear this, he was also offended. Does she think that he needs charity, he wondered? However, at the same time, Malik knew that the money he had in his pocket was to buy dinner for him and his family. He couldn't spare a penny.
          Karima noticed the distress on Malik's face and as if she had read his mind she said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend to you. I just meant as a celebration."
          "Don't worry. I would love to go with you." Listening to Malik's words, Karima broke a smile of relief. "However, on one condition. You'll let me pay." He his heart still beat for Karima.
          "Malik, but--"
          "Karima, please."
          Malik decided that tonight he would go to sleep without dinner.

***

At Amo Fawzy's ice-cream cart Malik's shirt was drenched in sweat from the 45-minute walk. In his hometown nothing was in proximity of his house. Businesses didn't want to open in his neighborhood because it's an area 'famous for trouble'. His father's murder with a sniper bullet between his eyes caused a lot of trouble. Malik always knew that this is how he and people like him are viewed: they're just a mere inconvenience.
         "Malik, habibi. How are you." Amo Fawzy's old scratchy voice made Malik's heart calm. It reminded him of... good times.
         "I pray for your father every day, my son."
         Hearing people bring up his father, visibly changed the color of Malik's face. Amo Fawzy noticed Karima behind Malik, so he instantly changed the subject.
         "Look at you Malik. You grew up to be a handsome man." He paused and waited for Karima to get closer to the cart and be next to Malik. "Didn't he, Karima?" He said with a smirk.
         Malik happily shocked with Amo Fawzy, took a glimpse at Karima. He caught her eyes. Her cheeks as red as a summer ripe tomato, she looked shyly to the ground.
         "Ehm. Amo Fawzy, how about some ice cream? It super hot here, isn't it?" Malik worried Karima got uncomfortable from Amo Fawzy's comment, but when he looked at her, she smiled at him. Her smile made his heart beat so loud he was scared she could hear it. He smiled back.
         "It's definitely hot in here." Amo Fawzy said with another smirk. "What can I get for you, my daughter?"
         "Chocolate please."
         Amo Fawzy, in less than five seconds had scooped the ice-cream and put it on a cone for Karima, wrapped with a napkin that read, El Fawzy Ice Cream. Since 1860.          
         "Here you go, sweet chocolate for you, sweet young lady." Switching his attention to Malik, he asked, "And what about you, Malik?"
         "I'll get the watermelon."
         Amo Fawzy smiled and said, "You always get the watermelon."
         "Watermelon," Malik paused for a moment. "Always watermelon."
         As Malik received his ice cream, he paid Amo Fawzy and walked away with Karima. He had walked fifteen feet or so when Amo Fawzy called him back. "Malik, your change!"
         Malik walked back knowing that Amo Fawzy didn't owe him any change.
         Amo Fawzy spoke discreetly, "Malik, when are we going to celebrate both you?" Now Malik understood what was going on. He shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that clearly said, 'It's out of my hands!'
          Malik tried to end the conversation by saying, "Amo Fawzy, in general, it's definetly not a good time for me to get married right now, definitely not to Karima. I have four people I need to feed every day."
          But Amo Fawzy persisted, "Malik I know how much you care for your family. But I think that this's exactly what your family needs. Your family needs some light, some happiness! You need it too, my son."
         "But my mother and her parents would never--"
         "Enough excuses! Have some hope. I am Christian too, you know. I will talk to Karima's family next Sunday in church, if you want me to. And your mother, don't worry about her. I am sure she will be delighted to hear any good news. Just make your decision and give me a call if you want me to talk to Karima's Parents."
         Malik's mind flooded with thoughts. Was it true? Are things this simple? Malik knew he was letting himself go into a very dangerous territory: hope. Earlier in prayer Malik made a promise to himself to have more faith and hope. Why was Karima not part of this? Maybe he will talk to her. No no, he shouldn't. He noticed one thought that started very small tickling the back of his mind. It was growing into the only question Malik can see.
         Would it have made my father happy? He thought he knew the answer.

***

Malik and Karima walked without talking and as they walked further away from the center of the town towards the water, the only sound around them was the sound of the waves clashing with the port. Neither Malik nor Karima needed to ask where they were heading. Like horses that knew their way home, they knew where to go when they wanted to be alone. In the past, they had done it a lot after school and when Malik arrived home late, he told his parents that he stayed after school to play soccer. They had reached the edge of the port and without words Karima took off her sandals, sat on the edge, and dangled her bare feet in the water. Malik smiled and followed suit. He was feeling less tense and finally able to talk to Karima. He asked, "How's your ice cream?"
         "Delicious," Karima answered with a look of relief, "do you wanna try?"
         She handed her ice cream cone to Malik, and he took a bite. A literal bite. Karima started laughing.
         "Hey, what are you laughing at? Oh wow, is it that funny?" Malik couldn't help but admire Karima's laugh.
         "No, no sorry. It's just, that­--" her own laughter interrupted her. "Sorry it's just that you ate it like one might eat a falafel sandwich." Her laugh got louder. It got livelier.
         Malik laughed. He still believed that there's absolutely no problem with biting on ice cream. Yet he laughed because it felt nice. For a second, it felt perfect; him and Karima laughing pointlessly on the shore of the Mediterranean. It took them a couple of minutes to stop. Karima finally lifted her eyes and met his. He felt his throat dry out and his skin heat up. He wondered; how can I stop myself from loving her? He felt helpless because he couldn't stop loving her but also because he couldn't do anything about it. When he looked in her eyes, he lost all his words.
         He swallowed hard. "Your eyes are so beautiful."
         What? How? Who said that? His brain exploded: 'It was me! I can't believe that I just said that. It's impossible. It will never happen. Why am I digging my hole deeper? I am so stup--'
         "You have a beautiful smile." Karima said and then looked down at the water modestly.
         For Malik, time stopped. The darkness in his heart took a break because it suddenly was overpowered with the light sitting next to him. Malik was happy, yet he felt uneasy about being happy. He felt like he's a traitor and that he betrayed his people and his family. Yet in the back of his head, he saw his parent's wedding picture. He saw their lively smiles. He knew they were in love. He knew they were happy. He recalled Amo Fawzy's advice from earlier in the day. Maybe that's what his family needed. He hoped it was.
         His eyes were watching the waves come and go. How many lovers had rested in this very spot before? How many boats had docked here, their passengers rejoicing at finally being home? He didn't know. But what he did know was that sitting here beside Karima made him feel like he had already arrived. He pulled his gaze from the sea to Karima who was now watching a sailboat in a distance. He saw the blue waves meet the sand in her eyes.
         "Karima," her smile shook his heart, "I never stopped loving you. I don't want to stop loving you. Karima, I love you with all my heart. I want a future with you."
          He let himself go. He touched her hand. It sent a heat wave all over his body. He felt that he overstepped and started to retreat, but then she grabbed his hand, "I never stopped loving you, Malik. I love you and I want to be with you."
          For a moment, it was silent. The waves disappeared. The sunbirds stopped their whistles. Earth stopped spinning and the sun fixed its spotlight on them. The universe surrendered in respect for this moment. One of the holiest moments of mankind: when two hearts meet.
          Still holding her hand Malik whispered, "I want to talk to you--" His voice cracked. He fixed his posture and spoke louder. "Karima, if you approve, I want to bring my mother over and meet your parents. I have something I want to ask them."
          Karima's smile was so big, like Malik had never saw it. She knew what he was asking. Malik wanted to ask her father for his daughter's hand in marriage. "This would make me the happiest woman on Earth!" Karima said and she meant it.
          Malik smiled and let out a gasp of relief. But then for half a second his face frowned with concern. He asked, "And your parents?"
          "Well, you know they definitely want me to marry a Christian." Malik's excited shoulders fell in despair. "But honestly, they have been talking a lot about you lately. They pray for you and ask God to give you the power and wisdom to be able to take care of your family. They really think highly of you. I think they are impressed by the way you stood up for your family. What I'm saying is that there is hope. Maybe with some convincing--"
          "Amo Fawzy is very close to them, right?" Malik asked and Karima nodded in agreement. "Well, he told me he could talk to them." Malik said as he watched Karima's eyes study his face with curiosity and ...love. He wanted her. And she wanted him. There was hope.
          Malik felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out and flipped the phone open to check who was calling.
          "Perfect timing! It's Amo Fawzy. I will tell him to ask you parents. He will be so happy!" Malik's excitement clashed with dark silence on Amo Fawzy's side.
          "Hello, Amo Fawzy. I have news!" The silence continued. "Amo Fawzy.... Hello? Can you hear me?"
          Malik heard Amo Fawzy sniffling. He sensed something horrible was coming his way.
          "Malik, come home as fast as you can."
          Malik's heart pounded in his chest. He stood up so quickly he felt the blood rushing down his body. He turned around and gazed into the distance toward his hometown. From where he stood, three miles from his home, everything appeared normal--except for a huge grey cloud the hovered in the sky blocking the sun.
         His voice shook as he spoke, "Amo Fawzy... what's going on?"

***

Out of breath, Malik arrived to what once was his hometown. What was in the morning, a lively neighborhood, was now a lifeless endless land of rubble. He felt lost. He couldn't believe that he was lost in his own town. The town that he had every corner of carved in his memory. He now, didn't recognize it. There were no signs of life. He saw a group of Red Cross volunteers extracting body parts from under the rubble. He kept looking around, but he didn't know what he was looking for. Then he saw the destroyed dome of the mosque he was just praying at in the morning. His family's house used to be at the end of its street. He ran towards that direction, as his shoes left a trail of dusty bloody footsteps. The ground was closer to red than to the black it once was. As he ran his right foot got tangled in the strings of Eid decorations. The flags, that just in the morning were waving celebrating Eid, were now dead on the ground mourning this mighty destruction.
         Malik fought his way through the rubble to get to the end of the street that the mosque was on. He couldn't find his house where it should have been. He couldn't find it until he realized that he was standing over it. His family's tiny house was leveled to the ground, lying flat on its back like an open seedless date. Some of the walls still stood, but most of it was gone. He realized that he was standing in what previously was the room that was shared by him and his three brothers. He saw the empty mattress that Youssef and Ali, the twins, used to share. No one remained. He looked inside himself for any type of emotion, but he couldn't find any.
         He walked through a doorframe of one of the still standing walls. He noticed one of the wooden legs of the dinning table. He was now standing at what previously was the dinning/living/guest room. His eyes looked ahead and there they were. All of them. He took a step and whispered "La Ilaha Ila Allah". Another step and he said it louder. Another and it was even louder. But after the fourth step silence followed.
         What he saw weren't dead bodies. He saw two three-foot-long pieces of burned charcoal. That was the only way to describe it. Youssef and Ali, black and skinless, lied on the ground side by side, with open mouths. His mother was a few steps behind them. Her left side burned and almost nothing remained of her clothes. Malik couldn't get himself to look at his mother's exposed breasts and naked body. In murderous pain he looked away from his mother, and then he found Omar. Omar wasn't burned, but only his decapitated head remained. Malik went down on his knees and looked into his brother's dead open eyes. His hands were shaking as he touched his brother's bodiless head. His whole body was shaking.
          He carried what remained of his brother in his arm, and he let out a thunderous scream. "Ya Allhahhhhh!" A scream that was heard by God. A scream that still tasted like watermelon with a hint of chocolate. A scream that kept going. Here was his family at the dining table eating home-cooked Fatta for Eid. Here were his seven-year-old brothers, their bones as cooked and crunchy as the ice cream cone he ate earlier. Here was his mother who didn't leave her room once in the last year but chose to have hope and leave it today to celebrate Eid with her kids. Here she was now helplessly naked as if raped by a bomb. And here was his brother's head in his hand. It's the same head of the same boy that Malik had held in the morning after prayer, giving his brother a lesson in being a man and being hopeful. The only difference now was that the body that was connected to it was nowhere to be found.
         Like everything in life, the scream came to an end. As he looked at his brother's head that he held in his lap an emotion arose. It was regret. Malik regretted not hugging Omar that morning. He regretted not stopping the kids' football game to give his two brothers a kiss. He regretted not asking his mother to come with them to prayer. But most importantly, he regretted that he wasn't there. He regretted that his body wasn't charcoaled and headless.
         He closed his eyes. He heard something. The ticking of a clock. He opened his eyes and right next to him on the ground was his family's, still fully intact, wall clock. This clock hadn't left the wall of his ancestorial house for the last 150 years. Long before the people who murdered his family ever existed.

***

         "Allahu Akbar."
         Malik led the funeral prayer. Hundreds of people prayed behind him. In front of him on the ground, was what remained of his family wrapped in white cloth. The last 18 hours blurred together like fragments of a haunting movie. He could barely recall Amo Fawzy hugging him on the ground amidst the ruins of his shattered home. He remembered washing the remains of his family and wrapping them gently in cloth. Did he sleep? He didn't remember. What time was it? He didn't know. He knew that it was a new day. He wondered, if that meant that the world is moving on? How was it fair that he was alive and his whole family weren't? How was it fair that his family was skinless, burned, and headless awaiting their entrance of the grave, when the people who dropped 5,000 pounds of bombs on his hometown were enjoying life? But of course, he knew, life wasn't fair. This one wasn't, at least. He sure did hope the next one would be.
         After the prayer, the graves were dug. A sheik started reciting verses of the Quran as Malik proceeded to carry his family, one by one, down their resting place.
         The sheik recited as the people echoed behind him, "By the sky full of constellations, and the promised day of judgement, and the witness and what is witnessed...indeed the crushing grip of your Lord is severe..."
          Amo Fawzy assisted Malik as he ascended from the final grave and helpers started shoveling sand over his family. Malik's eyes were wet of an endless stream of tears. He loudly spoke what came to his heart. "Alhamdullah. All praise and thanks be to Allah. We belong to Allah and to him we shall return. Ya Allah, I hold You a witness to what the oppressors did to us! And I ask you to let me be a witness over them on the day of judgement. The day of fairness! The day when no soul would be wronged. God, I hand my complaint to You, so show me Your justice and Your grip and Your punishment over the oppressors! No one remains for me but You. And indeed, You are the Everlasting."
          Everyone looked at Malik in pride and sorrow as tears dripped from their eyes. Malik's eyes were now dry. He scanned the faces around him. Friends and neighbors. Teachers and mentors. And a lot of strangers. They were now all approaching him to offer their condolences and support. When his father was killed people offered their condolences by saying something like "Be strong, your family needs you." But now, no one had anything to say. He shook a hand after another as people left to continue living their life. It hurt him to think about it. It was the first time he realized that everyone would go home to their families, but he will be left all alone.
          At the end of the line Karima and her family awaited their turn. When Malik's eyes met Karima's, they started flooding again. He didn't feel embarrassed. He was just faced with a sobering realization: Karima was the closest thing to his home that was still alive.
          Karima's father firmly shook Malik's hand silently. He pulled him closer for a hug, but he didn't say a word. However, Malik heard his silenced sobs next to his ear. Karima's mother couldn't control her cries. She was shaking when she hugged Malik and said, "I swear by the holy cross, your mother was my sister. And for her you are my son!"
          Karima stood in front of Malik; a whole foot shorter than him. Malik watched behind her as her father took her mother's hand and walked away. Karima whispered under her tears, "Be strong...I need you." Malik cried. He kept crying. Karima hugged him as her own tears wet his shirt. They stayed there for a long time. A thousand thoughts crossed Malik's mind. I should join an armed resistance group. I should wear and explosive vest. I should just kill myself. Throw myself in the sea. Set myself on fire. Behead myself! I shouldn't be alive, and I don't know what to do about it. But for now. For this moment. A moment that he wanted to freeze in time. He would just rest in Karima's hug. The only place that can still be called home.