Saturday 13 April 2013
Thursday 23 August 2012
A Blind Search
As of date, this is the longest and probably most experimental short stories I have written. I'm not very good at summarising my own writing, but you could consider it an espionage piece of sorts. The action focuses like a magnifying glass on a very short array of characters in a historic but socio-politically tense setting.
This was an assignment for university in a class called 'Independent Creative Writing'. It was read and marked by legendary Booker-prize shortlisted writer and literary critic Paul Bailey, whose teaching and wisdom I personally cherish throughout my time at Kingston. I thought it would be relevant to show now because I've returned from al-Quds.
It's staggering how different it is to write about a city and then to venture inside of it a year later, so I'm sure you can appreciate some of the liberties I took when the only reference I had was a map of the Old City. There's a lot more I could have done with this story, but it should be noted that I won't be making any major revisions to this work. This is because it would be good to make comparisons with future (and more geographically accurate) works that will revisit al-Quds and wider Jerusalem. Before you ask, all political and societal contexts are largely fictional.
But without any further ado, have a read, comment, enjoy!
They ran through one of the other gates while Faaris and Muhammad joined the crowd. They made little effort to blend in, and Faaris held watch over the looming Tower of David while Muhammad tagged along.
At the corner leading to David Street, they stopped for a quick breather, hidden behind a palm tree. Faaris looked over at the boy.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah.”
His legs were shaking. Beyond more running.
“Y’know, there’s a bike shop right there...”
This was an assignment for university in a class called 'Independent Creative Writing'. It was read and marked by legendary Booker-prize shortlisted writer and literary critic Paul Bailey, whose teaching and wisdom I personally cherish throughout my time at Kingston. I thought it would be relevant to show now because I've returned from al-Quds.
It's staggering how different it is to write about a city and then to venture inside of it a year later, so I'm sure you can appreciate some of the liberties I took when the only reference I had was a map of the Old City. There's a lot more I could have done with this story, but it should be noted that I won't be making any major revisions to this work. This is because it would be good to make comparisons with future (and more geographically accurate) works that will revisit al-Quds and wider Jerusalem. Before you ask, all political and societal contexts are largely fictional.
But without any further ado, have a read, comment, enjoy!
A Blind Search
A clear blue sky with tiny wisps of
cloud filled Faaris’ vision, as he lay back in the passenger seat of a white
roofless truck. He could smell the crisp waves as the truck drove through an
empty beach, with sand so fine, meshing noiselessly into the tyres. Faaris
tilted his head to see the neighbourhood on his left, where he could see
children playing in the distance, and the food-seller preparing his musakhan
and knafa, both delicious but potent dishes. Aromas filled his head despite
watching from afar, and palm trees bearing ripe fruit swayed past as he neared
the end of the beach. The crunch of the sand covered his feet as he stepped
out, and he looked over to the horizon, beholding the Gaza he knew.
Faaris surveyed the landscape, admiring God’s creation that brought such
clean water and beauty. He did not know how long it had been, but anticipated
the sound of the muezzin soon. He turned back to his truck to find it was not
there anymore. He noticed random spots of sand sinking into the ground. Perplexed,
he looked over at the sun – and it began to dim, setting faster than one would
be used to.
And then everything flashed white and he opened his eyes to the real
world. The real Gaza. The sky was a dark blanket hovering over, with the
subdued twinkle of the stars providing a pitiful illumination. With the
exception of the engine’s dulled snarl, it was quiet. It was a light ample for
the three men, Faaris included, driving in the area. The makeshift pickup truck
was a peculiar sight to the uninitiated, with the loading area being converted
into seating arrangements, enough space for two of the men. The remaining one
sat still in the driving seat, his face covered with a motorcyclist’s helmet.
Occasional craning and twitches of his neck confirmed his alertness as he
drove.
“Up already, sleepyhead?” a voice called out from the front.
Faaris lurched forward and sat cross-legged. “I was... having that dream again.”
The man next to him was also still, an M16 rifle firm in his grip. He turned his face towards Faaris and resumed his watch.
“Amusing.”
Faaris peered out at the distant beach from the main road. Quilts of sand littered with dirt, burnt cars and various shards of shrapnel. Something felt off.
“Hey, why are we going the wrong way?”
“Maybe if you weren’t sleeping through patrol, you wouldn’t need to ask that question...”
Faaris tutted. “Talha, since I can’t trust Ahmad for intel...”
Some laughter. Humour was a currency seldom spent in the field. Or in this city.
“Patrol’s been given to another regiment. The General’s got a new assignment for us.”
Faaris lurched forward and sat cross-legged. “I was... having that dream again.”
The man next to him was also still, an M16 rifle firm in his grip. He turned his face towards Faaris and resumed his watch.
“Amusing.”
Faaris peered out at the distant beach from the main road. Quilts of sand littered with dirt, burnt cars and various shards of shrapnel. Something felt off.
“Hey, why are we going the wrong way?”
“Maybe if you weren’t sleeping through patrol, you wouldn’t need to ask that question...”
Faaris tutted. “Talha, since I can’t trust Ahmad for intel...”
Some laughter. Humour was a currency seldom spent in the field. Or in this city.
“Patrol’s been given to another regiment. The General’s got a new assignment for us.”
HQ was nothing more than a small
house, hidden away by charred plates of steel. The only signs of life were the
bulbs of light pulsing between the cracks of the plates.
“Sanctuary,” muttered Ahmad. The others disembarked while he jumped off the truck, hands on ground, bent forward. He effortlessly took off the motorcycle helmet with a single swipe.
“Sanctuary,” muttered Ahmad. The others disembarked while he jumped off the truck, hands on ground, bent forward. He effortlessly took off the motorcycle helmet with a single swipe.
“Must you be so flamboyant?” Talha walked forward and slapped Ahmad’s back.
“C’mon, Talha. Can’t be Ahmad without his theatrics.”
“Oh, ha ha ha...”
He stood up straight, looking over at the others. “You ready for this?”
They nodded in unison. Faaris leaned towards the steel plates, the other pair facing forwards, keeping watch. Four knocks in rapid succession.
“Enter!”
They pulled at the edges of the metal slabs and slid through, walking past an unused kitchen. Given how many times they had walked in and out of this house, they always held the impression that it was akin to travelling through a time capsule, as beyond the kitchen, they were in an armoury of sorts, as if they jumped a generation or two. Weapons of various shapes and sizes sorted in a row of plastic wash basins. A Qassam rocket was in a dusty trophy cabinet, a relic from a previous conflict, amongst many others.
“C’mon, Talha. Can’t be Ahmad without his theatrics.”
“Oh, ha ha ha...”
He stood up straight, looking over at the others. “You ready for this?”
They nodded in unison. Faaris leaned towards the steel plates, the other pair facing forwards, keeping watch. Four knocks in rapid succession.
“Enter!”
They pulled at the edges of the metal slabs and slid through, walking past an unused kitchen. Given how many times they had walked in and out of this house, they always held the impression that it was akin to travelling through a time capsule, as beyond the kitchen, they were in an armoury of sorts, as if they jumped a generation or two. Weapons of various shapes and sizes sorted in a row of plastic wash basins. A Qassam rocket was in a dusty trophy cabinet, a relic from a previous conflict, amongst many others.
“Gone were the days when we were short of weapons, fighting with puny
things like that.”
The voice came from the far corner and from that darkness, a man emerged, limping. A battle scar, a faint burgundy etching on his pale thigh, shone in the light. He slumped into the nearest chair, in front of a dirtied table.
“General, as-salamu ‘alaikum.”
“Wa ‘alaikum as-salam. Please sit down.”
Faaris and Ahmad sat on the floor while Talha put down his weapons, took off his jacket and leaned against the trophy cabinet. The General looked at Ahmad.
“I still see you have that ridiculous motorcycle helmet. Look at you, cradling it like it’s a baby.”
“Hah! It’s saved my life before.”
“I just wish you didn’t wear it all the time,” chimed in Faaris.
“Just making do with what I have, y’know!”
The General rapped on the table.
“OK, settle down...”
The voice came from the far corner and from that darkness, a man emerged, limping. A battle scar, a faint burgundy etching on his pale thigh, shone in the light. He slumped into the nearest chair, in front of a dirtied table.
“General, as-salamu ‘alaikum.”
“Wa ‘alaikum as-salam. Please sit down.”
Faaris and Ahmad sat on the floor while Talha put down his weapons, took off his jacket and leaned against the trophy cabinet. The General looked at Ahmad.
“I still see you have that ridiculous motorcycle helmet. Look at you, cradling it like it’s a baby.”
“Hah! It’s saved my life before.”
“I just wish you didn’t wear it all the time,” chimed in Faaris.
“Just making do with what I have, y’know!”
The General rapped on the table.
“OK, settle down...”
He turned around to take one of the rolled up maps from a shelf and
unravelled it on the table. Clearly he had been busy annotating it while they
were out, and this atlas of the Middle East did not feature Israel, censored
with a bright red mark. The General had his fingers poised and obscured on two
locations in particular.
“First things first. The situation on the war is the same as ever. Masr and Israel have been bombing one another for 6 months now, according to intelligence. As usual, we’re in between.”
“Is the Gaza-Rafah border still being manned?”
“Yes, it is. You needn’t worry about that. That is not the reason I brought you three here.”
He looked at each of the men. They all felt his piercing stare as he sighed.
“First things first. The situation on the war is the same as ever. Masr and Israel have been bombing one another for 6 months now, according to intelligence. As usual, we’re in between.”
“Is the Gaza-Rafah border still being manned?”
“Yes, it is. You needn’t worry about that. That is not the reason I brought you three here.”
He looked at each of the men. They all felt his piercing stare as he sighed.
“As you all know, we have been gathering information on the current
situation between Israel and Egypt. Keeping on track of intel has been holding
the fort down here. We may not be that big a force and our people may have left
their homeland for greener pastures, but they entrusted us to look after this
land. To rebuild it.”
The men nodded.
“However, I am growing concerned about one of the regions where intel has been vital.”
“And where is that?” asked Faaris.
The General let out a flicker of a smile, like a faulty Bunsen burner.
“The mother of all lands... where the blessed Prophet visited during the Journey.”
“Jerusalem? The Old City?”
“The very same. I had been keeping contact with one of our recon teams who are based there. But communications have been dead for more than a few days now. I don’t believe for a second that they have had nothing to report since then, so I assume they are MIA.”
“Why don’t we just give the order for other recon teams to mobilise in Jerusalem?”
“The very reason why rebuilding Gaza has been sluggish, young Faaris. People. We do not have enough people despite a feast of resources. And I cannot afford dwindling numbers in manpower.”
“But General, we have plenty of men!” Ahmad said.
Talha leaned off the trophy cabinet, letting out a creak.
“He doesn’t mean firepower, Ahmad, or grunts like us. We’re talking about those who make up the central nervous system of this unit. Recon really stick their necks out in the line for us, so it’s difficult recruiting people willing to take the risk.”
“So if comms is dead...“
“Then we have little to work on, gentlemen.”
“So what’s the mission?”
The men nodded.
“However, I am growing concerned about one of the regions where intel has been vital.”
“And where is that?” asked Faaris.
The General let out a flicker of a smile, like a faulty Bunsen burner.
“The mother of all lands... where the blessed Prophet visited during the Journey.”
“Jerusalem? The Old City?”
“The very same. I had been keeping contact with one of our recon teams who are based there. But communications have been dead for more than a few days now. I don’t believe for a second that they have had nothing to report since then, so I assume they are MIA.”
“Why don’t we just give the order for other recon teams to mobilise in Jerusalem?”
“The very reason why rebuilding Gaza has been sluggish, young Faaris. People. We do not have enough people despite a feast of resources. And I cannot afford dwindling numbers in manpower.”
“But General, we have plenty of men!” Ahmad said.
Talha leaned off the trophy cabinet, letting out a creak.
“He doesn’t mean firepower, Ahmad, or grunts like us. We’re talking about those who make up the central nervous system of this unit. Recon really stick their necks out in the line for us, so it’s difficult recruiting people willing to take the risk.”
“So if comms is dead...“
“Then we have little to work on, gentlemen.”
“So what’s the mission?”
He produced two highlighters from his breast pocket and drew a green
line from Gaza to Jerusalem. It curved and swerved in an up-right-up pattern.
“This is a standard extraction mission. Allah knows best what happened to our recon, but my only concern is to locate and retrieve all survivors. Do it as calmly and quietly as possible. When you arrive at the outskirts of the city, contact me. From there, you’re on your own, so decide the best course of action in searching for the target. Once you do, find them and return immediately.”
He then made a red line from Jerusalem back to Gaza, one that passed through various road markers and locations. Faaris looked at the General, taking in his musky smell, the pale, wrinkled face and the flowing grey head. When he blinked, he did it in lethargy, so that one could see the lines on his forehead fade away before relaxing back into dark lines.
“At departure from here, you will drive north-west to Jerusalem. But when you come back, you will take a different route. It’s a little off, but make sure you drive through Qiryat Gat. And this is an old map, dating back before 2008. Things have changed since then. For this, I apologise in not being so resourceful. I am sure your orienteering skills as a team are sound though.”
A silence was needed to take in the magnitude of their assignment. Faaris gazed over the map. New terrain to explore.
“Any questions?”
“Yes. What weaponry can we take?”
More moments of silence.
“Small firearms only. The point is to be discreet. You will attack only when it’s urgent. And there should be space to conceal bigger weaponry in the in the vehicle.”
“We should be fine,” said Talha.
“OK. One final thing. Cherish the time you spend there. I know you’re on a mission, but try to pray at least 2 rak’ah in al-Aqsa. Opportunities like these don’t come every day.”
The men all stood up.
“You leave this morning. After Fajr. That is all. Dismissed.”
“This is a standard extraction mission. Allah knows best what happened to our recon, but my only concern is to locate and retrieve all survivors. Do it as calmly and quietly as possible. When you arrive at the outskirts of the city, contact me. From there, you’re on your own, so decide the best course of action in searching for the target. Once you do, find them and return immediately.”
He then made a red line from Jerusalem back to Gaza, one that passed through various road markers and locations. Faaris looked at the General, taking in his musky smell, the pale, wrinkled face and the flowing grey head. When he blinked, he did it in lethargy, so that one could see the lines on his forehead fade away before relaxing back into dark lines.
“At departure from here, you will drive north-west to Jerusalem. But when you come back, you will take a different route. It’s a little off, but make sure you drive through Qiryat Gat. And this is an old map, dating back before 2008. Things have changed since then. For this, I apologise in not being so resourceful. I am sure your orienteering skills as a team are sound though.”
A silence was needed to take in the magnitude of their assignment. Faaris gazed over the map. New terrain to explore.
“Any questions?”
“Yes. What weaponry can we take?”
More moments of silence.
“Small firearms only. The point is to be discreet. You will attack only when it’s urgent. And there should be space to conceal bigger weaponry in the in the vehicle.”
“We should be fine,” said Talha.
“OK. One final thing. Cherish the time you spend there. I know you’re on a mission, but try to pray at least 2 rak’ah in al-Aqsa. Opportunities like these don’t come every day.”
The men all stood up.
“You leave this morning. After Fajr. That is all. Dismissed.”
Faaris brushed his teeth in silence,
listening to the back-and-forth between his two comrades. Their voices were
unrestrained and crystal clear from the far end of the corridor, as if his own
thoughts were playing back to him.
“So what’s in the package?”
A ruffling sound of a box opening and slamming shut.
“Counterfeit ID cards and three Glocks. They’re pretty concealable.”
“And the SUV?”
“Everything’s been sorted. Alibis, maps, stories...”
Ahmad’s voice rang out. “Hey, Faaris! This was always your dream, huh?”
Faaris spat into the sink and looked back at the reflection on the dirt ridden mirror. A slim face, full lips, a thin noise, hued with a fair tone. His sleepy eyes were hazel and right now his hair had been tied back into a short, dark brown ponytail.
“I’m sure it’s every Muslim’s dream.”
“What, to fight for liberation?”
“No, to visit Jerusalem. Al-Aqsa. C’mon Ahmad. If we’re safe and sound by the end of this, we’re going to have a great story to tell.”
Faaris wiped his mouth and left the bathroom to face Ahmad and Talha, who were waiting in the corridor. But a fair portion of the night had already passed with their meeting with the General.
“And as much as I enjoy speculation, it’s time for rest. We’ll be up for Fajr.”
Faaris retired to his bedroom.
“So what’s in the package?”
A ruffling sound of a box opening and slamming shut.
“Counterfeit ID cards and three Glocks. They’re pretty concealable.”
“And the SUV?”
“Everything’s been sorted. Alibis, maps, stories...”
Ahmad’s voice rang out. “Hey, Faaris! This was always your dream, huh?”
Faaris spat into the sink and looked back at the reflection on the dirt ridden mirror. A slim face, full lips, a thin noise, hued with a fair tone. His sleepy eyes were hazel and right now his hair had been tied back into a short, dark brown ponytail.
“I’m sure it’s every Muslim’s dream.”
“What, to fight for liberation?”
“No, to visit Jerusalem. Al-Aqsa. C’mon Ahmad. If we’re safe and sound by the end of this, we’re going to have a great story to tell.”
Faaris wiped his mouth and left the bathroom to face Ahmad and Talha, who were waiting in the corridor. But a fair portion of the night had already passed with their meeting with the General.
“And as much as I enjoy speculation, it’s time for rest. We’ll be up for Fajr.”
Faaris retired to his bedroom.
Fajr prayer was brief, and the sky
was a cloudless shade of dulled pink, stretching over Gaza. The trio prepared
in careful haste. It took no less than an hour to load the nonchalant SUV with
hay and various fruit and vegetables. By 5am, light was creeping in and the
pink was submerging with fresh blue.
Outside their humble shack, the sunlight made apparent the jagged canvas
of cracks and holes in the ground. Faaris, Talha and Ahmad (minus his
motorcycle helmet) got on the SUV in civilian clothing and drove eastwards to
the outer-Gaza Strip checkpoint. Onwards to Jerusalem, thought Faaris, though
he did not dare say it out loud because it sounded rather cliché.
As they drove past the checkpoint, two guards manning the posts waved
past them. They donned beige uniforms and M16s. Beyond Gaza, the roads
stretched out into a panorama of land, most of it uninhabited.
“Faaris, you should’ve seen this place before.”
“What was it like?”
Ahmad slumped in his seat.
“I don’t remember.”
“You mean anything past 2008?”
“Yeah.”
Another silence. An awkward one.
“Do you remember when Gaza was being bombed?”
Faaris glanced over at the wing mirror to see Ahmad’s face. Within the blur of the outside, he could see Ahmad’s tanned face, and his large brown eyes, lowered as if in contemplation. There was a small red scar on the corner of his thin, chapped out lips. He ran his long fingers through small beard, tufts and wisps of black hair.
“What’s there to remember? My homeland? It’s still a pile of rubble, and I’m an orphan now, thanks to bloodthirsty armies and incompetent guardians. That’s why I’m here today. To rebuild it.”
His voice cracked up and fizzled out. More silence.
Talha drove a bit faster and tutted.
“I can’t begin to think of the pain you went through.”
“Pain? That’s OK. Carry on not thinking, Faaris. You and your family were pretty cosy anyway.”
“That’s enough, Ahmad.”
Faaris looked over at Talha, a bald soft-looking man with tired eyes and a demeanour that was less plain than met the eyes.
“And what about you, Talha?”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“...Well, I was in the University of Gaza when I first heard news of the first bombings. I didn’t want to take any chances, so I forbade my wife and children from going out at all. We had a basement in the shelter and stayed there for a while till it subsided. There used to be visitors from time to time but apart from that it got pretty lonely. After the Rafah border opened, I moved my family to Cairo.”
“Lucky guy.”
“That was Allah’s decree, not luck.”
“You finished studying then?”
“No. And I doubt I’ll be able to finish either. Mature students have their chances scuppered here.”
“I see.”
“Faaris, I don’t mind the banter, but why do you make us repeat our past stories?”
Faaris looked out and closed his eyes.
“I guess I’m just keen not to forget.”
“You guys should rest for now. We’re about 25 miles away.”
“Already? See what a little small talk does?”
They had their rare group laughter again and returned to silence. Faaris looked out at his window to survey the brightening day and closed his eyes.
The Old City beckoned.
“Faaris, you should’ve seen this place before.”
“What was it like?”
Ahmad slumped in his seat.
“I don’t remember.”
“You mean anything past 2008?”
“Yeah.”
Another silence. An awkward one.
“Do you remember when Gaza was being bombed?”
Faaris glanced over at the wing mirror to see Ahmad’s face. Within the blur of the outside, he could see Ahmad’s tanned face, and his large brown eyes, lowered as if in contemplation. There was a small red scar on the corner of his thin, chapped out lips. He ran his long fingers through small beard, tufts and wisps of black hair.
“What’s there to remember? My homeland? It’s still a pile of rubble, and I’m an orphan now, thanks to bloodthirsty armies and incompetent guardians. That’s why I’m here today. To rebuild it.”
His voice cracked up and fizzled out. More silence.
Talha drove a bit faster and tutted.
“I can’t begin to think of the pain you went through.”
“Pain? That’s OK. Carry on not thinking, Faaris. You and your family were pretty cosy anyway.”
“That’s enough, Ahmad.”
Faaris looked over at Talha, a bald soft-looking man with tired eyes and a demeanour that was less plain than met the eyes.
“And what about you, Talha?”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“...Well, I was in the University of Gaza when I first heard news of the first bombings. I didn’t want to take any chances, so I forbade my wife and children from going out at all. We had a basement in the shelter and stayed there for a while till it subsided. There used to be visitors from time to time but apart from that it got pretty lonely. After the Rafah border opened, I moved my family to Cairo.”
“Lucky guy.”
“That was Allah’s decree, not luck.”
“You finished studying then?”
“No. And I doubt I’ll be able to finish either. Mature students have their chances scuppered here.”
“I see.”
“Faaris, I don’t mind the banter, but why do you make us repeat our past stories?”
Faaris looked out and closed his eyes.
“I guess I’m just keen not to forget.”
“You guys should rest for now. We’re about 25 miles away.”
“Already? See what a little small talk does?”
They had their rare group laughter again and returned to silence. Faaris looked out at his window to survey the brightening day and closed his eyes.
The Old City beckoned.
When he awoke, Faaris looked out of
the car to see they were in an enclosure of sorts. It covered their immediate
ground and blocked the sun. He saw a sign in Arabic and Hebrew.
Jaffa Gate Checkpoint.
A column of cars snaked forward in a creep-and-stop rhythm, as a guard from either side examined each driver and waved them past.
Talha looked at Ahmad and Faaris and said, “You two say nothing at all. I’ll do all the talking.”
The men loomed closer.
“All you need to do is show your ID cards. Just stick them out of the window and remains silent.”
Faaris produced his ID, a small green card that featured his photo, alternative name and other things he didn’t wish to understand. He then moved his arms out of the window, feeling the warm breeze. The guards looked plain and sullen, perhaps because of the automaticity of their daily routine. They snatched everyone’s ID card and glanced at them for a second, before giving them back. One of them said, “State your purpose.”
Talha feigned ignorance. “Purpose?”
“I mean your reason for coming here.”
“Oh! Wholesale, man. Got some hay and fresh fruit to sell.”
A few seconds later, the two guards opened the back of the SUV, peering into the stacks of hay and wooden racks of carrots, oranges, cucumbers and avocados and poked around. After what felt like the slowest minute of Faaris’ life, they gave the wave to let them pass and they drove through the checkpoint – he dug his back into his seat ad looked straight ahead all the while, not even looking into one of the wing mirrors.
They were now in the Jaffa Gate, an open ground full of hustle and bustle. The citadel on their left was a reconstructed affair, with a layered brick wall stretching right around it. None of the men had ever seen this many people at once either, natives and tourists immersed in their activities.
Jaffa Gate Checkpoint.
A column of cars snaked forward in a creep-and-stop rhythm, as a guard from either side examined each driver and waved them past.
Talha looked at Ahmad and Faaris and said, “You two say nothing at all. I’ll do all the talking.”
The men loomed closer.
“All you need to do is show your ID cards. Just stick them out of the window and remains silent.”
Faaris produced his ID, a small green card that featured his photo, alternative name and other things he didn’t wish to understand. He then moved his arms out of the window, feeling the warm breeze. The guards looked plain and sullen, perhaps because of the automaticity of their daily routine. They snatched everyone’s ID card and glanced at them for a second, before giving them back. One of them said, “State your purpose.”
Talha feigned ignorance. “Purpose?”
“I mean your reason for coming here.”
“Oh! Wholesale, man. Got some hay and fresh fruit to sell.”
A few seconds later, the two guards opened the back of the SUV, peering into the stacks of hay and wooden racks of carrots, oranges, cucumbers and avocados and poked around. After what felt like the slowest minute of Faaris’ life, they gave the wave to let them pass and they drove through the checkpoint – he dug his back into his seat ad looked straight ahead all the while, not even looking into one of the wing mirrors.
They were now in the Jaffa Gate, an open ground full of hustle and bustle. The citadel on their left was a reconstructed affair, with a layered brick wall stretching right around it. None of the men had ever seen this many people at once either, natives and tourists immersed in their activities.
Once they had driven an agreeable
distance from the checkpoint, Talha parked.
“From here on out, we’re walking.”
Ahmad grinned. “Remember where we parked, huh?” He was looking at the nonchalant beige SUV. It almost blended into the wall it was facing.
“This is a mission. No time to crack jokes, even if it was a good one.”
Faaris could swear he saw a trace of a smile on Talha’s face as they made their way north.
“OK. Everyone get out their maps.”
He peered into his own, a bland photocopy of the Old City perimeters. He had marked the Jaffa Gate on the left and drawn a red circle over al-Haram ash-Sharif and Masjid al-Aqsa beforehand.
“Where do we go?” asked Faaris, wiping his brow and sucking in the air. It behaved differently here, playful and free.
Ahmad squinted at the path. “Sightseeing? That was the Tower of David just behind us.”
“There’s no time for that.”
Talha traced a finger on his map.
“We’re going here. Keep together, it won’t be wise to split up.”
Talha led the way, traversing past people. Faaris brushed past a fruit seller, who smelled like oranges as he smiled at the trio. David Street greeted them with more hollowed, tunnelled passages. People took to buying and selling in the streets, a lavish bazaar.
The men didn’t make contact with the group of policemen standing around, batons sheathed.
“Where are we now?” asked Ahmad.
Talha was staring at the distant structure in the far sky as they walked.
“The Qubbat as-Sakhrah is getting closer. So I think we’re at the Muslim Quarters.”
Sure enough, the dome could be seen from afar, its colour shining a brilliant gold. The immediate passage was also narrowing and the men sifted through swathes of people, hurrying this way and that.
They turned left into Souk Khan, and passed by various patches of shops selling souvenirs, trying to make a quick buck with jewellery and the like. The trio ignored the overzealous merchants waving their bells and hands at them.
Ahmad stopped at one shop to inspect a collection of dusty mirrors. He wiped one down and peered into it. He whispered to the others, “Have you noticed the lack of police presence here?”
They looked around. No police.
“And look at one of the shops.”
They walked towards it, on the corner of Al-Taqiyya Road. It had a ‘CLOSED’ sign on the desk in English. There was also a teapot, still billowing steam from its spout.
“What say we take a peek? Just seems too suspicious to be the only closed place here. What do they sell in there anyway?”
Faaris offered to investigate while the other two waited. Making sure no one watched him, he bobbed and weaved through the crowd like pebbles rushing downstream a river and leaned right into the shop. Once inside, he went up the stairs in the corner.
“From here on out, we’re walking.”
Ahmad grinned. “Remember where we parked, huh?” He was looking at the nonchalant beige SUV. It almost blended into the wall it was facing.
“This is a mission. No time to crack jokes, even if it was a good one.”
Faaris could swear he saw a trace of a smile on Talha’s face as they made their way north.
“OK. Everyone get out their maps.”
He peered into his own, a bland photocopy of the Old City perimeters. He had marked the Jaffa Gate on the left and drawn a red circle over al-Haram ash-Sharif and Masjid al-Aqsa beforehand.
“Where do we go?” asked Faaris, wiping his brow and sucking in the air. It behaved differently here, playful and free.
Ahmad squinted at the path. “Sightseeing? That was the Tower of David just behind us.”
“There’s no time for that.”
Talha traced a finger on his map.
“We’re going here. Keep together, it won’t be wise to split up.”
Talha led the way, traversing past people. Faaris brushed past a fruit seller, who smelled like oranges as he smiled at the trio. David Street greeted them with more hollowed, tunnelled passages. People took to buying and selling in the streets, a lavish bazaar.
The men didn’t make contact with the group of policemen standing around, batons sheathed.
“Where are we now?” asked Ahmad.
Talha was staring at the distant structure in the far sky as they walked.
“The Qubbat as-Sakhrah is getting closer. So I think we’re at the Muslim Quarters.”
Sure enough, the dome could be seen from afar, its colour shining a brilliant gold. The immediate passage was also narrowing and the men sifted through swathes of people, hurrying this way and that.
They turned left into Souk Khan, and passed by various patches of shops selling souvenirs, trying to make a quick buck with jewellery and the like. The trio ignored the overzealous merchants waving their bells and hands at them.
Ahmad stopped at one shop to inspect a collection of dusty mirrors. He wiped one down and peered into it. He whispered to the others, “Have you noticed the lack of police presence here?”
They looked around. No police.
“And look at one of the shops.”
They walked towards it, on the corner of Al-Taqiyya Road. It had a ‘CLOSED’ sign on the desk in English. There was also a teapot, still billowing steam from its spout.
“What say we take a peek? Just seems too suspicious to be the only closed place here. What do they sell in there anyway?”
Faaris offered to investigate while the other two waited. Making sure no one watched him, he bobbed and weaved through the crowd like pebbles rushing downstream a river and leaned right into the shop. Once inside, he went up the stairs in the corner.
There was barely anything to see in
the corridor Faaris was in. He tiptoed on the carpeted floor leaving small
muffled creaks as he strafed past each room. The walls themselves were white,
as if recently painted. The only passageways were a row of doors, each of them
housing a slide-out compartment to see through. Some of them were already open,
so he gazed through each of them before making sure of himself that the room
was empty. It was a routine clearing, but he felt the foreboding sterilised
essence of a prison in here. Where was everyone, and why did every room have
the same bed and desk?
With inhibition, Faaris crept towards the last door, whose compartment
was closed. He put a hand over his Glock and the other on the circular handle,
tightened his grip and opened it. But it was pulled open, hurtling Faaris
forwards into the room. He braced himself and tensed up, withstanding the shove
the man in front of him gave. He was masked, wearing a turtleneck cardigan and
jeans.
Why he was not armed was puzzling, but there was no time to ponder.
Rather, Faaris saw this as an advantage and sent a kick at him, before charging
forwards to grapple. The masked man broke free to throw a punch, leaving Faaris
winded. The man growled as fists rained down on Faaris’ face and he ducked to
grab his legs, shoving him at the wall.
With the masked man sprawled behind him, Faaris slipped his hand into his pocket. He squeezed his fingers around the metallic front of the Glock and uppercut the man with the butt as he rose from the ground. The resounding crack of the gun colliding into his chin sent the man immediately crashing back onto the floor.
Faaris panted and rubbed his stomach, his face numb and heavy. The rusty taste of blood in his mouth. He scanned the room. Behind the bed, a boy was hiding.
Faaris approached him and put his hands up. Noticing that the boy was staring at the masked man, he said “Don’t worry. He’s not dead, just knocked out.”
The boy was ashen faced, frail looking and grey lipped. When Faaris touched his hand, it felt clammy.
“I’m Faaris. My commander has been looking for you. We’re here to take you to Gaza and we must hurry.”
Silence.
“Where is the rest of your recon team?”
More silence. He had no time for this and led him out of the shop, taken aback by the boy’s weightlessness.
Camouflaged into the crowd again, the pair went over to Talha and Ahmad.
“Is this it?” asked Ahmad.
Looking at the boy’s light brown hair, Faaris replied in a lowered voice, “Yes. He’s not saying anything and judging by the rooms, we should assume that the others have been killed.”
Talha crouched down in front of the boy and gave him an orange.
“I’m Talha and this is Ahmad. We’re here to help you. You look like you need something to eat.”
Faaris looked at the Dome of the Rock, much closer now. Bright white clouds were beginning to form in the sky.
“Let’s visit al-Aqsa before we go. We’re well into Dhuhr prayer and we may as well stop by.”
The boy sniffed the orange and peeled it with dirtied fingers. Talha turned around and frowned.
“Wait, how many hostiles were in there?”
“Just the one, but he should be out cold for a few hours.”
As they made their brisk journey towards the Dome, the boy spoke in a crackly, gushing voice, the first words he must have spilled in a long time.
“Faaris. My name is Muhammad, and I’m from Ramallah. I was orphaned as my parents were killed in their house in an unannounced demolition for the settlers.”
Faaris thought best not to respond to this cold, hard fact, so he just smiled at him and walked behind him, wary of police presence.
With the masked man sprawled behind him, Faaris slipped his hand into his pocket. He squeezed his fingers around the metallic front of the Glock and uppercut the man with the butt as he rose from the ground. The resounding crack of the gun colliding into his chin sent the man immediately crashing back onto the floor.
Faaris panted and rubbed his stomach, his face numb and heavy. The rusty taste of blood in his mouth. He scanned the room. Behind the bed, a boy was hiding.
Faaris approached him and put his hands up. Noticing that the boy was staring at the masked man, he said “Don’t worry. He’s not dead, just knocked out.”
The boy was ashen faced, frail looking and grey lipped. When Faaris touched his hand, it felt clammy.
“I’m Faaris. My commander has been looking for you. We’re here to take you to Gaza and we must hurry.”
Silence.
“Where is the rest of your recon team?”
More silence. He had no time for this and led him out of the shop, taken aback by the boy’s weightlessness.
Camouflaged into the crowd again, the pair went over to Talha and Ahmad.
“Is this it?” asked Ahmad.
Looking at the boy’s light brown hair, Faaris replied in a lowered voice, “Yes. He’s not saying anything and judging by the rooms, we should assume that the others have been killed.”
Talha crouched down in front of the boy and gave him an orange.
“I’m Talha and this is Ahmad. We’re here to help you. You look like you need something to eat.”
Faaris looked at the Dome of the Rock, much closer now. Bright white clouds were beginning to form in the sky.
“Let’s visit al-Aqsa before we go. We’re well into Dhuhr prayer and we may as well stop by.”
The boy sniffed the orange and peeled it with dirtied fingers. Talha turned around and frowned.
“Wait, how many hostiles were in there?”
“Just the one, but he should be out cold for a few hours.”
As they made their brisk journey towards the Dome, the boy spoke in a crackly, gushing voice, the first words he must have spilled in a long time.
“Faaris. My name is Muhammad, and I’m from Ramallah. I was orphaned as my parents were killed in their house in an unannounced demolition for the settlers.”
Faaris thought best not to respond to this cold, hard fact, so he just smiled at him and walked behind him, wary of police presence.
The walk to the Dome of the Rock
was short and consisted of snaky twists and turns. In a matter of a few
minutes, they had entered through the Cotton Merchant’s Gate, an inner circular
foundation that led them directly to the Temple Mount.
“Al-Haram ash-Sharif.”
That was the Arabic name for it. A palm tree obscured the structure and the iconic golden dome emitted a glow from the sunlight. They were shaded from the heat, and as they stood there taking it all in, Talha checked the time.
“It would be unwise to enter. Far too empty. Let’s just get going to al-Aqsa.”
They moved beyond the Gate and headed right to al-Aqsa, passing through the open path adjacent to the Temple Mount. Save for a handful of people, the human presence here decreased tenfold as soon as al-Aqsa was before their eyes.
The masjid with the blue dome looked more dignified than in photos, a rectangular building that stretched out sideways. They made their way inside. Faaris was about to take his shoes off at the prayer room, but seeing the others walk in with them on signified their cautious urgency. He clicked his heels to let any dirt out and stepped on the vast red carpet, inside the main prayer room.
It stretched out for what felt like kilometres. Stone pillars assorted in equal rows and columns held the masjid upright. At the front, a small chandelier illuminated the calligraphic Arabic inscriptions on the walls, twinkling on occasion. It was a sight to behold and even more on account of the emptiness.
They stayed at the back, behind one of the pillars, for a quick exit. Faaris raised his hands up to his shoulders and whispered “Allah is the greatest,” to begin his prayer.
Halfway into the Fatihah, a bullet ricocheted and thudded into the pillar, though the sound of a gunshot was absent. They dropped all immersion of worship and stormed out of the masjid. Faaris could hear shouting, and he pulled Muhammad close.
“Al-Haram ash-Sharif.”
That was the Arabic name for it. A palm tree obscured the structure and the iconic golden dome emitted a glow from the sunlight. They were shaded from the heat, and as they stood there taking it all in, Talha checked the time.
“It would be unwise to enter. Far too empty. Let’s just get going to al-Aqsa.”
They moved beyond the Gate and headed right to al-Aqsa, passing through the open path adjacent to the Temple Mount. Save for a handful of people, the human presence here decreased tenfold as soon as al-Aqsa was before their eyes.
The masjid with the blue dome looked more dignified than in photos, a rectangular building that stretched out sideways. They made their way inside. Faaris was about to take his shoes off at the prayer room, but seeing the others walk in with them on signified their cautious urgency. He clicked his heels to let any dirt out and stepped on the vast red carpet, inside the main prayer room.
It stretched out for what felt like kilometres. Stone pillars assorted in equal rows and columns held the masjid upright. At the front, a small chandelier illuminated the calligraphic Arabic inscriptions on the walls, twinkling on occasion. It was a sight to behold and even more on account of the emptiness.
They stayed at the back, behind one of the pillars, for a quick exit. Faaris raised his hands up to his shoulders and whispered “Allah is the greatest,” to begin his prayer.
Halfway into the Fatihah, a bullet ricocheted and thudded into the pillar, though the sound of a gunshot was absent. They dropped all immersion of worship and stormed out of the masjid. Faaris could hear shouting, and he pulled Muhammad close.
“Were we being followed?” Talha
asked.
Their brisk stroll enveloped into a sprint.
“No idea. So much for praying at al-Aqsa,” Ahmad said between breaths.
They had neared the gates of the Temple Mount, and Faaris could count four or five policemen running towards them. He squeezed Muhammad’s hand and saw the crowd.
“We should split from here. It’s obvious they’re only after me and the boy. I’ll meet you where we parked.”
Their brisk stroll enveloped into a sprint.
“No idea. So much for praying at al-Aqsa,” Ahmad said between breaths.
They had neared the gates of the Temple Mount, and Faaris could count four or five policemen running towards them. He squeezed Muhammad’s hand and saw the crowd.
“We should split from here. It’s obvious they’re only after me and the boy. I’ll meet you where we parked.”
They ran through one of the other gates while Faaris and Muhammad joined the crowd. They made little effort to blend in, and Faaris held watch over the looming Tower of David while Muhammad tagged along.
At the corner leading to David Street, they stopped for a quick breather, hidden behind a palm tree. Faaris looked over at the boy.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah.”
His legs were shaking. Beyond more running.
“Y’know, there’s a bike shop right there...”
In a matter of minutes, Faaris was
riding a newly rusted bicycle down the road, with Muhammad sitting on the
frame, his skinny legs swinging away. Sirens went off nearby.
The citadel surrounding the Tower was within plain sight now. Yards later, the SUV would be close. They disembarked and ran towards the vehicle. Muhammad ran a little ahead of Faaris.
A force sent Faaris flying forwards into the ground, hurtling his body sideways before he stopped, spitting into the ground. The ground was now nauseating and a sharp pain began to enflame his thigh. Looking up, Muhammad was at his side, speechless. His mouth formed words but no sounds emanated. Faaris shouted “What are you staring at? Run!”
And the boy got up and ran while Faaris awaited the killing blow. People were standing from afar, mesmerised by the spectacle.
“Come on, you cowards! Come and shoot, or do you never finish your damn battles?”
No answer. His leg throbbed, lubricated by fresh flowing blood. Faaris closed his eyes and listened to the ground.
A roar came from behind him, and he rolled to the left to see the SUV pulling up. Ahmad came out of the boot with an M16, and he helped Faaris up, dragging him into the car.
“Do you really think we’d leave you here to die?”
“I wasn’t dying, retard. I just can’t walk.”
Ahmad laughed and slapped Faaris on the head.
“Still a prick as ever.”
“Would you two mind? I’m trying to drive here.”
The window showcased the outside’s furious cascade. Faaris slid down from the backseat and peeked up at the front window to see the police attempting to close the Jaffa Gate.
“Oh no you don’t,” muttered Talha, digging his foot into the accelerator. The SUV’s roar amplified, charging towards the checkpoint. Bullets thudded into the back of the vehicle and Ahmad rummaged around to cradle his motorcycle helmet. Donning it, he rose from the sunroof and aimed his rifle at the checkpoint as they passed it. Faaris closed his ears as it made a rattling sound while spewing out bullets.
Ahmad grinned at them when he slipped back down, securing the sunroof.
“Now tell me my helmet was useless, Faaris. I think that held them off.”
Talha kept the SUV at a steady speed.
“Muhammad, help yourself to some fruit and vegetables in the back. Faaris, are you OK?”
“I’ll be fine. Just minor injuries. Leg aches, though.”
The citadel surrounding the Tower was within plain sight now. Yards later, the SUV would be close. They disembarked and ran towards the vehicle. Muhammad ran a little ahead of Faaris.
A force sent Faaris flying forwards into the ground, hurtling his body sideways before he stopped, spitting into the ground. The ground was now nauseating and a sharp pain began to enflame his thigh. Looking up, Muhammad was at his side, speechless. His mouth formed words but no sounds emanated. Faaris shouted “What are you staring at? Run!”
And the boy got up and ran while Faaris awaited the killing blow. People were standing from afar, mesmerised by the spectacle.
“Come on, you cowards! Come and shoot, or do you never finish your damn battles?”
No answer. His leg throbbed, lubricated by fresh flowing blood. Faaris closed his eyes and listened to the ground.
A roar came from behind him, and he rolled to the left to see the SUV pulling up. Ahmad came out of the boot with an M16, and he helped Faaris up, dragging him into the car.
“Do you really think we’d leave you here to die?”
“I wasn’t dying, retard. I just can’t walk.”
Ahmad laughed and slapped Faaris on the head.
“Still a prick as ever.”
“Would you two mind? I’m trying to drive here.”
The window showcased the outside’s furious cascade. Faaris slid down from the backseat and peeked up at the front window to see the police attempting to close the Jaffa Gate.
“Oh no you don’t,” muttered Talha, digging his foot into the accelerator. The SUV’s roar amplified, charging towards the checkpoint. Bullets thudded into the back of the vehicle and Ahmad rummaged around to cradle his motorcycle helmet. Donning it, he rose from the sunroof and aimed his rifle at the checkpoint as they passed it. Faaris closed his ears as it made a rattling sound while spewing out bullets.
Ahmad grinned at them when he slipped back down, securing the sunroof.
“Now tell me my helmet was useless, Faaris. I think that held them off.”
Talha kept the SUV at a steady speed.
“Muhammad, help yourself to some fruit and vegetables in the back. Faaris, are you OK?”
“I’ll be fine. Just minor injuries. Leg aches, though.”
As they drove through Qiryat Gat,
Faaris looked at the quilts of greenery passing by their path.
“Faaris, can I ask you something?”
It was the familiar young voice, except that it wasn’t so crackly this time.
“Go ahead. Anything to dull this pain.”
“Are you actually Palestinian? Your Arabic doesn’t sound... right.”
Faaris grinned and paused. He had to pick his words.
“Yes, I am. Born and bred in Gaza. But my family moved to America and I had my education and employment here.”
“What made you come back?”
“I was part of an aid convoy when Gaza was being bombed. I... saw what they had done to my homeland, to my people, so I stayed here and that’s where I met Ahmad. Began living with him. And yeah, I’m nothing but a small element trying to bring Palestine back to how it was.”
Relief emerged on Muhammad’s face in the form of a smile.
“And what about you? What did you and your team do in Jerusalem?”
Talha looked at the pair through the rear view mirror.
“That’s confidential information, Faaris. He’ll only talk to the General, OK?”
“Fair enough. I’m just glad this was somewhat a success.”
“Faaris, can I ask you something?”
It was the familiar young voice, except that it wasn’t so crackly this time.
“Go ahead. Anything to dull this pain.”
“Are you actually Palestinian? Your Arabic doesn’t sound... right.”
Faaris grinned and paused. He had to pick his words.
“Yes, I am. Born and bred in Gaza. But my family moved to America and I had my education and employment here.”
“What made you come back?”
“I was part of an aid convoy when Gaza was being bombed. I... saw what they had done to my homeland, to my people, so I stayed here and that’s where I met Ahmad. Began living with him. And yeah, I’m nothing but a small element trying to bring Palestine back to how it was.”
Relief emerged on Muhammad’s face in the form of a smile.
“And what about you? What did you and your team do in Jerusalem?”
Talha looked at the pair through the rear view mirror.
“That’s confidential information, Faaris. He’ll only talk to the General, OK?”
“Fair enough. I’m just glad this was somewhat a success.”
Faaris stretched out his arms and
yawned, covering his mouth. He tucked his hands behind his head. Tiredness had
overtaken him.
“I think it’s time to rest now.”
Ahmad grinned.
“Right. Dreaming about your sunny Gaza beach, eh?”
“Mm-hm.”
“We’ll wake you up when we get there, sleepyhead.”
“Mm-hm.”
He wasn’t listening. Faaris closed his eyes. (5,004)
“I think it’s time to rest now.”
Ahmad grinned.
“Right. Dreaming about your sunny Gaza beach, eh?”
“Mm-hm.”
“We’ll wake you up when we get there, sleepyhead.”
“Mm-hm.”
He wasn’t listening. Faaris closed his eyes. (5,004)
END
Wednesday 22 August 2012
You'll never guess where I returned from...
Yes, folks, I spent just over two weeks in the lands of Amman and Jerusalem.
Right now, my brain is completely frazzled and I need more time to really do justice to the places I've been. But it was quite simply phenomenal and a pertinent learning experience.
Will update you all very soon.
Right now, my brain is completely frazzled and I need more time to really do justice to the places I've been. But it was quite simply phenomenal and a pertinent learning experience.
Will update you all very soon.
Monday 16 July 2012
Untitled short story
Entry: 10th
November 2010
Dear Diary.
Dear Diary.
Today,
it’ll be an entry unlike any other. Like something out of an independent film,
I witnessed something extraordinary unfold in a short space of time. Not bad
for an average day at the office! At about 7pm, I was in West Ham Underground
Station, waiting for the next Jubilee line train. PA announcements said the
line was suffering from delays. If my memory is correct, trains would run once
every half-hour on the line. The clock had also just crept back an hour to
welcome winter, peering its ugly face into London. The lighting was incredibly
poor too, with swathes of fog covering the station.
I was a bit
too engrossed in cupping my hot cocoa, my only source of warmth, when I
realised that I was the only person on the platform. Even staff members were
nowhere to be seen. Strange, but I shrugged it off. Frequent checks of the
clock brought me in sync with the time - about 15 minutes had passed during my
stay on the damp passenger waiting bench. There was still no one else but
myself. Where is everyone today, away from a national holiday that I slept
through?
After a few
minutes of more silence, another guy walked past me. At least I wasn’t alone
now, so I studied his appearance. He looked like the usual West Ham United
type, an ugly bastard with swagger if I’m being completely frank. I’ll call him
Baldy through lack of a better name. He was hairless except for his ginger eyebrows.
He was clad in jogger wear, baggy trousers and a bright Adidas wind jacket. If
this was his normal attire, then I wonder how he survived the winter. He stood
a few metres away from me, head lowered, hands in his pockets. Streams of cold
breath exuded from him, like some hypnotic pulsation. The mist reminded me it
was so damn cold thanks to the usual British weather. He didn’t notice my
eyeballing, because I was sitting in a pretty dark part of the platform.
Already
bored of him, my attention returns to my hot cocoa, its heat radiating from the
cup I was holding. It was dwindling in warmth; my hands cooling down under its
touch. I craned my head to the right a bit to look towards the other guy
waiting at the platform to find that there was another guy.
The second person
was certainly better dressed than the guy in the jogger pants. Well, what clothes
I may have seen was hidden by a white robe covering his whole body and
legs. He was a hulking mass. Judging by the covering on his head and the flowing,
semi-groomed beard he had, he looked religious. He was holding a white carrier
bag, the wind hurrying through it and causing a pristine flutter. The closest
depiction of him I could offer was a softer looking version of Leonidas (or a
bearded Gerard Butler from 300) so let’s call him Leon from now on.
Baldy, no
longer still, is exchanging a few words with the newcomer. He was no longer
leaning on the wall and seemed different now, less reserved and nonchalant,
more... poised. But his hands were still firm and wedged in his pockets. He was
next to Leon, who looked pretty calm - considering how close Baldy was. This
strange body language was hard to read, and again, it didn’t seem like they
noticed me. Perhaps it was the poor lighting, or the intensity of it all. I was
just the mere observer from afar, wedged into one of the passenger benches.
Then I
heard a brief exchange of unclear words, followed by a loud thud. I’m sure the
whole station must’ve heard it, because Leon was sent flying a short distance.
Another thud; he crashes out on the platform ground. His carrier bag also fell
from his grasp with a muffled thump. This was happening far too quickly. But I
could grasp that I was witnessing a typical attack. Tube stations are infamous
of robberies, murders and science but damn, I was watching all
this. I was a witness to a potential homicide. Terrified as heck, I made no
noise as I watched Baldy stand in front of his victim.
But a few
moments afterwards, Leon got up, dusting himself off, looking Baldy squarely in
the face. I thought he should’ve stayed down and let Baldy have his way. After
all, it’d probably be over in seconds. But he didn’t look at all stunned. The
calm demeanour dematerialised as Leon stood, their eyes locked. Only now did I
notice the stark, fierce difference of height between the two. With my back
stuck like glue to the wall, I peeped at them in perfect view. Did I mention
the weird ambience of the platform lights? It was like a sci-fi movie (or a
wildlife documentary, take your pick) in here that I regretted not bringing a
camera!
Still
maintaining eye contact with Baldy, Leon said “Try that again.” No swagger, none
of that schoolboy attitude, just a cold, direct invitation. His voice was sombre
but clear as day. A roar of the wind ushered my attention to the bag on the
floor. It was split open, as if slashed. There’s nothing but groceries in there;
typical corner shop fodder like bread and pasta sauce (of all the things to
remember!). I was still stuck to the wall. No way were they both going to
notice me.
Baldy had a
mixture of confusion and anger in his reddening face, and he responded with a
profound “You what!?” He housed a typical Cockney accent, albeit a bit shaky. A
knife, presumably stolen from his mother’s kitchen, was in his sweaty hands.
How the tables have turned. Looking at the knife drew attention to Leon’s
shawl-like garment, the bottom of which was now slashed from the hem, revealing
a pair of beige slacks. I can hear the faint drone and slight screeching of a
Tube carriage. Finally! A quick check of the station clock indicated that about
30 minutes had passed since I sat down here.
‘You heard me. Try that again.’
And he did. Baldy roared and came at him with his kitchen knife. But he must’ve misjudged his lunge, because he slipped, only to be caught by Leon, who grabbed him by the cuff single-handed. Now he’s in for it, I thought. As the Underground carriage crawled and slowed towards the station, I was sure he was going to throw Baldy into the tracks. There was still no one around, so the hooligan’s shouts for help were useless. Which was just as well since Leon slammed him to the wall. His warning was audible.
‘You heard me. Try that again.’
And he did. Baldy roared and came at him with his kitchen knife. But he must’ve misjudged his lunge, because he slipped, only to be caught by Leon, who grabbed him by the cuff single-handed. Now he’s in for it, I thought. As the Underground carriage crawled and slowed towards the station, I was sure he was going to throw Baldy into the tracks. There was still no one around, so the hooligan’s shouts for help were useless. Which was just as well since Leon slammed him to the wall. His warning was audible.
‘Next time
you think of doing this to someone, think about what just happened here.’
The train stopped. He let go of Baldy, who floored himself. He retreated into the corner, looking petrified. I could smell his fear. For some reason, I only just noticed the cup of cocoa in my hand, now cold, as if my sense of touch had gone walkies during this episode.
The train stopped. He let go of Baldy, who floored himself. He retreated into the corner, looking petrified. I could smell his fear. For some reason, I only just noticed the cup of cocoa in my hand, now cold, as if my sense of touch had gone walkies during this episode.
I waited
till the bearded man entered the Tube carriage. Putting down the cup, I took my
seat many metres from him and entered the carriage. Still trying to make sense
of what happened, I had to squeeze my hands to stop them from shaking. That was
a long day. (1244)
Sunday 13 May 2012
Screen
main straight in bus
top deck window,
oxygen steams up
interior, heavy rain out,
cutting through an aquaplane-
top deck window,
oxygen steams up
interior, heavy rain out,
cutting through an aquaplane-
window is now bright white
from light outside
in the distance
from light outside
in the distance
looking to the left
at a layer of forestry,
their sunlight induced
embroidery,
outlines searing
into my eyelids
Translucent tunnel
vision. Dual carriageway stretch.
lights. enclosure.
squinting in the dark,
rain stops.
I make a letterbox engraving
on the condensation
while the other man
in front wipes in a circle
at a layer of forestry,
their sunlight induced
embroidery,
outlines searing
into my eyelids
Translucent tunnel
vision. Dual carriageway stretch.
lights. enclosure.
squinting in the dark,
rain stops.
I make a letterbox engraving
on the condensation
while the other man
in front wipes in a circle
We see clearly,
see the bridge
see the bridge
Gust
The emptiest cup,
always the loudest.
It ripples
like the rustic spin
of a tornado
carrying relics
of embarrassment,
mediocratic gusts.
Words written by yours truly,
with
empty self assured rhetoric
that faded into
the pages
of years passed with
teenage angst.
Crumple the cup
and its shallow arrogance
to forge substance
and
rue the day
when the ink submerges
and brushes against the surface,
a tender, shrouding blue mist.
Molten ash dust
like fire curving metal
to carve a trajectory
to send that tornado
off course into oblivion,
splitting into particles
unifying an opaque
nothingness.
For you do not deserve this
this sorry entry into the canon,
a sleepless stupor into
the gallery of vain epiphanies.
Collect those relics, dust them up, and try again.
always the loudest.
It ripples
like the rustic spin
of a tornado
carrying relics
of embarrassment,
mediocratic gusts.
Words written by yours truly,
with
empty self assured rhetoric
that faded into
the pages
of years passed with
teenage angst.
Crumple the cup
and its shallow arrogance
to forge substance
and
rue the day
when the ink submerges
and brushes against the surface,
a tender, shrouding blue mist.
Molten ash dust
like fire curving metal
to carve a trajectory
to send that tornado
off course into oblivion,
splitting into particles
unifying an opaque
nothingness.
For you do not deserve this
this sorry entry into the canon,
a sleepless stupor into
the gallery of vain epiphanies.
Collect those relics, dust them up, and try again.
Door
Speak
in metaphor
white backdrop
with brown door
made of the most
intricate mahogany
search deep to
voice the voices
into this page, but
rarely do they stitch
into assembly
white backdrop
with brown door
made of the most
intricate mahogany
search deep to
voice the voices
into this page, but
rarely do they stitch
into assembly
Gone are those days of
enlightenment
where old bearded men lived in the mind
satanically whispering inspiration
enlightenment
where old bearded men lived in the mind
satanically whispering inspiration
For now, endure the long climb
to the canon. Embark
from humble beginnings, make
that stride past the door,
with its intricate mahogany
in the bright white backdrop
to the canon. Embark
from humble beginnings, make
that stride past the door,
with its intricate mahogany
in the bright white backdrop
and begin.
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