Read on Twitter
For my Father - Part 20
A thread
http://www.whatwaydsays.co.za https://whatwaydsays.co.za/for-my-father-part-20/
A thread
http://www.whatwaydsays.co.za https://whatwaydsays.co.za/for-my-father-part-20/
The sharp cold wind at the beach that night bit through his thin cotton T-shirt and Ahmed regretted not carrying a jacket. He could feel the freezing sand sift through his toes, pressing hard against the soles of his feet.
In the distance, a ship was preparing to enter the harbour and a helicopter flew overhead. The saltiness of the air settled on his lips and the melodic ocean sang its unique familiar tune.
One deep breath after another directed the much-needed fresh sea air into his lungs, and fresh perspective into his heart and mind, which slowly led him to calm down. What had just happened? He immediately realised that he had overreacted.
The typed notes were not ideal but he could easily have them redone at the office. What had made him react that way with her again? Just the night before he had vowed to control his anger. It must be the stress of the next day’s court hearing, he tried to console himself…
The thought of the hurt in her eyes when he demanded that she left reminded him of other days, long gone; a reflection of his mother’s hurt in Zainub’s eyes. The image of that wounded, sorrowful girl would haunt him for a long time to come.
The same brokenness he had witnessed on so many occasions in his youth, he saw again this evening in his wife and he came to the realisation that he had, inadvertently, become his father.
A fresh surge of hatred filled his heart and he screamed into the wind, begging his father to stop haunting him. He was entirely aware that his singular objective, when agreeing to the deal with Uncle Uthmaan, was to make amends with his father.
It was not about marriage, or Zainub, or fulfilling half his religion. His intentions were skew, and look what had come of it now.
Ahmed tugged at his hair with both hands in frustration as tears welled in his eyes. For years he had blamed his father for his mother’s tears, yet he, too, had now caused such sorrowful tears in his own wife’s eyes.
He had heard his mother sobbing quietly numerous times when he was a little boy, just as he had heard Zainub sobbing into the night. He blamed his father for the pain he had caused to his mother; and somehow, he still blamed his father for what was happening now.
His thoughts moved on to the crushing disappointment he had seen in Zainub’s eyes when he didn’t deny having someone else; didn’t explain his reasons for leaving the apartment at night. But what would he tell her?
Could he let her know that one part of him wanted her again, so badly, but another, more resolute part of him, wanted to stay as far away from her as he could? His strategy of keeping her an arm’s length away had surely backfired.
In truth she had slowly dug her way deep into the crevices of his heart and his stubbornness was the only obstacle in their marriage… not his father… not his parents’ divorce.
He remembered his mother’s words from the phone call the previous evening. “Don’t lose sight of what’s right in front of you while you’re so busy working towards your goal,” she had said wisely. “Your life will be sweeter if you have them both in the end.” His mother had been…
…surprised to hear from him after the argument they had had the previous week; she was ever grateful nonetheless. She had been keeping up with the progress of the case through Zainub, she had said, but hearing from him was a happiness she could not contain.
She was certain, too, that it must have been her daughter-in-law who had talked him into calling her.
He had mentioned to his mother about the photograph he had discovered as well as his thoughts about Zainub being the connection he sought with his father.
Fathima thought she knew exactly which picture he was speaking of and promised to find a copy of it for him from her storage boxes in the garage the next day.
She was pleased to hear Ahmed speaking positively, for once, about his wife and hoped that the photograph would be the catalyst he needed to mend their broken relationship.
Fathima recalled how highly Haroon spoke of his friend Uthmaan and his lovely, well-mannered daughter and the beauty of the Almighty’s plan for this marriage was not lost on her.
Another deep breath calmed Ahmed down enough to fish his phone out of his pocket and call his mother.
Fathima was a bit worried when she heard Ahmed’s heavy breathing, but he ignored all her concerns. “Mummy, I need to ask you something,” he started abruptly. “Did daddy choose to leave you, or did you want the divorce?”
Fathima was taken aback, almost offended, at first, but then understood the closure Ahmed so badly needed. “I wasn’t happy, Ahmed,” she began slowly. “Your father and I were incompatible on so many levels. I loved him, but we just wanted different things in life.
Divorce was the best solution for us,” she explained. “He always went over and above the call of duty and never denied you and Zaheera anything, even after the divorce. I could always count on him. He never ignored my calls and always helped when I was in a fix.
In some ways, we were better friends after the divorce”.
Ahmed felt the tears land on his cheeks before he knew they had left his eyes. “Did you ever forgive him for the nasty things he said to you?” Again, with carefully selected words, Fathima provided Ahmed with clarity, “Of course. People say terrible things when they’re angry.
If you push somebody hard enough, you will probably see their bad side… And I really pushed your father’s buttons!” she smiled through her own tears. “Sometimes in life, we learn things the hard way,” she added regretfully.
Without another word, Ahmed dropped the call and allowed his own tears to flow. For years, he had held on to negative feelings; he had wallowed in his mother’s pity and hated his father. He had had it wrong all these years.
He sat down on the icy sand and made a fervent duaa for his father. Asking the Almighty for forgiveness for his father and for himself. He cried for the lost opportunities and missed occasions they could have shared.
He cried for all the unforgiving words he had sometimes thrown at his father. He cried for his own wrongful pride and arrogance when he spoke of Haroon; always aiming to be a better man than his father.
Ahmed glanced at his watch and was surprised to find that it had been more than two hours since he had left the apartment. He needed to return and try to make things right with his wife. No more missed opportunities!
He walked back to the car with a spring in his step, determined to set things right with her once and for all and to stop blaming her for his own insecurities. In the lift, he rehearsed a few lines of apology and felt positive that she would understand his anxiety and angst.
At least he had the court case to blame for his poor mood that evening, even though he knew it wouldn’t last for long. He was prepared to admit his guilt to her and hoped she would be as open-minded as she usually was.
However, no amount of rehearsal could have prepared him for the scene which was about to greet him when he swung open the large door of the apartment.
This thread can be read here: https://whatwaydsays.co.za/for-my-father-part-20/
