Falling Embers(A Nigerian Tale)

Chapter 8

Later that afternoon, I understood what my Islamic teacher, Malam Saleh meant when he mentioned that the devil’s greatest weapon will forever be the heart that accompanies a curious mind. There was nothing devilish about what I was about to do, or so I hope- but it was bad enough for me to spend all afternoon debating over it. I looked at the alluring black leather-wrapped book once again before finally placing it back into my drawer. It would be highly inappropriate to delve into a journal that seemed extremely personal right from the first page.

‘Where thoughts are laid in canvas, dreams drawn out in ink and truth spilled out in words, freedom all but lies deep within the imaginative heart.’

Written beautifully on the first page were these words. Words that spoke to me even though I was never really one to understand poetic depths. I’d always favoured the calculative and numerical aspect of things and not the literal counterpart, but Jawad’s words reached me wholly to the point that I had to fight myself for control. Control to restrict me from turning over the next page. At least until I’m able to return his book to him. Surely he’d allow me a sneak peek if I asked. After all, it was not my intention to take the book home with me. It got mixed up with my bundled stash of papers and files. I was glad that Nana had gone out to ‘settle some affairs’ because she kept asking what the book was all about.

“Aseel!”, Mama called out from outside the room. I silently thanked her for pulling me away from the seemingly unbearable temptation. She was hunched over our small water reservoir when I walked out.

“Yes Mama.” She turned around and despite her feeble attempt at hiding her tears-ridden face, I understood that she had spent an ample amount of time crying. “Mama…what happened?”, I asked, touching her cheeks affectionately. I wanted to ask if Abba had wronged her in any way, but decided against it when he stepped out of his room looking even gloomier than her.

She faked a laugh but I kept my eyes glued on him, daring him to tell me that nothing was wrong. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”, she explained, though the truth in her words failed to convey. I cocked my eyebrows at her but she brushed me off again. “Nothing’s wrong, Aseel.”, she repeated. I put my hands back on her cheeks, a signal to show that I am indeed aware of the tears she had shed. “Oh this?”, she asked with a disbelieving chuckle.

“Yeah. This.” I was still looking at my father who stood by his door, intently watching our exchange.

“A fly slashed past my eye. I washed it repeatedly but it keeps watering.” Her eyes begged me to accept her tale, so I did. “Anyways, I called you because our reservoir is almost empty and since the boys are not here, you’re my only option.” I hated refilling our water reservoir. Not only was it a tedious task, but the well we use is situated in the house around the corner. Ayyub’s house. I made it a point to avoid him ever since that day at his house.

“Okay, Mama. Is the bucket in the bathroom?”, I asked.  She brought it out from behind the reservoir. I took it and turned towards my father. “Abba, do you need your water basin refilled as well?”

He smiled and flipped me off. I don’t think I could ever get used to father’s smile because I was never familiar with it up until a few months ago. His eyes squint to almost a thin line, his cheeks fill up and his face brightens whenever he smiled. Ten years are stripped out of his age when he smiles. “No need, my dear. I’m going with you.” I did not understand his meaning at first because not once in my life had I ever witnessed my father involved in the domestic affairs of this household. “I’ll go get my bucket.”

“No, Abba. There’s no need.” I didn’t want to be disrespectful because I’m still not well acquainted with the father-daughter protocols. He ignored me and went ahead into his room.