Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) (19 page)

Instead of panic, Recai felt only a deep and complete sense of peace. He allowed his body to float up, bobbing atop the salty water. With his legs relaxed, dipping down into the black beneath him, he spread his arms and welcomed the freedom of isolation.

"Recai"

The voice vibrated in the water around him. He lifted his head and pulled his body beneath him so he could tread water and look around. There was no movement in the silent sea apart from the ripples created by his slowly kicking legs.

"Hello?" the night absorbed the sound of his voice.

Disoriented, Recai dove under, hoping for the clean refreshing water to reorganize his thoughts.

"Recai…"

The voice came again as soon as his head dipped under the water, but was gone as he burst to the surface, scanning the horizon and again finding nothing.

He filled his lungs and dove down, forcefully pushing himself as deep as he could go.

"Recai, have you forgotten me?"

A sweet familiar voice filled his mind.

"Where are you?" He screamed into the water, using what little air he had left. Bubbles exploded into the black water drifting upward.

"I am with you, always. Have you forgotten your promise so soon?"

"Rebekah?"

Recai stopped his frantic search beneath the surface, out of air and finally out of time.

It was late by the time Maryam left the hospital. Her old car got her home safely as always, and she parked in the lot two blocks from her building. The night had been difficult and exhausting. Hospital politics and her own good sense were so often in conflict she wondered how she managed to work there at all.

Because if I didn't, who would have made sure the Kalkan girl had somewhere to sleep tonight? If I wasn't there, where would she have gone?

Maryam had a friend who attended the only Greek Orthodox Church in town. It was small and not well attended, but the church was tolerated by the RTK, an essential political move on the part of the Mayor to keep anyone from looking too closely at the small city. When a woman was left unclaimed by her family after being dishonored her options were slim, but if she was lucky and Maryam was on duty, some would receive refuge at the church.

Aysel Kalkan had left the hospital without ever being officially admitted, without any record of what she had endured, and without her father ever coming to retrieve her. She left and would be safe, that much the nurses at Dunya Hastanesi could provide. The rest was up to her.

Stepping out of her car, Maryam tightened her
hijab
, glad she had brought clothes to change into so she didn't have to walk so late at night in her scrubs. In the hospital it didn't bother her to wear pants of such thin fabric; it was a part of her job, a uniform like any other. But on the streets, she much preferred the familiarity and comfort of her
abaya
.

Maryam was lost in thought as she walked down the dark street that led her home. She didn't see Abdullah's figure until he stepped out into the glow of the street lamp, a thin, hand-rolled cigarette in his hand.

"Abdullah!" she cried, unsettled by her grocer's sudden appearance. Something within her recoiled from him, even though he was a familiar and friendly face.

"Maryam, you're home late." His intonation was flat.

"The hours of a nurse," she shrugged and resumed walking toward home.

"You shouldn't be out so late alone."

"I'm fine, thank you for worrying about me." Maryam gave a strained smile, a nagging worry in the back of her mind. "Was the store open late tonight?"

Abdullah fell into step next to her, his hair bobbing around his ears as he walked, his smile full and bright. The return of the friendly Abdullah she knew relaxed her and she smiled in return.

"No, the store closed as usual. I had been hoping you would stop in, and when you didn't I waited."

"Abdullah, that's kind but unnecessary."

"I told you the other day I worry about you living alone in the city."

"Please, don't worry. I am used to it now. I like living alone."

Abdullah laughed with a full throaty voice.

"No woman likes living alone!"

"Well it suits me fine for now."

Maryam's smile was strained once again. The door to her building was just one more block, but it looked like Abdullah had no intention of leaving her side.

"Only because you are not married. If you were married you would have a family and children to nurse, no need for hospitals and late nights alone."

Silence was her only response. Abdullah's crush on her had worked to her advantage so far, but had she encouraged him too much? Had she tempted him in some way she hadn't intended? Again she felt thankful for changing out of her scrubs and she pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her abaya, hiding as much of herself from Abdullah's gaze as possible.

"Maryam, would you like to be married?"

"Someday, perhaps, but for now I am enjoying my work."

She increased her pace, hoping someone would be out smoking in front of her building as the men who lived on the other floors sometimes did.

"I think you enjoy your work because you don't have anything else. Perhaps if you had a child and a husband you'd be fulfilled instead of trying to find happiness through work."

"Abdullah, it's late. I think you should go home."

"Not until I know you are safe."

"I am safe. I walk home every day alone; tonight is no different."

"There have been more attacks."

His voice was low and had lost some of its playfulness.

"I work in the Emergency Department. I know all about the dangers of the city, and still I am fine to walk alone."

Maryam lifted her head higher and drew on strength she didn't quite have as she approached her door. It was abandoned to the night, no one outside at this hour.

Abdullah stopped next to the door, situating himself so Maryam would need to reach past him to put her key in the lock. Her building was only four stories high, with the grocery on the ground floor, the second floor for women tenants only, and the two top floors for men. There was no doorman, only a maintenance man who lived on the third floor and didn't fix anything.

"You should marry," Abdullah blurted.

"Someday, when the time is right."

"You should marry me."

"Abdullah!"

"Someday, when the time is right," he smiled broadly.

Abdullah's dark skin contrasted sharply against his white teeth, making him look like a smile without a body. A beat passed before he stepped away from her with a glint in his eye. Maryam unlocked her door and stepped inside, unable to breathe again until she heard the click of the deadbolt snap into place.

Imam Al-Bashir kneeled alone in the mosque facing the quibla for the early-morning prayer. He kept his focus in the direction of Mecca and waited for others to arrive. Every day, five times a day, he did this. Perhaps this would be one of those times when a straggler or sinner would make their way here. If not, he would prostrate before Allah and vow to minister to those who needed him.

The call for prayer, no longer performed by a muezzin but instead a recorded voice, echoed out over the wealthy neighborhood:

Allaahu Akbar

Allaahu Akbar

Allaahu Akbar

Allaahu Akbar

Ash'hadu an laa ilaaha illallaah

Ash'hadu an laa ilaaha illallaah

Ash'hadu anna Muhammadan-rasulullaah

Ash'hadu anna Muhammadan-rasulullaah

Haya ‘alas-salaah

Haya ‘alas-salaah

Haya ‘alal falaah

Haya ‘alal falaah

Allaahu Akbar

Allaahu Akbar

The sound echoed in the emptiness within the grand prayer hall.

With a sigh, Al-Bashir stood and began the movements that corresponded with his prayer. The ritual was so embedded in his body the individual steps were unimportant; the sequence cleansed his mind and soul.

Standing, he raised his hands to heaven in reverence and then folded them one over the other upon his breast, opening his heart to the love of Allah. Al-Bashir enjoyed the ritual of prayer. As he bowed, he placed his hands softly upon his knees. He felt the warmth of Allah spread over him. In his mind he recited passages from the Qu'ran, centering and focusing his mind on the peace promised to the faithful. Finally he lowered himself to the ground in sajdah, laying his body prostrate on the prayer rug in complete submission. With deep breaths he released his vanity and selfish desires, making room within his heart for the love and wisdom of Allah to guide him.

After performing the rak'ah four times Al-Bashir sat, eyes closed. He easily pulled prayers from his mind, having begun memorizing the Holy Book, reciting it rote while sitting at the feet of his father, before he could read or write.

There is no God but Allah, and He shall be glorified most high.

Softly, the faithful man opened his eyes to the barren room. Sadness entered his heart. "Peace on you and the mercy of Allah," he whispered to all of the souls who had forgotten the importance of worship. Mayor Yilmaz and his RTK had forced the external trappings of religion down the people's throats. The compulsory acts were driving people away from the mosque instead of into the house of Allah. Each day, men and women were forced to conduct themselves in ways conscripted from the secular world instead of finding their way to embracing Islam.

The Ummah is dying from within.
Al-Bashir's fears for his people grew every day. Each day he saw zina, vanity and sin. The pillars of his religion were falling around him, leaving the city in ruins. The few who proclaimed true faith fell into two categories, the pseudo-Muslims who do not practice the tenants of their religion but make quite a big show of it in public, and the jihadists. Perhaps in the city's other mosques this wasn't the case, but here, in Aydinkonak, the mosque was empty.