“My baby still breathes?”
“Yes, my sister.”
“I am alive?”
“Yes, khwahar jan.Rest now.Your husband is a good man…”
Then I’m floating on a lake, my hand tucked inside Jamil’s.The sky is pure blue, the sun a bright promise.And now I am sure I’m dead, but I don’t care anymore.I would stay here forever, float here forever, my fingers entwined with his…
“She is beautiful,” he tells me.
I’m crying, my tears pouring down my cheeks into the gently lapping water.
“You have done well.”He turns to look at me.I can see the hole in his head, where the bullet penetrated his bone-white skull, obliterated his brilliant brain.His blood, my tears, spreading out in the water around us.
“Two halves of one whole,” he informs me.
I shake my head.“He is gone.You’re gone.Everyone is gone.”
“Are you so certain of that?What did you see that day?And what do you know?”
I’m confused and hurting.But gradually, as the water caresses my skin and Jamil’s hand warms my own, I can picture my brother’s blood-covered face as he lay sprawled on the ground.And I realize for the first time how much I didn’t truly comprehend.Because that version of me didn’t know how to take a pulse, or that head wounds bleed horrifically, or that even the most grievously wounded body can sometimes be healed again.
I was still a child.A well-intentioned one, but a naïve girl just the same.
“You have everything you need,” Jamil says now.“You know everything you must know.”
And I understand what he means, even as I dread what will happen next.
“What kind of fool falls in love when the world is burning?”Jamil whispers, so close it is his blood dripping down my cheeks.“What kind of fool doesn’t?”
I awake with a start.The first thing I see is Isaad, kneeling on the floor beside me, his hair, his clothing in complete disarray.As my eyes open, so do his.For a moment, he looks as bewildered as I feel.
Then he grabs my hand, clutches it fiercely.“Praise be to Allah!”
He feels my forehead, touches my cheeks.“You have returned to us!”
“My brother is alive,” I croak.
“What are you—”
“Farshid is alive.I must find him.”
He gives me a look of deepest pity.“Like your cousin Habib?You have been screaming about him, jigaram.You point at shadows, warn us to look out.He is behind us.He’ll kill us, you, Zahra.But no one’s there.Whatever happened to Habib… I share your sorrow, my beloved, but he’s gone.Whatever you think you see, it’s merely the fever talking.Now it has broken, however, and your mind will be clear again.”
I don’t know how to respond because I swear Habib is standing in the room right now.As I stare, he smirks, plays with a knife.Except a blink of the eye later, he’s gone and the shadows are just shadows, and I’m the one left disoriented.I should know the difference between what is real and what is a delusion.It’s disorienting to hear that I do not.
Isaad pats my hand.“Dr.Richard says your condition sometimes happens to women after childbirth.You must rest, rebuild your strength.Our daughter needs you.”
Which is when I realize there’s a second person in the room.A tiny swaddled bundle nestled next to Isaad’s bent knees.
Isaad follows my gaze.He picks you up, places you in my arms.
The sound of silence.
You staring into me.Me staring into you.
“She is beautiful,” Jamil whispers.And once more, his blood mingles with my tears.
