Narrator’s Name: Unknown, Still
XIII. Safiyya’s Last Words
Hint/Confession: You may have begun to assume that I am R. That makes sense, doesn’t it? Or maybe R is Jameel. He’s got the gut. Hell, it could be Adam – the one person you know almost nothing about. Or R could be someone as kind and innocent as Abubakar; it’s almost always the innocent ones. But before you make any conclusion, there’s one more person you need to be fully aware of. You’ll meet him here.
No, not Adam Talha. Someone else.
Concerning the day that followed the un-weekly Friday night, I can tell you this: The morning that ensued retained the coldness of the night before and it was only right that it did. Forgive me for my lack of empathy – I offer no condolence for deeds done. I’m only here to tell you a story. Whether someone is guilty of living or acquitted of dying. Whether it’s a murder or a betrayal, I shed no tears but tell tales.
Right now, I need you to forget Umar because I need to take you to a room you’ve never been to. Like the best canvas, the color was black ready to draw and cut time so that when the people in this room are finished drawing and cutting, the world would shake knowing nothing but the drawings and the fresh cuts it must learn to bear. And here it begins.
There were fourteen people in the room, all seated around a long table. Fourteen people and fourteen chairs – seven on one side and seven on the other.
“Creating chaos,” said one of them, reclining comfortably in his seat as he dispensed the words that would either build or destroy, but never both. “Determining power shifts and power holders, distributing resources, deciding who gets what – a semblance of life or a swift death – and getting the best of riches at these ugly times we have created, are extremely easy these days. There are no strong forces to stop us. And the masses are okay with all that so far we give them temporary solutions to their permanent and damming problems. And so like the true masters that we are, we redesign and reshuffle the game every now and again so that we’ll enjoy it a little more. We even choose who and what becomes our opposition. And when we are tired of playing with them, we simply delete them. Just like that. There’s nothing new under the sun except us and what we allow. Gentlemen, you must admit this is all getting too boring.”
“Except the loads and loads of money we get,” Person two said, they all laughed. The first speaker was Taneem Thawbaan. Remember him? The senator? Saleem’s “new” friend?
Well, I think he was a visionary – in his own way – and he was surrounded by people who were almost as dangerous as him. And his little speech wasn’t little neither was it a speech. It was the truth as the world knew it. And no, this isn’t a secret society or some cabal. Or maybe they are. But the point is, they never really thought of themselves as such. They simply existed like a sound in a clap or a creaking door.
“The cripple is no longer the king of Dihaara,” the senator said. “He is the only one who had put up a real fight. Now, even Dihaara can be ours. The new king is a small boy and we’ve prepared small-boy problems for him. Small-boy problems, but they’ll do the trick of crushing him.”
“But the cripple is still alive,” Person two said scratching his head.
If you still haven’t guessed who they are referring to as the cripple, it’s the former king of Dihaara. Nasir Abdulazeez – Saleem’s grandfather.
“True, the cripple is still alive. But he is sick,” the senator said smiling. “I have it on good authority that that’s the reason he stepped down. Alzheimer’s disease.” Remember, I told you the only other person who knew about the former king’s sickness apart from me and his family and had something to gain from it was a man in Dihaara. And that I’d tell you his name and the name of the sickness after one of the Ja’far’s boys has been shot. Well, here you have it. Name: Senator Taneem Thawbaan; Sickness: Alzheimer’s Disease.
Person two laughed and then said, “Who would have thought that the cripple would be incapacitated like that.”
“So don’t worry about him interfering anymore,” the senator said. “My friends, all I ask from you is that you leave this affair to me.”
“For your sake, I hope you come through,” person eight said sitting opposite the senator. “Because you know very well what will happen to you should you make a second mistake.”
The senator frowned, almost cursing under his breath. “If you’re referring to the cripple’s granddaughter, Safiyya Ja’far, she was never a problem in the first place. And she’s dead for almost a year now. Car accident,” the senator said. “Or have you forgotten that that’s one of the reasons her father ended up in prison? And that had been one of the pressure points we had used on her grandfather, the cripple.” The senator pushed his eyeglasses back then added, “And one more thing, you of all people should know that I don’t make mistakes. Watch your tongue and don’t ever forget who made you what you are and who gave you a seat here.”
“No Taneem, he’s right,” said Person five, sitting four chairs away from the senator. “You’ve indeed made one mistake and you of all people should know what that means.” The senator said nothing to that. “What I’m more curious about is why you have the cripple’s grandson writing your autobiography,” Person five added.
“I thought that was fairly obvious,” said the senator. “Saleem Ja’far Nasir is as fierce and stubborn as his grandfather. I’m even surprised that he wasn’t the one who was crowned king.”
“Right, I’ve been meaning to ask. Him not being king, did we have something to do with that?” said Person two ever the worrisome one.
“No, our reach doesn’t extend to The Table,” said the senator. “If it did, we’d have had full control of Dihaara a long time ago. But that will change soon. As I was saying, I don’t really care if Saleem writes my autobiography or not. I’m simply keeping a potential enemy close.”
“Correction: we don’t keep, we delete,” said Person eight. “If the cripple’s grandson is a threat, delete him.”
“He is not. He would have been if he was king. But I assure you he is not. I have him under my thumb,” the senator said then sat up, adjusted his cap, and said, “since we have cleared that up, I urge you to listen to my plan. Dihaara, like anything we ever wanted, would be ours soon.”
***
Okay, I know you have questions.
You’d notice they didn’t talk about Umar. The truth is, Umar Ja’far is just too insignificant and probably dead. Now I know you’re wondering who shot him and why. All in good time.
Umar was a victim of my words and a victim of a fired bullet from R or maybe an accomplice of R. That bullet hit him after piercing through two thick books. Being a victim of my words and R’s bullet, hurt Umar badly but neither killed him.
If anything, it woke him up and I promise you it’s a difficult thing to be awake; death will be far kinder.
Umar is alive and has been giving one last chance at life.
Umar wasn’t sure if he was happy that he chose two. After all that he went through especially what he went through after his sister died (no, I haven’t forgotten. Soon I’ll tell what really happened to him after she died and what he did). He thought it’d have been better if he had chosen zero and not two. Zero books and not two books so that the bullet would have lodged permanently in his chest and end him for good instead of wounding him a bit. He decided he was tired of it. Life and living.
Be that as it may, Umar has one more chance at life. Let’s see what he’d do with it.
For almost a week Umar, has made himself incommunicado. He treated his bullet wound, got rid of the bullet, and lay down thinking of the reasons why and the who. And no one fitted the who perfectly like his friend Jameel. Jameel was smart, a narcissist and Umar didn’t really believe him when he said he knew nothing about the text messages.
A week after the incident, Abubakar and Jameel went to see their friend, Umar. When Abubakar entered Umar’s living room he found his friend lying down on the floor, eyes fixed to the ceiling. “Hey, hey Umar!” Abubakar called out.
“Abubakar!” Umar looked at Abubakar bewildered. “When did you come in?”
Abubakar looked at his friend, certain something was off. And just as Umar sat up, Jameel crossed the threshold into the living room. Umar sprung up with energy that surprised even him. He ran towards Jameel and dashed out punches at his face. For some reason, Jameel didn’t dodge the punches even though he could. Abubakar held Umar back and pushed him away from Jameel. “What on Allah’s green earth is wrong with you, U.J?”
“I don’t want to see his face here,” Umar yelled breathing heavily. “Hey you, I don’t want to see you. Get out before I end you,” Jameel looked at his dear old friend for a moment, then left the room with his busted face, and their friendship bruised – to say the least.
“Umar are you well? What happened to your face? What’s going on? Talk to me. We haven’t heard from you for days. You switched off your phone and now this. What’s going on?” Umar told Abubakar everything. R’s messages, Friday night and its dreadful event, but he didn’t tell him about the gun he has hidden in his late sister’s car.
“Umar Ja’far, you’ve known my cousin, Jameel for the most part your life. I know he’s capable of a lot of things. But you know he has limits. We are that limit. He won’t do anything to jeopardize that. And Friday night, Jameel was on his computer at Alhaji’s house all night.”
“Yeah well what was he doing on his computer all night?” Umar said remembering one of his two hypotheses: That the intruder didn’t work alone. That someone was behind a computer sending messages to the intruder’s laptop that night.
“I can’t tell you that. You know I know more about him than you. You know I know everything about him, even the not-too-proud things. He should be the one to tell you that but I assure you it had nothing to do with you. And you know I don’t lie.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not hiding something. There is something Jameel is not telling me.”
“R is not Jameel. What would he stand to gain? Nothing. And please let’s inform the police. This has gone too far. They almost killed you.”
“Bakar, you will tell no soul. I’ll handle it.”
“I’m not in support of that. But right now, I need you to call umma; she’s worried sick about you. She has been trying to reach you. And you know who she called when she couldn’t reach you? She called your best friend Jameel and he covered for you. I don’t know what he told her but he reassured her that everything was okay. Call umma, say salam, and mend things with Jameel.”
“I’ll only consider mending things with him if he tells me what he is hiding.”
“Fair enough. So what will you do since you’re not telling the police?”
Umar had switched on his phone and was already calling Umma when he said, “tomorrow I’ll find her words. I’ll find Safiyya’s words. The intruder wants me to find her words and I think it’s in the library. I assure you I’m going to get to the bottom of this.” he paused then took a long breath when umma picked up. “Assalamu Alaikum. No, umma I have been well, and you? How’s Hafsa?”
***
A few days after King Abdullah was crowned king, the senator made his move to cripple the new king of Dihaara. King Abdullah woke up to a number of news headlines, each shaking him and each requiring his instant reaction. And sadly, the thing about reaction is that it is the description of the losing side; if nothing, it leaves one at a disadvantage and it leaves one with only a few moves which one can make. The one who made the first move almost always wins the game.
The senator made the first move. And his move entailed using the information world – particularly, News. He believed that News, used diligently, can create just the right amount of harm to cripple the new king. He believed that News, in its nature, should always be new. Not necessarily in existence but in perspective and perspectives are recyclable. But what he had was something new in existence. The senator had words and the power of words, so he used it in his favor.
The first headline the new king of Dihaara saw when he woke up was this: The Concentric to be Scrapped; Dihaara Doesn’t Need Vigilantes – Rippled News.
As I’ve told you before, the former king, King Nasir, was the one who introduced The Concentric to his city and the nation. He had used their services exclusively and they provided security to the palace. The senator wanted to infiltrate the palace security and have access to the Delivery Service as he used to. That was why he needed The Concentric to be scrapped. He wanted to have eyes and ears in the palace. And what better way to control a kingdom than to scrap its army and leave it vulnerable? – Or in the case of the senator and his thirteen friends, replace the army with theirs.
The second headline: Unfit to Rule; A Thief and a Mule – Independent Nigeria.
Independent Nigeria stated that the new king was not only a man who had spent most of his life abroad, thus unfit to rule, but also that the king is a thief. And that he is not only a mere thief, for he had stolen a book filled with secrets that could bring the nation to its knees, and did so to forward a hidden agenda. An agenda sponsored by the enemies of the nation.
The truth is, King Abdullah has never stolen anything in his life but what he read scared him because whoever was behind this knew about the first phone call he had with Safiyya, when she called and informed him that she had sent him his late grandfather’s book, Sign Your Death Warrant – a book she stole from Kashimu Ibrahim Library. However, Independent Nigeria failed to mention Safiyya, or the name of the book, or the fact that the book was King Abdullah’s late grandfather’s because this was only the beginning. King Abdullah realized he was fighting an un-faced and unnamed enemy that knew more about him than he knew about them.
The third headline: New Evidence Have Surfaced; Ja’far Nasir, The Former King’s Only Son, To Be Executed. Will The New King Give The Go Ahead!? – Minute News.
This was what really weakened the new king. King Abdullah sat down powerless on the edge of his bed. There is no way my first action as king would be to kill my uncle – the former king’s only son, King Abdullah thought.
Minute News stated: ‘For the past ten months, Ja’far Nasir, the retired general, had been in prison for killing the drunkard who was responsible for the death of his daughter Safiyya Ja’far. The evidence found at the time wasn’t enough to bring an end to the life of the retired general. Now, almost out of the blue, the murder weapon has been found. It was a pistol owned by the retired general … The question on everybody’s mind is: Will the king do the needful and let his Uncle be executed?
All these were the work of the senator and his thirteen friends. The idea was to bombard King Abdullah with many problems all at once. “Albert Einstein said, ‘the only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen all at once,” the senator had remarked in the company of his thirteen friends in the dark room we left them a few pages ago. “But for King Abdullah, I’ll make sure time makes an exception. Gentlemen, there’s a privilege in the fact that we own multiple resources, institutions, governments… even newspaper companies. Watch out for tomorrow’s news.”
I need to see the former king, King Abdullah thought to himself. His wife was beside him, asleep and unaware of her husband’s new challenge. Challenges.
***
In Kashimu Ibrahim Library, right after Umar's shift had ended, he left his desk and started his search from the top floor of the library. He thought of the night he was shot and tried to remember all what R had said to him. ‘To find life you have to sign your death warrant’, R had stated. Sign your death warrant? Umar thought, what’s that supposed to mean? Does it mean I should be willing to go overboard?
There must be a reason the intruder used my brother’s book, The Color of Blood. But The Color of Blood wasn’t on any of the shelves in the library. And none of her quoted words mentioned in the book alludes to anything of significance – significance in a way that’d make a psychopath disturb the peace in my life.
Umar remembered R talking about last words. The last words Safiyya told him were, “I love you, U.J. even though you’re a scaredy-cat.” She laughed when she said it. She left the house to go and pick up Hafsa from Abubakar’s home in the Honda. “I love you, U.J. even though you’re a scaredy-cat,” she said. You’re right, sis. And that needs to change.
Umar was only sure of one thing. That the intruder was most likely someone he knew. That was why the intruder never uttered a word. But even that could be a misdirection by the person behind this to make Umar suspect the people around him and that experience had been an unhealthy one. Whoever R was, he had been successful in driving Umar crazy.
Umar went through the plethora of books, unaware of what he was really looking for but sure if he saw it he’d recognize it. Hours passed and he found nothing.
***
When King Abdullah met the former king at his old home, King Abdullah told him he wanted him to come back to the palace and the former king declined the offer. King Abdullah told him he should at least let him demolish and rebuild the former king’s house as it was too old and the former king replied saying, “Don’t make me regret my choice of stepping down. Whose money are you going to use to do that?”
“Mine, sir,” King Abdullah said. It is true that King Abdullah was handsomely rich even before he stepped into these new shoes of his. But it is also true the former king won’t allow such a thing.
“I am fine just the way I am. I don’t need… sorry, who are you?” – the former king said, losing his train of thought. Alzheimer’s – he wasn’t getting any better. It was sad really; what is a man without his memories?
“I am your grandson, Abdullah.” King Abdullah said. The former king was still drawing a blank.
“Your Majesty, I think you should leave and let my master rest,” Junaid said. He had been standing behind the former king. Ideally, Junaid should be with King Abdullah’s guard as was the custom. But Junaid had requested King Abdullah to allow him to be beside his old master for the rest of his life and the king agreed.
“Yes, you’re right… Subhanallah! May Allah grant him recovery and ease his pain,” King Abdullah said then turned and left. King Abdullah had reached the door when the former king called him back.
“Abdullah, I am sorry,” the former king said. “My health has been deteriorating. It’s not what it used to be. But don’t you worry about me all is by the will of Allah. I can see something is troubling you. What is it, my grandson?”
King Abdullah told him about the news headlines, and since then hundred reporters had been swarming outside the palace. And that there had been multiple conspiracy theories that had crept up about the king being a puppet on strings controlled by foreign enemies. He told him about his inability to get his hands on his uncle’s case file even though he had tried everything in his power. And that the president of Nigeria had called him informing him to scrap The Concentric because state or national security should never be handled by a private organization and because The Concentric had been acting as state police whereas the bill for state police hasn’t been passed because of the likelihood of them being political thugs. The president told him that recognizing The Concentric was a mistake made by his predecessor and he wished to undo that mistake. King Abdullah told his predecessor everything.
“Being king is no picnic, my grandson,” the former king said sitting up. “I can see that the dark forces that tried to destroy me are still in play. Their agenda isn’t just to take over the throne; they want to destroy Dihaara. I don’t think this is a coincidence – these things that have been happening. I can’t help you with anything; I couldn’t neutralize them. You have to fight this war yourself. Seek for your cousins’ help: Saleem and Umar. Make allies with the right people. I’m giving you back Junaid. He knows almost everything I know about them.”
“Sir, but I can’t leave your side,” Junaid said when he heard his master’s wish.
“It’s done, Junaid,” the former king said.
When King Abdullah stepped out of his grandfather’s old house, Junaid was behind him. Junaid stopped then said, “I am sorry, Your Majesty. I can’t leave my master.”
“You dare go against the king’s wish.” Said one of King Abdullah’s bodyguards, pointing a gun at Junaid.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. You can kill me where I stand but I’m not leaving my master. I wish you all the best.” Junaid said then turned and left. The king placed his hand on his bodyguard’s gun and let Junaid go.
“Take care of him for me.” King Abdullah said but Junaid wasn’t there to answer.