Narrator’s Name: Unknown, Still
XXV. Time Files As Much As it Flies
Hint/Confession: And don’t think for one second this a love story. How I wish it were. That way this would be easier. Maybe even bearable. This is what you see when you open the window in your room, watching the hours and every event it carries – if you have time for that. Or, if you are like me, you won’t watch you would be a part of those events shaping them the way you like. And this is what you don’t see when the window is closed. Or maybe when you blink your eyes or when the sun is blind. But no matter, no one, and nothing is safe from the touch of time. No matter, you’ll see for yourself. Or if you are like me, you’ll see yourself.
Have you seen yourself yet?
Making decisions is an attribute of living – being alive. A person, on the day he kills himself, still makes decisions. He still considers the simplest basics of life. He still takes a moment or two to decide what to wear that day and in essence, how to look – how to live a little – how to look for the world or oneself. Some people kill themselves because they want to be seen. Seen by the world or themselves.
Umar's reason for thinking about killing himself was a bit different. He was just tired of it all. He was tired of the pain and he was going through the exactly same thing for the second time. The first time was when Safiyya died. And that almost killed him. Before it drove him crazy and sent him to a mental hospital for ten months, it almost killed him. He almost took his life. This was a sequel to that.
Safiyya had died twelve months ago and it had only been two months since he returned home from Kano. And those two months had been infinitely crazy filled with unprecedented happenings. But those two months had, in a crazy way, strengthened him.
Truth be told, Umar searched for time to move him far from this and fast. He searched but time was nowhere to be found. At least to him, it seemed that way.
And it had been one month after Saleem’s death and Umar had been trying very hard to choose, every single day, to live a little instead of the alternative – taking his life. Although the alternative seemed very tempting and peaceful – permanently so. But he didn’t choose that because of a few reasons. For the most part, Maryam was instrumental in helping him pull himself together. She was there for him at a time that could only be described as the worst of times at the beginning of their journey together as a married couple. And it was no easy job but this was the second time she had to save someone who saw no point in living. The first person was her brother, Isaa Siraj.
Umar didn’t choose suicide because of Hafsa and umma and Abba and Jameel and Abubakar and Adam. He didn’t choose that because of himself. It takes courage to choose life every single time of every single day.
Abubakar sent him a text message like he usually does since Saleem died. I think this was the sixth he had sent him: The prophet (s.a.w) said, “A strong believer is better and more beloved to Allah than the weak believer, although both are good. Strive to attain that which will benefit and seek the help of Allah and do not feel helpless. And if something bad befalls you don’t say: if I had not done that, so and so would not have happened. But say, Allah did what he had ordained to do. Because saying ‘if’ opens the gate of Satan.” Umar, I hope you find some sort of solace in this hadith.
Umar: Thanks for that. Means a lot.
Umar was in his room when he read the message. He spent all his time in his room; when you are broken, it takes a while and a choice to pick up the pieces. Umar had chosen to pick up the pieces but it was still taking a while.
Umar could hear Jameel in the living room playing with Hafsa. As I told you before there’s never been much logic for people being there for each other than just being there. Like breathing or like kindness. And Jameel was always in the living room just waiting for his friend to let him in or come out of his room. He was always playing with Hafsa but mostly waiting.
That night, before Jameel went back to his apartment, Jameel thought of how to reach out to his friend. He got a piece of paper and slid it under the door of Umar’s room. It read:
“I think you should reread the last fraction of Saleem’s book, The Color of Blood. The last four paragraphs of the final chapter. Good night. See you soon insha Allah.”
Umar opened his faded copy of The Color of Blood and began reading:
“Leaving is a feeling and an eternal reminder of being broken. When people that mean a lot to you leave, you feel it. Leaving is an emotion and not an action as is staying. Staying: You feel the warmth of their eyes that stays with you for a short infinity. You feel the infinite warmth capsuled in time that stretches to hold all your broken pieces. The color of blood is the color of you in time. Safiyya, it was the color of you in the stretch of my time.
“You never left me, Safiyya. You stayed. I can never forget the night that shook the color of that truth and painted time with a thick layer of blood and a thicket of darkness. One of the things I loved about you was how you closed doors. Most people slammed doors but you don’t (didn’t). Just a few moments before you died, I was in the front seat, Jameel was in the back and you had just exited the car to buy some apples. You held the door for a while then looked into the car and your eyes stayed with me and then you closed the door. That has always been your pattern: you’re too considerate with doors to slam them and your gaze always lingered before you close doors.
“A few moments later, a car hit you then sped off and you were lifeless on the ground. I wasn’t considerate with my door when I exited your car. I slammed it so hard that the window cracked. Jameel and I crossed the road to meet you but you had gone back to your Lord, the most high. Nothing is ever late, nothing waits, and nothing is ever early. The tests of time don’t wait neither do their self-made appointments.
“A few moments ago, you were alive and we were on our way to pick up Hafsa and now you’re lifeless on the ground. Red apples rolling in red blood, two feet – no three feet – away from you and three feet closer to Hafsa, me, and a cracked window. But with all that distance, you stayed. You don’t know this, but I promise you the last thing you did was stay.”
Umar cried when he read this. It was as if he was just reading it for the first time. “You stayed too, Saleem,” Umar said, putting his hand on his heart. “You stayed. May Allah have mercy on both of you.”
About five weeks after Saleem's death, Aisha called Umar and gave him an envelope.
“I think Hubbi (Saleem) wanted to give you this. I think it’s a letter. The morning of your wedding, I saw it on the bed and I wanted to open it and read it but he told me not to. He told me it was yours and that he’d give it to you a week after your wedding. He told me if, for some reason, he didn’t give it to you, I should give it to you a week after your wedding. I think he knew he was going to die – may Allah have mercy on his soul. Sorry I… I didn't have the courage to pick it up after he died until today. Here it is. I know he wants you to have it.”
“Okay,” Umar said, receiving the envelope.
“For some reason, he said I should give it to you in the evening,” Aisha said.
Umar collected the envelope and went to his room. He thought he’d see Maryam in the room but she was in the kitchen with umma preparing dinner. Umar opened the letter and it read as follows:
‘“… Umar collected the envelope and went to his room. He thought he’d see Maryam in the room but she was in the kitchen with umma preparing dinner. Umar opened the letter and it read as follows.’ Surprised!? Don’t be surprised, brother that I know you’d open the letter in your room and your wife will most likely be in the kitchen cooking since umma usually starts cooking dinner at this time and it’s only a given that your wife would help out. Little brother, you are in for surprises.
“Where are my manners? Congratulations on your marriage. You’re now a family man. If you’re reading this, then I’m most likely dead. You once asked what my next book was about. Answer: you. It’s about you.”
Yes, and to you my esteemed reader, today you know the man behind this story of time. It’s me, Saleem Ja’far – for the most part, that is. You might be wondering how is it that you are reading these very words three months after my death. Patience and let my younger brother finish reading the last letter I wrote.
“I’ve written about Safiyya so I decided I should write about you. And the quoted words above are from the book I am (was) working on. I call it ‘A Story of Time’. Sounds cool, huh?
“Because, little brother, Time files as much as it flies. Do you remember what Grandfather used to say? ‘Anything in the world can wait except time and its self-made appointments.’ That’s absolutely true. Time flows in the most perilous of ways. Fast forward two years and every victim of time must learn to grow at least two years older. Nothing less. Anything and anyone not moving at its rate, sinks, and fades and dies. Stagnation is the worst kind of death in the face of time. I don’t want that for you.
“So I decided to write about you while teaching you to grow and move with time. I know it was brutal so don’t hate me yet or hate me. Just remember I’m dead (sorry). But that wasn’t the actual reason why I wrote about you.
“And this is where you’d probably hate me. I’m the one who sends you those weird text messages. I am R. R stands for Red, as in the color of blood. It also stands for Redresser but I prefer the former. And I’m sorry I shot you in the chest. Here’s the thing. You’re too weak. You can’t be weak and be a Ja’far. It wasn’t your fault that Safiyya died. It wasn’t your fault that you were hospitalized for months. But you can’t be nonchalant when you have responsibilities. You can’t run away from what you must do, because running away isn’t for grown men. The fact is, what is good for you has been stressing every single second. Waiting for you to let it emerge from the corner of your eyes. To be your focus.
“The one thing Safiyya wanted was someone to take care of Hafsa. I still remember when Safiyya called me over and asked me to paint Hafsa’s room. Remember, I told you about it on our way to Dihaara. One of the things she said to me was,
“‘We are not painting a room, we are painting time and hope and memories that will be touched and felt and leaned on and even breathed on by my little girl. Any color is welcome so far it can carry the future and my baby girl’s persistent and gentle hands. So far the future knows my girl’s little hands.’
“That’s why I took Hafsa with me after she died and trained her the way I did. And I want you to continue. But to continue, you have to grow and move with time, Khalifa. So I created problems for you. Because I knew I could die, or fall sick, or be imprisoned, or, as it turned out, killed. And the responsibility would be yours. And you’re simply too weak and I hated the fact that you clung to the past and to my book. So I created R.
“I knew about the gun because during the ten months you spent in the hospital, you sometimes unconsciously uttered things you did. When you mentioned the gun, I checked Safiyya’s car and found it. I knew you hid it to protect Abba. I didn’t know you had it in you. So when you left the hospital and were about to go back to Zaria, I sent you a message informing you that I knew about the gun. That motivated you to take the job at the library instead of loafing around doing nothing. That motivated you to be objective enough to confront Jameel. It was only right to think the culprit was Jameel. I’d have thought the same thing too.
“You had taken the job in the library but you had started taking my message for granted. Or maybe you didn’t know where to start looking for Safiyya’s word, so I told umma she should come to Kano to see her granddaughter. I did that to get her out of the house. The Friday she came was the Friday I broke into the house and shot you. I was careful not to talk so that you wouldn’t recognize me. I gave you a hint about Sign Your Death Warrant and shot you. Before I shot you, I told you to choose a number between zero and three. I had two guns on my waist – one loaded with a rubber bullet and the other with a real bullet. If you had chosen number zero I’d have shot you in the arm with a rubber bullet. When you chose two I shot you with a real bullet because I know it won’t be fatal because of the books I made you place on your chest.
“And telling you to use my book was a hint that screamed ‘suspect Saleem! Ask Saleem!’ but you didn’t get that at first. Then you did the impossible. You found her words. That’s why I decided to move back to Zaria. But I still needed to see how far you’d go. So I tested you to see whether you understood her words. I instructed you to kill the senator to see how you’d react; to see what you’d do. You did the unexpected – something even I couldn’t do: You got Abba out of prison. When I saw that, I was delighted for you had done more than expected so I took Abba’s gun from your car. I also knew the senator would kill me as a warning to you. He killed me hoping you’d tell Abba about him so that Abba would do something bad that the senator can use to put Abba back in prison. And the senator also killed me to set you back to your old self; break your new, strong constitution, thus, make you hospitalized or worse, make you take your life.
“And so I have a final message for you. The first half of it is: Sign your death warrant.
“And this spans from a smile to a little kindness, and a little more, and a little more and some boldness. Because we all die in the end. So live and die doing what you believe in. Every decision made can make or unmake you. It depends on the decision. It depends on you.
“I know about the photo you have of the senator’s daughter holding the book, Sign Your Death Warrant. Don’t release the photo in the name of getting back at the senator. You might get what you want but you’ll end up putting his daughter’s life in danger. Whatever battle you’re fighting, never compromise your standards. Just sign your death warrant, Umar Ja’far. Yours.
“And this book I’ve been writing about you is attached to this letter. The book is unfinished since, well, I’m dead. So of course it’s unfinished. My intention was never to publish it. It’s all yours even though it is unfinished. Sorry for that. That couldn’t be helped.
“The second part of my last message is this: take care of our Hafsa. Can you remember the first thing Abba said when Hafsa was born? ‘The inimitability of a child’s smile is something the world should fight to preserve. It’s something we should fight to preserve. I’d always wondered how babies watch you smile then do it better.’ I see no future for a world that can’t fight to preserve that. The best thing that has ever happened to me was having Hafsa in my life. Protect her, Khalifa.
“I had been training her to be ready for this messed up world. I had been homeschooling her, equipping her with all she’d need. I had been teaching her about our religion – the language, the content, the beauty. I had been teaching her the reality of life. I controlled the things she watches on television because of its poisonous nature therein for promoting moral decadence amongst other things. I taught her to read and write. Umar, I see a great writer in her – greater than me.
“Umar, I need you to continue; I need you to prepare her. She’s a six years old girl but she knows how to put words in a word. She can build worlds within small contours. Tell her, her thing about putting a word in a word is by far the most beautiful tool in writing that I know. The proof of it is what I’ve written about you.
“As I said before you can hate me for what I did to you, I don’t regret it one bit. Do whatever you wish to do. You can forsake the first part of my final message to you but please do not forsake the second. The second: Take care of Hafsa. I love you, bro. May Allah make you stronger than you think you can be. It takes courage to choose that every time. In your story of time, pick courage, bro.
Yours Forever
Saleem J. N
Now you have your answer. Every single word you’ve read under Still Unknown is mine. Hafsa Malik Zubayr, the daughter of her mother, Safiyya Ja’far Nasir. All these are my words and the words of my late uncle, Saleem.
I was thirteen years old when Uncle Umar gave me Uncle Saleem’s manuscript. I had gone through it hundreds of times. I didn’t start working on it until I was fourteen. By that time I had published three books. The thing is, A Story of Time required a lot of putting words in a word than anything I’ve ever written. It entailed putting emotions, the colors of blood, the burden of time and the victims of it, truth and the remembrances of truth in a word then two then a few thousand. That’s how it works and there’s no better way to write it than that. That’s how putting a word in a word works. Like this:
When Umar finished reading the letter, he read it again as if he didn’t believe his eyes. True, I wasn’t there to tell the story but his eyes were. He cursed Uncle Saleem (sorry he cursed Saleem and not Uncle Saleem. Because in any message, ‘Need’ comes first, then ‘Uniformity’ follows). Umar sat at the edge of their king-sized bed for a while and pondered over all that happened to him in the past three months and the fact that Saleem was behind most of what had happened to him. In the end, he agreed to carry out the two parts of Saleem's final message.
Two days later, Umar sent a message to the senator:
Allah is sufficient for me. Allah is sufficient for he who has signed his death warrant. And that should make you tremble.