Boy, Everywhere, page 2
Joseph’s dad led me to the sofa and sat me down. “Why do you think it’s your fault, Sami?”
I sobbed into my hands, thinking about this morning. Why did I make them go? I tried to picture Mama’s face when I’d been pleading with her to pick up my football boots.
* * *
“Oh, come on, I really need them tonight!” I’d said in Arabic to Mama, trying to mimic Sara’s wide-eyed look.
She took a sip of steaming coffee and put her mug back on the kitchen island, before logging into her laptop.
“Sami, I’m supposed to be working from home. I have got mid-semester reports to sign, and I’m not in the mood to trek through a mall looking for football boots,” she’d said, still staring at her MacBook screen through her rimless glasses.
“But, Mama, you can sign your stuff in the morning, and then you can go to the gym at the mall, so you can easily pick up my boots,” I said, dumping my cereal bowl in the sink and walking back toward her.
“I can’t. I’ve got to get through two hundred student reports before lunch, and then I’ve got a charity benefit at the Four Seasons hotel.”
I had put on my most desperate face. “Don’t you want me to get selected for the team? Please, Mama, I ordered them to the store, so you don’t even need to look around. You’ll be straight in and straight out.”
Mama sighed and picked up her coffee. “Oh, Sami, why do you have to be so disorganized? You could have bought them over the weekend. You knew you had the football trials. Avraham has a hospital checkup today, so he can’t get them, and that means I have to drive myself and I’ve got Sara with me, so it won’t be a quick in and out.”
I had to try one more time. “Can’t you quickly get them before your charity thing? Please? And then Avraham can drop off my boots at school after his appointment?”
She’d looked up at me, back at her screen, and then at me again with the faintest of smiles.
“Thanks, Mama! I already emailed you the collection receipt.” I pecked her on the cheek, grabbed my backpack from the kitchen counter, and ran out to our Mazda 6 waiting on the drive.
“Sorry, sorry, Avraham. Are we going to be late?” I slammed the car door shut, blocking out the sound of our neighbor’s lawnmower. “I had to convince Mama to pick up my football boots.”
“No, we are okay,” said Avraham, glancing at his watch.
“Will you have time to pick up my boots from Mama’s charity thing and then bring them to me before the end of school please? Please?”
“Sami, Sir, you are a cheeky chappie. After my appointment, if your mama tells me to do this, of course I will.”
“Thanks! Avraham, you’re the best.”
He’d tipped the front of his black chauffeur hat in the rearview mirror as the front gates opened slowly.
This morning, I couldn’t wait for school to finish. Joseph and I planned to tear through the Under-15s football trials and make sure we got chosen to play for the school team. I’d thought those Adidas Predators would make me unstoppable. But what did I know? Nothing.
* * *
A phone rang, breaking the memory. Joseph’s dad rushed to pick it up. “Tarek! How are they?”
It was Baba! I ran and snatched the phone from Joseph’s dad.
“Baba! Come and get me. Please!” I blubbered.
“Sami, I can’t. I need to stay with your mama and Sara. Give the phone back to Uncle Tony.”
“I’m so sorry …”
“Why are you sorry? Please get Uncle—I need to speak to him and then get back.”
“I shouldn’t have made them go. They’d be alive right now …”
“Sami, listen, will you? This is not the time. They’re alive, praise be to God. But I need to get back to them. Give the phone to Uncle Tony now.”
I peeled the phone from my ear, handed it to Joseph’s dad, and traipsed back to the sofa. “They’re alive,” I said, slumping back down next to Joseph.
“Huh?” Joseph turned to me, smiling. “Thank God for that!”
“But they might not be okay,” I said, still looking ahead.
“What do you mean?”
“They might have no legs or something. Baba said he had to get back to them. Maybe they’re being operated on.”
“Come on, bro, don’t think like that. They’ll be all right.” He nudged my shoulder with his.
Joseph’s dad put the phone down and turned around. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.
I jumped up. “You have to take me. Please, Uncle, I need to see them.”
“Sami, they’re okay—they’re alive,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his arm.
“Then please just let me go and see them!” I slapped my arms on my sides.
He fixed me with his brown eyes and took a deep breath. “Get your shoes on. Let’s go.” He walked out of the room.
“Huh?” I looked at Joseph, my mouth hanging open. I didn’t think it’d be that easy to convince him. Maybe he’d realized I wasn’t going to stop asking. I ran for my shoes before he changed his mind.
* * *
I don’t know how long it took to get to the hospital. Time seemed to freeze; each red traffic light seemed to take hours to change. Finally we were pulling up. As soon as Joseph’s dad stopped the car, I opened the door and zoomed toward the hospital entrance.
“Sami! Wait!” Joseph’s dad called after me, but I wasn’t waiting for anyone.
An overpowering hospital smell of disinfectant and rubber hit me as I rushed through the double doors. Then came the stench of vomit, dust, and burned meat. It was mayhem inside, with doctors in blue overalls rushing from one place to the next, and people lying on stretchers in the hallways, their clothes and skin covered in blood. Most beds had their curtains drawn, and every few seconds a scream from a different place pierced my ears.
I ran to the reception desk and leaned over it, the fluorescent lighting flickering above me. “I need to find my mama and sister. Uh … um … Zeina and Sara al-Hafez.”
“AAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!” came another scream. I jumped and turned to see where it came from but couldn’t tell. My heart felt as if it was beating twice as fast as normal.
“They’re up in ward five, level two,” the receptionist said, still staring at her computer.
“Thanks.” I turned around and began weaving through the people sitting on the floor—some bandaged, all with zombie eyes, unseeing—trying to avoid the blood on the floor smeared with footprints. There was no sign of Joseph’s dad yet. Two dust-covered children walked through the corridor accompanied by a nurse, peering into each side room as they passed.
“Is this your mama?” the nurse asked them.
I gulped and took a deep breath. It was like a bad scene from a movie. So this was what Baba had been working with for years whenever there was a bombing in the suburbs. It hit me that I didn’t know if I could become a doctor like him. I couldn’t deal with stuff like this! Right then I was wishing I could walk with my eyes closed. But I had to move forward for Mama and Sara.
A crowd of people waited outside the elevators, so I squeezed past them and headed for the stairs, leaving the screaming and crying behind. It was a relief to get away into the empty, cold stairwell. I ran up two steps at a time. By the time I got to the second floor, I had to bend over to catch my breath before pushing through the door into the ward.
A nurse sat behind a desk at the entrance. “Zeina, Zeina al-Hafez.… I need to see her. She’s my mama,” I panted, wheezing in a strong smell of antiseptic.
“You’re Dr. Tarek’s son! My God, haven’t you grown!” The curly-haired nurse smiled and pointed to her left. “She’s in bay three, your sister next to her.”
“Thanks!” I ran through the ward, passing beds of people. It was quiet and calm compared to downstairs; men and women lay still, their arms by their sides. I didn’t know if they were dead or waiting to die, but I shuddered just thinking about it.
I stopped under the sign for bay three, outside a blue curtain pulled around two bed spaces. “Mama?” I asked.
“Sami!” Baba opened the curtain fast. I slid in through the gap and froze. Mama and Sara lay next to each other on separate beds. Baba must’ve moved the cabinet between the beds to bring them closer together.
They both wore oxygen masks. Their closed eyes were swollen and bruised, as if they’d been beaten in a boxing match. I stood still and scanned the space, trying to work out what everything did. Each had a tube inserted into their arm, attached to a bag of liquid, and a monitor that beeped every second. Other than their eyes and a few small cuts on their faces, I couldn’t see any injuries. I moved around to check that they still had their arms and legs.
Baba put his arm around me as I neared him. “They’ll be okay, son. They’ll be okay.…”
I looked up at him; his face was pale and his eyes swollen, but not like Mama’s and Sara’s, more as if he’d been crying a lot. Mama and Sara hadn’t moved since I entered.
“Can … can I talk to them?” I whispered.
“They’ve been sedated, so they won’t be able to hear you right now. I spoke to the consultant. It’s best for them to stay here tonight, so the other doctors can monitor them.” He turned to look at the curtains. “Where’s Tony?”
“Um, he’s coming.” I shrugged, my shoulder still under Baba’s arm, my eyes fixed on Mama and Sara.
What have I done? I thought.
Don’t die. Please don’t die.
Chapter 3
“Sami, get ready! Your baba just called. They’re back home!” shouted Joseph’s dad from downstairs.
Finally! I thought, jumping off the bed and dumping my PlayStation controller on the cluttered desk. I’d been waiting for him to call since I got back from the hospital last night.
“Oh, man! You’re going already? It’s the weekend—just stay a bit longer!” said Joseph as he stared at the screen, keeping his controller steady and his car on track.
I shook my head. “I can’t.” I picked up my school backpack and slung it over my shoulder. “I need to see them, Joseph. Anyway, we’ve been playing all morning!”
“See you tomorrow?” His car’s engine roared as he sped up to pass the finish line.
“I don’t know what’s happening yet. I’ll probably give you these back at school on Sunday, yeah?” I said, pulling at the T-shirt Joseph had lent me.
“Yeah, no worries.” He dropped the controller into his lap and put out his fist. “Message me later?”
“Yup,” I said, fist-bumping him before rushing downstairs. No one was in the hallway, so I wandered into the kitchen where I could hear pots clanking.
“Uncle?” The smell of meat cooking wafted up my nose.
“Ah, Sami!” Joseph’s mama smiled at me as she chopped some parsley next to the sink. “They’re home, praise be to God! I was up praying all night—I even went to the church to light a candle. God has listened to our prayers.”
“Yeah, He has Aunty,” I said, with lightness in my chest. I didn’t often pray, even though Mama was always going on about praying every day and Baba took me to Friday prayers each week. Last night I didn’t need to be asked. I begged Allah over and over again to save them. “Where’s Uncle Tony? He just called me down.” I pushed my hands deeper into my pockets.
“He’s in his office getting something for your baba. He won’t be long.” She carried on chopping parsley. Water grumbled as it came to a boil and the kettle clicked off.
“I’ll just wait in the hallway. Thanks for having me, Aunty,” I said, walking toward the door, hoping Joseph’s dad would hurry up.
“Always a pleasure, Sami. Hold on—take this bag.” She dropped her knife on the chopping board and rinsed her hands under the tap. She pulled a parcel wrapped in a knotted blue plastic bag out of the fridge. “Some maqluba for tonight. Don’t forget to give it to your baba when you get in. I made it this morning.”
“Thank you,” I said, putting my hand under the bagged stack of tubs to keep them steady.
“You take care of your mama and sister. Okay, Sami?” she said, smiling and holding out the kitchen door for me. I smiled back and walked out.
The main apartment building door was open. Through it I could see Joseph’s dad putting a brown leather bag in the trunk of his car.
“Right. You ready?” he said, slamming the trunk shut then walking round to the driver’s side.
* * *
Joseph’s dad stepped out of the car at the gas station. The smell of grilled chicken from a nearby restaurant drifted in with a gust of warm air before he shut the door. The cross hanging from the rearview mirror swung like a pendulum.
I lunged forward and turned on the radio, making sure I kept the volume low as I glanced outside, where Uncle Tony was staring at the rising digits on the pump display. I needed to know more about what had happened. Baba had explained that we had liked the president and his government to start with, but when people started peacefully protesting his presidency, he said his people were against him and attacked them instead of resigning. Baba said we wanted him out but couldn’t do anything, and then rebel groups tried to remove him but in their attempts started killing ordinary people too. I didn’t understand it all properly—I knew that everyone was fighting and the whole country was in a mess, but Damascus had been safe so far because the government controlled it, so how did the rebels get in? Maybe someone on the radio would have answers.
The news was on, and a reporter was interviewing people about the mall bombing. A woman spoke to him frantically, panic in her voice. I leaned forward to focus on what she was saying.
“I’d just finished shopping, my hands were full of bags,” she said. Her voice quivered and she blew her nose before continuing. “I stopped outside Damascus Desserts—to have a quick rest before I left—and was looking at the iced cakes.… I was going to leave—” She started weeping.
“It’s okay, take your time,” said the reporter.
“As I stepped toward the shop door,” she continued, “a bright flash like an enormous bolt of lightning shot through the mall, and immediately after it a thunderous boom. Everything shook. I was thrown into the air, debris raining all over me … I landed on my chest and skidded across the floor. I felt the explosion ripple right through my body.” She went quiet.
“What happened then?” asked the reporter.
“I felt hot—there was a powerful heat … Everything was still and soundless; I wasn’t sure what had happened. I lay in a daze for a few minutes, then opened my eyes, but I couldn’t see a thing. My eyes burned from all the dust. I was suffocating, gasping for air, but it felt like someone had sucked all of it away and replaced it with smoke. Everything stings, even now.” There was silence for a few seconds. I wondered if they’d gone off air. I looked out the window and saw Joseph’s dad walking toward the cashier.
“I’m sorry … It’s okay …” the reporter consoled her.
The lady sniffled and took a deep breath before continuing. “I thought I was in a nightmare. I couldn’t hear a thing, except the ringing in my ears. Then someone grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the dusty shop. Probably to get me to safety, but I was in a lot of pain. I don’t know when I managed to swallow, but my ears popped. And then all I heard was people’s screams. Loud, loud, piercing screams.” The lady started sobbing again.
My chest felt tight and a lump rose in my throat thinking about what Mama and Sara had been through because of me. If this woman was thrown by the force of the bomb, little Sara would’ve flown through the air and landed harder. Mama and Sara were alive, but what if they were now blind or deaf?
Joseph’s dad was approaching the car. I jumped forward to quickly switch off the radio, rubbed the tears out of my eyes, and sat back in my seat.
“Right, let’s get you home,” said Uncle Tony as he sat down and pulled the door shut.
* * *
The front gates to our apartment building took an eternity to open. As soon as we were through, I saw the iron door to our backyard had been left open and Baba was crouching looking through some boxes. His tennis rackets and empty boxes from things we’d bought were scattered around him. What is he doing? I wondered.
As the car tires crunched over the gravel, Baba looked up and walked toward us. His eyes were still swollen, but not as much as the night before. His hair was a mess, and he was still in yesterday’s scrubs.
“Sami, son …” He opened my door and pulled me close as I got out. I fumbled with the stupid bag of food tubs, wanting to hug him back but unable to.
“You get inside. Go and see your mama. I’ll come in a bit. I just have to finish off some stuff here.” He glanced at Joseph’s dad, who was now around my side of the car, standing next to me holding two brown A4 envelopes. They obviously wanted to talk without me, so I went around to the front of the building and up the steps, breathing in the comforting smell of jasmine from the yard. Home.
I dumped the bag of food on the side table in the hallway, next to the tall vase of roses, then threw off my backpack and tugged off my school shoes. “Mama?” I called, looking around the hallway and up the stairs as I stepped on to the cool marble floor. “Sara?” The house was silent.
I ran into the living room, where the curtains were still drawn. Now I could hear sniffling coming from somewhere. I squinted in the gloom and saw Mama, sitting on the floor by the bookshelf, surrounded by boxes, one of our photo albums open on her lap. She had her mobile pressed to her ear.
