Living on the Other Side

Chapter Three

Over the next few days, my nights were spent hidden in the dusty old attic with the youngest Other's book. As the love for Islam and my Lord swelled in my breast, my thirst for knowledge became insatiable. I completed the book three times over, not wanting to forget or misunderstand a single word.

I felt like I was living just for the words in that book. I felt fear and awe as I learned of the great Prophet Sulaiman 'alayhi salam, who was given immense power by Allah and was able to control my kind. He was their king, and they had no choice but to obey him, because of the power vested in him through his Lord. My heart broke for the beautiful Prophet Yousef 'alayhi salam, as he was thrown into a well by his brothers and then sold into a life of slavery. I felt sadness, and tears fell from my eyes, as I learned the struggles of our very own Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him), and the treatment and torture he faced from his own people. I felt their failures and their triumphs to my very being, and found myself sucked deeply into their stories as I read voraciously.

I became more and more interested in the doings of the Others, and spent so much time watching and learning from them, that my family became increasingly concerned. My mother and brother warned me, cajoled me, yelled at me, and threatened to tell my father if I didn't stop this nonsense, as they called my obsession with learning the ways of the Muslims.

Now, the reason I was brave enough to begin learning and copying the Others was that my father had not come home since they had moved in, for I feared my father deeply. This was the threat that sent me and my studies into hiding, and I began to read and study only in the dead of night, in deserted places like the attic, where my brother wouldn't be able to find me. However, even the terrifying specter of my father finding out was not enough to stop me from seeking more and more knowledge.

Several weeks ago, I had asked my mother why father would not come home because of these Others. Mom had told me that "their kind" was the enemy of people like us, and my father was deeply afraid of them, for they were very powerful. At the time, I hadn't understood; my father worked with many different Others in many different walks of life, and had never said that they were the enemy, and was never afraid of them. My father was one of the most powerful beings of our kind, and most Others who knew of him or worked with him quailed in fear before his powerful magic and fearsome abilities. Now that I was learning more about Islam, I realized that she was referring to their beliefs and the protection afforded them by the Creator through His words.

When I found the old attic and realized that my brother didn't know about it, I felt that I had found a safe place to learn. When I completed the youngest Other's book, I began digging through the more informative religious texts of the elder Other, borrowing piles of them at a time and reading all night long. I thought I had found the perfect solution to my family's interference, but unfortunately, I was wrong.

As I rooted through my book pile one night and settled myself in to learn the very first surah of the Holy Qura'an, my excitement and focus prevented me from hearing a noise outside the room. As I painstakingly began to recite from the English transliteration in the book, I heard a loud gasp, and quickly jumped up and looked guiltily into the horrified face of my brother, as he took in the sight of me, surrounded by books containing the very information that I had been forbidden to explore. He became very angry.

"Mother and I told you that this information is dangerous to us and to our kind, and most of all, to our very own father," he began furiously. "And yet, you have no shame! Copying those people who are enemies to us and trying to emulate their ways and learn their words. This is the very last straw, Xavier. We can't let you go on this way," he took a deep breath, and his next words electrified me with terror, despite the quiet, somber tone with which they were spoken. "I'm telling Father about this tomorrow."