Prologue
15th November 2001
Three months had passed. Three months since Samia received her last paycheck. Three months since the attack that robbed her of the little haven she had created for herself and her ten-year-old son, Aazim. Three months since she stood in her old employer’s study and with horror saw the twin towers crumble into nothing, and with them Mercy’s only daughter Carol. She could picture that day in her mind like it was yesterday. Tuesday, 11th September 2001. It had been a beautiful sunny morning when she rode the elevator to the sixth floor of Mercy’s apartment building in Greenwich Village on 42 West 9th Street.
But all that changed the minute she stepped into Mercy’s home office and found her pacing up and down the floor, phone in hand. “Carol, Carol can you hear me?” she yelled over the phone. She glanced at Samia as she placed the coffeepot on the table and motioned her to stay. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and whispered, “Something’s happened to Carol.”
“What?” Samia asked as her heartbeat quickening. Her eyes fell on a photo of Carol on Mercy’s desk. It was the same photo Samia had in her living room along with hers and Aazim’s; a headshot taken in an open field on a windy day, her wheat-colored hair mussed, and a gentle smile playing on her cherry lips as her sea blue eyes looked straight into the camera.
Samia turned to Mercy, who walked up to the phone base and put the call on speaker. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, and she felt icy cold fear coursing through her veins.
“Baby, can you hear me?” Mercy’s voice crackled with emotion.
“Yeah,” Carol answered. She coughed and sputtered for a few minutes. “Something has happened, Mom; something is wrong.” Carol stammered. “I... I don’t know what, but there is rubble and dust everywhere. The ceiling above us fell in. I don’t know what is happening.”
“Stay calm, everything will be okay,” Mercy said as she paced in front of the large window overlooking the balcony opposite the desk. “Where are you now?”
“I’m in an office under a desk,” Carol responded before another bout of coughing took over.
“Are you hurt?”
“I... I don’t think so; let me check.” Silenced ensued before she came on again. “No, I’m not hurt.” They heard a groan and movement. “Help!” Carol shouted. “Somebody help me! Mom, I think someone’s out there. I’ll go see, hold on.”
“Okay, baby, just be careful,” Mercy replied. She stopped in front of the telephone listening to Carol shuffle things out of her way and crawl from under the desk. “Oh my God!” Carol exclaimed. Mercy stared at Samia, who stood frozen on the other side of the desk as they waited for Carol’s voice.
“Oh my God!” They heard Carol’s voice again.
“What’s wrong?” Mercy froze.
“It’s horrible, it’s just… I think I saw a person’s hand. And there is a gaping hole in the wall. I can see the sun from here. Is it supposed to be there? Oh my God, what’s happening?” Carol sobbed.
“Honey, listen, calm down. Take a deep breath.”
“Okay, Mom,” Carol said. A few minutes later she came back on. “I… I think I’m better now.”
“Good. Can you see the door?”
“No, but I think I know where it’s supposed to be.”
“Okay, I need you to walk towards it .I don’t want you getting hurt, so take your time - one step at a time. We will be here with you every step of the way.”
“Okay Mom.” There was a brief silence. “There is no one here. I don’t understand it, where is everybody?”
“Don’t worry, we will figure it out when you get out. Keep walking.
“Okay. I… I…”
“What is it, honey?”
“I’m scared,” Carol choked. “I can’t see where I’m going. There is smoke everywhere.”
“I know baby,” Mercy whispered and wiped tears from her eyes. “Just keep walking, one foot in front of the other.”
“I am at the door now; I can see the elevator. I’ll check if it’s working.”
“No! No elevator,” Mercy blurted. “It might not be safe. You must take the stairs. Remember, I’ll be here with you.”
“Okay,” Carol said. They heard her footsteps descending the stairs. A few minutes later someone groaned. “Hello!” Carol shouted. “Is someone out there? Mom, someone’s hurt on the floor below mine. I’ll go help.”
“Okay, be careful.”
They waited in silence for a few minutes, listening to Carol’s movements. There was a loud noise.
“Carol, what’s happening?” Mercy screamed.
“I… I don’t know,” Carol replied and coughed. “There are people on the stairs below me. They are shouting something, wait. Oh my God, they are saying the building is falling. What do I do?”
“Carol, honey. Don’t worry about the building. Remember what we said and keep walking.”
“Okay… I will continue descending the stairs,” she said. The seconds dragged on as both women held their breaths, waiting for Carol to declare she was out of the building. “Mom,” Her voice softened “Mom, I… I am sorry. I can’t go any farther. There is too much smoke and I’m exhausted. My body feels heavy. I… I will sit and rest… for a few minutes.”
“No baby, don’t! Don’t sit. You’ll have plenty of time to rest when you get out. Keep moving. Try for Mom.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Carol whispered. “I can’t. I’m too tired.” There was a loud bang, then silence.
“Carol, Carol! Are you there?” Mercy screamed.
Not thinking, Samia rushed out of the apartment. She took the elevator to the roof and stared open mouthed at what was a, sun-filled sky, now turned dark with the smoke from the World Trade Centers, as the South Tower collapsed, just like buildings did in the movies. For a few minutes she stood still, watching, as tears streamed down her face. Thoughts and jumbled emotions rushed to her head.
“She is all right; she must be, right?” Samia mumbled. But Carol wasn’t all right. Nor was her life after that.
“Are you daydreaming again, love?”
“What?” Samia asked, confusion etched on her face. She looked up to find old Mrs. Benita, her neighbor of three years and Aazim’s nanny, smiling down at her. She sat at the kitchen table and Mrs. Benita placed a mug of hot tea in front of her, as she did each day in the evening when Samia got home. Samia warmed her hands around the mug, letting the sweet aroma waft to her nose.
“Never mind love, take your tea.” Mrs. Benita walked to the other side of the table, picked up the baby blue sweater she was knitting for one of her grandkids, and continued knitting. Samia turned to the tiny woman seated across from her. Her graying hair rested in a bun on her neck and the faint creases on her forehead deepened as she concentrated on her knitting. There was something maternal about her that made Samia feel close to her.
“I asked what you will do love, about Aazim. I’m cheesed off by the whole thing.” Mrs. Benita’s heavy British accent penetrated her thoughts.
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I had known this was to happen, that it was just a matter of time. But now it is here…”
“What will you say to him, love?” Mrs. Benita persisted.
“What can I say? ‘Sorry, son, you are Middle Eastern. To Blow up buildings is why we are famous, so learn to love the word terrorist.’”
“Samia! Don’t fanny around. This is serious.”
“I know, I am sorry. I am just putting my frustrations out. What did he say when he got in?”
“Not much love - his bloodied nose said it all. He went to the bedroom and locked himself in. Took me a whole hour to coax him to open the door. I thought it best to leave it alone until you came.”
“Thank you.” Samia smiled and pushed back her chair. She walked to the living room to find Aazim watching a comedy show from the eighties. “Hi baby. How are you doing?”
“Great.” Aazim turned to his mother and smiled. Samia felt a stab of pain in her heart and stifled a cry in her throat. Aazim’s face was red and swollen. So were his eyes. Tears stained his cheeks. He smiled as his mother dropped a kiss on his forehead.
“Oh Aazim,” Samia whispered. She sat on the edge of the sofa facing her son. She stretched out her hand and placed it on his shoulder. He flinched before he relaxed under her touch. “Does it hurt?” Samia asked as she traced her fingers over the bluish bruise on his chin.
“No, I’m all right.” He brushed her hand off and looked away.
“What happened?” She asked.
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
“This is not nothing,” Samia said. “Mrs. Benita told me this happened in the park as you were coming home. Who did this to you? Is it kids from school?”
“Ma, it’s nothing.” Aazim looked at his mother.
“No, it is not. Look at you, you are hurt. How can this be nothing? Who knows what might happen next time? Tell me who it is and I will talk to the teacher tomorrow.”
“Ma, leave it alone. You’ll only make it worse. That’s why I didn’t tell you before. Besides it’s not kids from school. Its kids at the park. They go to another school.”
“What do you mean ‘before’? Aazim Al-Sayyid, you look at me when I talk to you!” She demanded as she put her hand on Aazim’s chin and lifted his face to meet her gaze. “Has this happened before? What other school are you talking about?”
“A few times.” He mumbled. “Kids from the nearby public school sometimes say mean things. It’s nothing much, but sometimes they push me around.”
“Oh, baby, I am so sorry.” Samia hugged Aazim.
“Ma, stop. I’m okay.” Aazim said as he untangled himself from his mother’s embrace.
“It is my job to protect you and when something like this happens, it means I have failed. Maybe Mrs. Benita can pick you up a few times from school.”
“No! I told you, you are overreacting. Besides, this has nothing to do with you. They say I’m bad; their parents told them people who look like me are bad. They do a lot of bad things and when I grow up, I too will do bad things, like hurt people.”
“Listen, Aazim, you are not bad. You are the sweetest kid I know. When you grow up, you will do a lot of wonderful things. There are bad people who do terrible things. Some look like us, some do not. Those who look like us do not do bad things because they look like us. No.” Samia shook her head. “They do bad things because they choose to. Everything in life is a choice. To do bad or to do good. And I am sure you will always do good.”
“Like you Ma?”
“Yes, like me.” Samia smiled as she wiped tears off her face. “As you grow up, a lot of people will come and tell you a lot of mean things. It is just how the world works. But remember what I just told you; you get to make the choice, good or bad. Not them. And just because they say something over and over again, doesn’t mean it is the truth, okay, baby?”
“I guess.” Aazim shrugged.
“Good. Now give me a hug and a big smile.” Aazim smiled as he embraced his mother. “Remember, I love you so much, more than anything in the world.” Samia choked.
“Are you crying again, Ma?” Aazim leant back and looked into his mother’s face.
“No, of course not.” Samia wiped her tears and smiled. “I’ll go lie down for a while, and when I get up, I’ll make you something to eat.”
“Okay.” Aazim shrugged and turned to the television.
Samia got up and shuffled to the tiny bedroom she shared with Aazim. She sat on the bed, lay on her back and closed her eyes. What would she do now?
She was out of work for three full months now. Nobody wanted her. There was nothing or nobody left for her. Mercy let her go immediately she found out Carol was dead. She couldn’t deal with Samia around after what her people did. Her new landlady already gave her one month notice. Samia had been late on last month’s rent. The landlady didn’t seem to notice Mr. Tito across the hall had three months’ rent in arrears.
They were all gone. Everyone, including Carol. Beautiful, perfect Carol. The only person who had accepted Samia whole-heartedly and treated her like a sister since she came to America. Carol the brilliant lawyer who had fought for the down-trodden. How could anyone want to hurt her? “Oh Carol,” Samia whispered. “Why did you leave?” A wave of emotions swept over her and tears stung her eyes.
She didn’t understand the sense in killing thousands of innocent people just to get the attention of a government, but then, most other people didn’t either. In the midst of it all were the Muslims, paying for it as they always did. If things were frosty before the attacks, now they were iced cold.
Already there were two hundred and one attacks reported in the past two weeks - six in her neighborhood, one of which proved fatal. She felt her neighbors’ hatred seep through the walls. She heard them whisper as they passed by her door. A few times they banged on her door, only to open it and find notes pinned on the front; “Murderer”, “Terrorist”, “Desert barbarian”, and “You are unwanted here”. Mrs. Benita did all their grocery shopping now. She no longer went to the supermarket to avoid the owner’s hostile stares. Outside in the street, everyone she passed looked at her with veiled hostility.
Realization hit Samia, and she sat up. She didn’t know if she could afford to take care of her son anymore. She had spent her last paycheck on food the last three months, and all her savings were gone paying for Aazim’s tuition and her own evening classes for the high school diploma - yet another pipe dream. There was nothing left. How would they make it through the next few days? What would happen when Aazim asked, “Where is dinner, Ma?”
Outside, darkness was already settling in and noises of the evening crowds and traffic filtered in. She heard a soft knock on the door and Mrs. Benita came in. She reached for the bedside lamp but Samia motioned her not to. She couldn’t let her see her like that. “What is it?” Samia croaked in the darkness.
“It’s time love. I have to get going.” Mrs. Benita whispered. I have brewed a fresh pot of tea for you.
“Fine,” Samia said, getting angry at her for no apparent reason. “Go. I will be out in a minute.”
“Will you be all right?” Mrs. Benita whispered.
Samia smiled at the concern weighing in the other woman’s voice. It was the first time she had felt someone’s concern in three months. “I will. It is not like I have any choice.” Samia shrugged and laughed.
Mrs. Benita stared at Samia lying on the bed and shook her head. “I’ll take Aazim out for a while,” she said.
“Okay, I guess.” Samia shrugged and turned her back to Mrs. Benita.
A few minutes later, Samia heard Mrs. Benita’s footsteps fade away. She said something to Aazim in the other room. Samia heard the door close, and then silence.
She drifted off to sleep and dreamt she was back in Iraq, back in her home town. She was standing in the middle of the street and her brothers were shouting “Traitor!” She screamed and woke up with a start.
The television droned on in the living room. She got out of bed, made her way to the bathroom, and washed her face.
I need to get Aazim something to eat. She dug for the last five-dollar bill left in her purse and headed for the door. She had to go to the store before it closed; she couldn’t avoid it any longer.
In the living room, Aazim sat in front of the television set again, only this time a bowl of steaming pasta sat in front of him. He looked up. “Ma, look what I made you!” He handed her a card with the words “Best mom in the world” scribbled across the top. Underneath, there was a drawing of what was supposed to be Samia, holding his hand. Tears sprung to Samia’s eyes, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat as a wave of guilt washed over her for having ignored him earlier.
“When did you make this?” she whispered.
“Today, Ma,” he beamed at her. “Mrs. Benita thought I should make you a card to make you feel better since you were sad.”
“Thanks, baby,” Samia replied. She wiped the tears from her eyes and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “And where did you get the food?
“Mrs. Benita made it, and I helped her,” he replied proudly.
“Really? She should have left by now,” Samia mumbled to herself as she made her way to the kitchen. She found Mrs. Benita seated at the table, busily.
Mrs. Benita got up and returned with a plate of steaming pasta, which she put in front of Samia. She squeezed Samia’s shoulder for a minute before she went back to her seat and continued knitting.
“You know I cannot pay you for this.” Samia pointed at the food. “Or that.” She gestured at the two bags of groceries on the counter. “I’m not even sure if I can afford to pay you for last month.”
“I know love.” Mrs. Benita smiled. “But you will not get rid of me. I’ll still be here tomorrow afternoon, and the afternoon after that.”
“There is no need,” Samia’s lower lip trembled. “I do not think I will need you anymore. There is no more hope for me.”
“Rubbish. You are looking at all this arse about face.” Mrs. Benita admonished her. “Just because people are hurt doesn’t mean they are blind to who is responsible. You have got to give them a chance to heal, to deal with their grief. Don’t give up on them, for both your sake and Aazim’s.”
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Do what you have always done love. You keep your pecker up and hope for a better tomorrow.”
“Why are you doing this?” Samia blurted.
“Because love, everyone deserves to have a friend when they are in need,” she said as she patted Samia’s hand. She rose from her chair. “See you tomorrow.”
