Narrator’s Name: Unknown, Still
XXIV. Story of Time
Hint/Confession: I’m realism waking up to a new dawn. Nothing is too old for me; nothing is too new. And Time pushes the wheel of existence and it moves seconds around me. With all its storied versions of tick-tocks; the timeliness of moments; the addresses to happiness and sorrows; the identities of being; the references of living; the events of dying; and with resurrection as the third and final wish that can never be granted. It’s a hard thing being a peasant of time. It’s a beautiful thing being in a story of time.
Today, this day, didn’t begin with the break of dawn. No wedding day begins with the break of dawn.
I was at the wedding and I was somewhere, everywhere. I don’t know where to start. Okay, let me start with the bride.
I didn’t see the bride that morning but her brother, Isaa Siraj (the one who almost killed himself, remember?), told me she was so happy that she didn’t sleep a wink all night. Maryam Siraj was excited about her wedding day. When I finally saw her she looked beautiful. She was all covered up but she looked beautiful. It was the kind of beauty that could stop the darkest night from coming.
If you ask me, I think this is the closest one can get to eternity. This is the moment that never ends, with sea of beginnings endlessly wetting and filling everything in its wake. And it was the sequel to when Abba came back home last night to his wife, his two sons, and his granddaughter as the pulse of time went berserk with happiness. Sorry it wasn’t a sequel. It was the beginning to the closest one can get to eternity.
And that morning I saw Maryam’s groom and I was reminded for the umpteenth time that nobody smiles more than the groom. Umar looked dazzling; he felt refined and smelled good. Wherever he went, eyes followed him. Prayers, laughter, and eyes followed him. This was his day – their day. This was a story of a beginning. But this was also a story of time.
When I saw Jameel that day I was amazed. You’d never think, even for one second, that he had just gotten out of prison yesterday after spending nine days there. Or that Jameel was ever broken, or messed up, or dangerous or a big-time troublemaker. Or that he has suffered this fall and that fall and the falls in between. Truly, there’s no measure of beauty than time.
When I saw Jameel he was all that and more. He was happy and more – graced with the happenings between yesterday.
Jameel held Umar's phone all day and answered the many calls and responded to the congratulatory messages on behalf of the groom. When he thought Umar wasn’t looking, Jameel checked Umar’s phone to see R’s messages but they weren’t there anymore. Umar had deleted them all. The message welcoming Umar back to Zaria and informing him about the gun; the one urging him to take the job at the library and to find Safiyya’s words; the one telling him to kill the senator… all of them were deleted.
Jameel was happy Adam came. Finally, he had all of his three friends with him. But now, the four mystical friends had become five. Jamaal Muhammad was the fifth.
And Abubakar was fully Nigerian. For the first time in Abubakar's adult life, Abubakar wore a native cloth. Two days ago, when Umar told him what he wanted him to wear for the wedding, Abubakar told him, no problem. Umar was surprised for when he asked, he didn’t think he’d say yes. “Anything for the groom,” Abubakar said. “But don’t forget your agreement with Jameel. You’re getting me four new tyres for my car.”
“I thought Junaid stabbed only two tyres!?” was Umar’s respond and to that, Abubakar shrugged. “Well it’s worth it since I get to see you in something very Nigerian.”
Abubakar laughed then said, “Welcome to the club in advance, bro. The club of married men.”
And Saleem? Saleem looked great in his attire. He wore the same thing his brother was wearing. Saleem was incredibly happy that his brother was getting married. “I might just write about this day, you know. In fact, there’s no way I won’t write about this amazing day, bro. It’d be my gift to you,” Saleem told his brother the night before the wedding. For the life of him, he did just that.
“I’m looking forward to that, Mr. Writer. Make it good though. And make me look good.”
Saleem smiled and said, “You’re the man!”
Sarah came too. How could she miss the wedding of her best friend’s baby brother! Sarah was home for good and Umar was very happy that she came. Having her there was like having his sister there. The last place I saw Sarah was the living room of Umar’s home where umma was introducing Jameela to Sarah.
Ah yes umma! Let’s just say last night and today were the best things that have happened to umma in a very long time.
All of Umar’s fathers were present; the three that were ever there for him: Abba, Shaykh Basheer, and well, Alhaji Shatima. They were either welcoming the influx of guests or laughing about one thing or the other.
Jameel still hasn’t talked to Alhaji Shatima. He has been wondering why Alhaji did what he did. He couldn’t understand the reason. I, however, have my theory but this was an affair between father and son and I am a mere story teller. But I think the reason Alhaji Shatima had his son imprisoned was to save him; to hide him from the senator. Alhaji had a strange way of showing he cared. And when I asked Alhaji the reason the night before, he told me this, “I haven’t really answered my question. But I have another go at answering it. There’s a thrill to that!... I have a lot to figure out.”
King Abdullah, Umar's grandfather, Hajia, Junaid etcetera… I could tell you where everybody stood, what they wore and who they spoke to. I could tell you the words and the feelings minced in every glance, every drink, and every gesture. Hell, I knew all their thoughts as I knew mine. I circumambulated their many thoughts and I loved what I saw. My words could paint this day with the essence of time to have more past than all yesterdays and more future than all tomorrows.
Simply put, it was a day to remember.
***
In the week the engagement was back on, umma, being an architect made an interior design for the part of the house where the newlyweds were going to live in. The Ja’far’s house was a huge house with eight bedrooms and two living rooms, a dining area and a courtyard that connected the three wings of the house. She decided Umar and his wife should have the left wing. It consisted of two bedrooms, a store, a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room.
The wedding was simple. In the evening, Abba drove Umar’s Honda and picked up the bride at her parent’s house. That was it. A new beginning.
Later that night, Abba sat the new couple down and told them the need to be patient with each other, to tolerate and treat each other well. Abba was sitting in his favorite chair while Umar and his bride sat on the ground listening to him. When Abba was done, Umar stood up and hugged his father weeping. Umar’s three friends who were standing by the door were quite delighted to be a part of this.
“I'm happy you're here, Abba,” Umar said. “I'm really happy you’re back.”
“Khalifa, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” Abba said like a soft bed sheet crease that cuts you into sleep and into dreams. He was going to be there for his family as still as water enters into emptiness and love into time.
“Our boy is all grown up,” said grandfather sitting next to Abba. Grandfather seemed healthier than before. “I have a gift for you, Khalifa.” It was a wristwatch and he proffered it to his grandson.
“Thanks grandfather. May Allah reward you and keep you safe,” Umar said, holding the watch between his hands.
“It’s the oldest watch I’ve had with me and all the time it’s been with me, I’ve set it to be five minutes late.”
“Five minutes late? May I ask why?” Umar said to his grandfather – a former king, a former watchmaker.
“It’s a trick. The lastness of moments lies in the fact that all things are borrowed, even time. And doing that helped me internalize how time works. At my younger age, the reason for that was so that I would be five minutes early for anything I set out to do but it’s more than that, Khalifa. The only thing that can never be recovered once lost is time.”
“Anything in the world can wait, right?” Umar said quoting something his grandfather used to mention a lot and grandfather smiled and nodded. “Except time and its self-made appointments. And so nothing and absolutely nothing can wait.”
“Right. And being happy is part of that if you choose it to be. And that’s my wish for you. That is what the watch represents, Khalifa,” said the former watchmaker.
“That’s beautiful grandfather… This means a lot to me. We are very grateful, sir,” said Umar – said the new bearer of the wristwatch to the old bearer of the wristwatch with burden of time shared between them. And as Umar held the watch, held this story of time, it felt so light. For something so old, laden with documentations of beginnings and ends; laden with minutary of plethora events and the in-betweens, the watch felt so light. Old, laden with world, wars, and worries but it felt so light.
And, honestly, if I could hold the night I would – this close, this now, this fulfilling. But time always has other appointments.
“It’s nothing, grandson. Check it, what’s the time now?”
“11:02 p.m.”
It was two minutes past eleven and that was the fact and the absolute truth of what that address in time was known with. It was a fact from all that unraveled with those few seconds. It was life as they knew it; and it was life mounting seconds with nothing but happiness and celebration. It was two minutes past eleven and that was a fact. But that fact lasted for just that moment. At three minutes past eleven – just a minute later – time had another appointment and it couldn’t wait – it had no plan to wait.
Umar had stood up and was helping his wife up when Abba’s phone rang. Abba picked it up and his face and tone changed. “When?…Where? I'll be there.”
“Abba, what's going on?” Umar asked.
“It's okay son. Everything is okay,” Abba said. But everything wasn’t okay. I don’t think there has ever been a point in time when everything was ever okay. In this point, things were bad. “I'll take care of it.” Abba brought out the car key and headed for the door.”
“I'm coming with you,” Umar let go of his wife's hand and followed his father.
“Son, listen to me. Stay. I need you to stay here with your wife. It’s your day, Khalifa. It’s your day.”
Umar took the car key from Abba’s hand, exited the house and waited in the car. Umar didn’t know what had happened or where Abba was going but he wasn’t letting Abba to go alone. Umar was afraid of losing his father again.
“Darling, what's going on??” umma asked her husband.
Abba eyes were filled with tears. He walked towards his wife and hugged her then sat her down. “I'll be back soon.”
“Stop,” it was the grandfather talking, “I'm coming with you. Junaid, get the car around. King Abdullah get the hell up you're coming too. Where the hell is Saleem? Jameel, go get Saleem. We won’t wait for him, so I’ll have Junaid text him the address.”
When Father and son reached their destination they saw that the police had arrived. In this moment in time, this was what time was laden with. Umar saw his brother on the ground covered in blood. Saleem was dead. Abba couldn’t hold back the tears when he saw his son lifeless and the former king was so angry he couldn’t talk. His grandson, Saleem was dead and in his hand was a gun.
Abba spoke to the police and they told him that Saleem was most likely killed about half an hour ago. “He was killed in a car accident. That gun was found in his hand but it wasn’t fired.” It was Abba’s gun. The one Umar had hidden.
Umar dropped to the ground. A police officer tried pulling him up but Umar just pushed him away. A few moments ago, Saleem was with him. Saleem had just told him that he’d be right back and now this. For a moment or two, shapes, colors, voices, and smell all left Umar. Only pain stayed for it felt needed. For the death of him, pain was omnipresent and time was nowhere to be found. All Umar said was, “To Allah we are, and to him is our final return.”
“Tell me you caught the people who did this to my son?” said Abba holding the police officer by the collar.
“I’m sorry sir but we are doing the best we can,” said the police officer.
“Just tell me what you know. And you better tell me everything,” Abba said
“Sir, I know who you are and I have the utmost respect for you,” said the police officer. “I’m truly sorry for your lost. Here is what we know. There are no traces of the vehicle that hit him, not even a broken glass. That’s why I think it was truck or something of that nature or perhaps it was a sedan that intentionally and strategically hit your son’s car in a way that there won’t be any traces. But the former is more likely. I also believe the car accident didn’t kill him I think that was why your son probably brought out the gun to protect himself. But he was already injured by the car accident and couldn’t put up a fight as his murderer strangled him or hit him with a heavy object on the head – we are still working on the cause of dead. The fact that your son carries a gun with him indicates that he was aware of the threat to his life. Also, we found this note on his body.”
Umar came closer and took the note from the police officer’s hand. Anybody who looked at Umar knew he was a groom and this wasn't the place for him. Umar unfolded the note and this was written on it:
This is what happens when you go against someone as permanent as me. – T
Umar knew it was the senator. Umar couldn’t help but think this was his fault. Abba looked at Umar, and Umar saw the anger his father was trying so hard to suppress. Abba was not one to suppress his anger but for the sake of his one last son and his only granddaughter he needed to. “Khalifa, do you know who did this?” Abba asked Umar.
Umar said nothing. He knew that if he tells Abba he'd go after the senator and Umar would lose Abba too. So he told his father he didn't know.
“They want to end me,” the former king said after reading the note. “Abdullah, what have you done to stop them. They killed my grandson. They killed my Saleem.”
One more Ja’far was dead. The one who promised his younger brother that he’d write something nice as a wedding gift to him. The one who was a father, a best friend, a teacher to Hafsa since her mother died. The one who was always there for his brother.
What was supposed to be a beautiful day had turned into an awful day. I wasn’t there when the day turned awful and everyone wasn’t happy about that. As I told you I’m the day of it all, but sadly I darken as I go. And I think, for that reason, everything here will end and not continue. Everything would forever be on the left side of an unfinished full stop.
For the first time that year it rained. And it rained for days but the rain couldn’t wipe the past. It couldn’t wipe all that have happened. I counted every drop of rainfall as it hit me. It’s a hard thing to be a peasant of time.