Narrator’s Name: Unknown, Still
XX. Strangers
Hint/Confession: I am a few words from telling you who I am. I just needed you to know what I am first. Because on most days I am the power of words. On other days, I am dead.
The last time Umar saw Maryam was the end of them. And this was that time:
“You know on days like this – on moments like this – I don't mind being me,” Umar told her mesmerized by her beauty. They were seated in her father’s living room.
“I’m flattered but I wouldn’t want you to be anything else. To be anybody else. And because you’re you, I am me – and with pleasure. With pleasure and gratitude tucked in all my breath. And once you are not you… once that little information is changed I don’t know what… I … I do mind that you’re you. Because we are us, sowing and reaping the remembrances of us each day, each moment. I know what you mean and I know it seems like I’m blowing things out of proportion but you matter and I mind,” Maryam said. She was clearly upset about something. And it made her so worked up.
“Of course, Maryam,” Umar said, a smile was plastered on his face. He thought this was also something he’d get used to about her. “You mind that I matter so I don’t mind being me.”
The only reason Umar could think of for her being upset was what she once told him about her brother, Isaa Siraj, almost committing suicide. Depression played a part, but then doesn’t it always?
Umar thought his statement about not mattering made her upset because it hinted that he was depressed while completely missing the intended purpose: he was just complimenting her beauty.
But she was indeed blowing things out of proportion. Because she knew this was the end and there was nothing she could do about it and because she believed she didn’t deserve a compliment from him. And so she told Umar that her father had gotten her engaged to another man the day before; and the man was a cousin of hers. She had protested but her father would not have it. He had spoken and his word was law. She spent the whole night crying and praying. And she didn’t inform Umar about it until the following day – until now.
Umar couldn’t say anything when he heard the news. He couldn’t believe his ears. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do with her words. Usually, he internalized them but these words… they dangled on the edge of his biography, stabbing his present with everything they’ve got.
Here’s the thing. Professor Siraj Muhammad was very protective of his daughter especially since his first son, Isaa Siraj, suffered from drug abuse and almost killed himself due to depression. He was on the brink of ending his life but it all worked out well in the end because he sought help through rehab. Maryam once told Umar that was the major reason she wanted to be a doctor: to help people with such problems because of how much it took a toll on her family.
True, Prof. Siraj loves his daughter more than life itself. This would have been a good defense, even though a slim one, but truth be told, that wasn’t the reason he went back on his word. Professor Siraj simply wanted his daughter to marry in the family. Maryam had tried to make her father understand that she wanted to spend the rest of her biography with the man she loved – with Umar Ja’far Nasir. Her mother spoke to her father on her behalf but all to no avail.
Umar was quiet after her revelation. He wanted to talk to the professor but Maryam begged him not to. She believed it’d end badly.
Usually, when Maryam tells him her problem, he’d say, “I'm here for you — as still as water enters into emptiness and love into time.” But this was different. He couldn’t say it even if he wanted to. There was no stillness in this water and time was empty. In their tale of time, their love wasn’t for the time being.
Maryam was trying not to cry. The air was thick and their words had finished.
“Can’t we stay a little longer?” Umar said, certain that these words would be caught up in the slightest crookedness of air that gentles to the few seconds of what was left of that moment. Certain that staying would be absolutely obsolete and permanently so. Certain that his question was, sadly, the answer. And would be a few seconds to the negative – going and gone.
Her answer was silence.
“Thank you,” Umar said, finally. He knew, without a doubt, this was it.
“Please don’t. Why are you thanking me… ?”
“I was thinking of it. So I decided to say it.”
“You know you really shouldn’t.” I must say that between these two, there was nothing logical about thanks given or thanks received.
“I think of it a lot, actually. Especially now that things aren’t looking so good,” Umar said. Do you know what’s happening here? At that moment, they were discovering a new definition to their relationship: strangers; that the most they must do and the least they can do now was this: wish each other well.
They were now strangers who wish each other well.
It was the end. They both knew it. For something so beautiful, the ending was too sad a story. But, at present, that was what they were having. Preserved for the rest of their story.
***
King Abdullah came to Zaria on a Tuesday and he got Junaid to accompany him. For the second time, Saleem, Umar, the king, and Junaid all shared a single space. But this time, it wasn’t the palace, it was at the Ja’far’s.
“I’m sorry to have come without a notice,” King Abdullah said while seated with Junaid standing behind him. “Being discreet is of the utmost importance at present. I’ve been incredibly swamped in loads of issues. The most pressing: Abba. He’s going to be killed and it’s going to happen. When the paper comes I can’t do anything but sign it. Once I do that, he’s dead. And that’s why I’m here.”
“But there’s no substantial evidence against him,” Umar said sitting close to his brother.
“There isn’t,” King Abdullah said. “The evidence against him had always been circumstantial. They are using the fact that grandfather, known singularly for his justice, did the opposite of that very nature. He interfered in the case of a crime committed in Zaria – a place he has no jurisdiction and concerning a person he’s related to. Grandfather made it such that your father will be imprisoned in Dihaara and not here – the place he was accused of murder. And all that amounts to nothing much. However, now they have found the murder weapon. And it’s Abba’s gun.”
Saleem knew who was behind that. At this rate, Saleem knew that the senator was a man who had his ears to the ground. In fact, Saleem had known that the king would be coming today because the senator had told him. And the senator instructed Saleem to tell him all what the king would talk about with him. When the senator made this request, he reminded Saleem of what would happen to his loved ones if he refused to oblige. This, the senator noted, was all part of being his “friend”.
The senator told Saleem, “I know you’re not very close with the King but I’m sure he’d tell you what he's up to. Because every story is intertwined between multiple overlaying and underlaying threads of time, each affecting the other almost randomly. I affect people's actions, forecast their thoughts, and determine their moves. I have a feeling Abdullah will spill his gut out to you. When he does, do tell me or else… good day, Mr. Saleem.”
I can’t help but wonder if this is an irresistible force paradox; the age-old question: what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. I’d be lying if I told you Saleem wasn’t worried. I’d be lying if I told you he wasn’t fed up with all these. And all he had now were his choices and, if he was prudent enough, his creator – one of man and their choices.
“But why didn’t they use that in the first place? This newfound evidence?” Umar said, still deciding whether to tell them about the gun; he deliberated whether to tell them Abba’s gun was with him and that gun claimed to be Abba’s wasn’t his.
“Probably because they knew grandfather could handle it,” King Abdullah said. “I, on the other hand, am no grandfather. Grandfather told me to talk to you guys about this. Junaid here agreed to help. That’s why we are here.”
It was at that moment, Umar formulated a fifth theory but dismissed it almost immediately: That perhaps King Abdullah was R. But there was no motive. There was also no way he'd have known about the gun. Or what happened in the ten months he went missing. If it was power he wanted, King Abdullah was already in a position of power. So Umar dismissed that thought completely.
“A few weeks ago, I spoke to Abba about this and he told me what to do should a thing like this happen.” Saleem spoke for the first time. “He knew this would happen and he told us to do nothing. He explicitly told us to do nothing so we are doing nothing. That being said, King Abdullah, you should do what you can do to let the truth out. If you are unable we'll never blame you.”
“Saleem…” Umar called out still weighing his options then, with conviction, decided to continue. “I know you think Abba killed that drunkard. I thought so too, at first. That was why I hid his gun. But I had the gun checked out; it has never been fired,” Umar added, finally letting the truth out. But the thing about truth is that it’s never finished. It burdens before it unburdens.
“The police had been looking for the gun and you were the one who hid it?” the king asked surprised. And apparently, he was more surprised than Saleem was. But then Saleem was always calm.
“I disposed of it. Properly,” Umar lied.
“Tell me where it is?” the king insisted. Umar was starting to regret he said anything.
“I believe he's telling the truth,” Saleem said. “Even if he didn’t dispose of it, turning it in now will only make things worse. These people are bent on taking Abba down by hook or by crook. The sad fact is there's nothing much we can do to stop that.” Saleem also told them all about Senator Taneem Thawbaan – the job offer, the threats… everything.
Now the bad guy was known to all players. And what defines humans is what they choose to do with information.
“Senator Taneem is untouchable,” these were Junaid's first words. “Manufacturing the semblance of truth is a lucrative business, and that’s why he's still in play. They create alternative truths. The kind in which together, it seems like the truth. Alone, however, they are just dismantled tales – lies.
“You might think it’s now easy because your enemy has a name and a face. My master used to tell me to remember that to every move there's a million counter. And the senator is a man who doesn’t only anticipate your moves but creates the parameters to which you’d make them. He creates a million permutations of moves on a chessboard. This man is very dangerous and very discreet.”
“You can't catch what you can't see,” Saleem said.
“True. Master had tried to bring him down for a very long time. Three years ago, he sent my master three plausible ways he could end Dihaara and bring it down to its knees if his wishes weren’t granted. Suffice it to say, those wishes weren’t granted but it wasn’t easy fighting him or stopping his plan. If the senator wanted, he could be president of Nigeria today. All he has to do is eliminate the four lines of commands above him and take it or leave it, he can do that. He has government secrets in his possession. In fact, he has managed to sabotage the most trusted means of communication Dihaara has: The Delivery System.
“A year after his threat to my master, your late sister, Safiyya sent a book titled Sign Your Death Warrant to my master but it never reached him. Instead, it got to you, Your Majesty.”
King Abdullah frowned, “no but I was the intended recipient. She sent me that book.”
“Your majesty, I’m sorry, but you were not the intended recipient. Somehow, the senator rerouted the message to get to you. I don't know why he wanted you to have it but my theory is that was the only way he could redirect the message from reaching my master. So when Safiyya didn't get a reply from my master she knew something was wrong. She told my master and my master told her to not tell anybody. That's why she never told Your Majesty anything when Your Majesty called to thank her for the book.”
“Please stop. Can you be quiet? I need to…” King Abdullah said frustrated. He kind of felt deceived. Safiyya sending him the book, when he knew next to nothing about Safiyya was what first made him interested in Safiyya.
“My apologies, Your Majesty.”
The king was deflated. But he needed to be a leader and not a boy hung up on his first love so he said, “go on, please. Continue.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Junaid said. “That was when Safiyya advised my master to have my father's security firm, The Concentric, shut down The Delivery System nationwide until we restructure it. It wasn't easy at first but it worked. It dumbed down the senator’s strength but it also made Safiyya his enemy.
“I know what you're thinking. But no, the senator had nothing to do with her death. It was simply a car accident. I personally went through the case. And he couldn't touch her because of your grandfather. I know the senator all too well. He was angry but he doesn't make a move out of anger. He is like your grandfather in that regard. But sadly your father wasn't like that – forgive me for saying that about your father, Saleem. Umar. Your father’s anger was justifiable but he almost killed a man for causing the accident that led to the death of your sister.
“And since that incident, the senator has been using that against my master but to no avail. I’m convinced he is the one who framed your father, Saleem. The only thing we can do to save your father is this: with the Majesty’s permission, I can have The Concentric move him out of the country.”
“You don't have to, thank you,” Saleem said. “Besides he doesn't want it and it goes against why grandfather and your father founded the firm.”
“I’ll destroy him – that fox. We’ll move your father out of the country,” King Abdullah said. It is believed that if there are a million problems, the forces of truth are the perfect denomination for them. But even so, only through the right means are goals achieved and that’s the tricky part.
“Umar, what do you think?” Saleem said intently staring at Umar. “What do you think we should do?”
“I don't know,” Umar said almost spacing out. Umar leaned forward sitting at the edge of the chair, his left hand rubbing the inside of his right palm. “Sorry… I think the right thing to do is as you said, Saleem. His Majesty should do what he can. Whatever happens, we won't blame His Majesty.”
Saleem smiled, vividly happy about this answer. “It's the right thing to do. The Ja’far’s don’t run away or hide,” Saleem said.
Umar nodded and silence ensued. Then, “And what about the senator?” Umar said.
“What about him?” Saleem said. “There's nothing that can be done about him, bro.”
“Do you think he's behind the things that have been happening to me? the messages?” Umar asked facing Junaid.
“What messages?” Junaid asked bewildered.
Umar told Junaid and The King about R and when he was done, Junaid gave him a response to his question. “I don't think so. I don’t think the senator is R,” Junaid said. “The senator’s nature is to play games but this is something different. And based on what you said, if it were the senator you'd have been dead by now.”
“How reassuring,” Umar said.
“Sorry. It's the truth.”
Hafsa passed by and the king was bewitched by the little girl. I think he saw Safiyya in her. He called her and she came over. He spoke to her as if he had nothing better to do. He gave her his sceptre. “It's all yours,” he told her. Junaid protested given that the sceptre was a symbol of power passed down from one king to another.
“It's done. Please, Junaid I thank you for agreeing to come here with me. But know your place. I'm your king. Not your friend.”
When Hafsa and the sceptre left the king’s field of vision, the king asked the brothers about umma. Saleem told him that they went to Abubakar's family home with his wife, Aisha.
Then he asked another. A question he once asked Umar in Dihaara but didn’t get an answer. “If you don't mind me asking, what happened the ten months you went missing?”
Umar kept quiet. “I think it’s high time you spoke to someone about it,” Saleem said putting his arm on Umar’s shoulder. “Be free of the past. Remember what we talked about in the car on our way to Dihaara? There’s a reason you’ve been reading The Color of Blood over and over again. But you need to be free of the past –that’s actually why I wrote it. Truth burdens before it unburdens and we need to be stronger than what we suffer. You don’t have to tell his Majesty but you need to talk about it with someone.”
“You’re right. I’ll answer your question, Your Majesty. But I have to call my friends; they need to be here. I promised to tell them.”