Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) (24 page)

"I don't want a glass of water, or to sit down. I want to see Recai."

Recai smiled hearing the sound of Hasad's annoyed voice as he rounded the corner to the office. His gruff, direct ways were strangely comforting in a world filled with politics and conspiracies.

Hasad paced, wiping his hands on his dusty and stained pants over and over. His stance was hunched, making him look older than usual; worry had aged him. Eventually, he stopped pacing and stood behind Maryam, his protective aura encompassing her. She sat quietly on a low stool, her back sagging so that she slumped forward. With her hands in her lap she looked blankly at the Imam as he explained the hidden tunnels they had discovered.

"Hasankeyf is an ancient city. The ruins have told us about our history as Turks and Muslims. But it's not the oldest discovery. They tell you in school about the Hasankeyf, the rock fortress and how it existed before men were men."

Recai lingered outside the office, curious about the story. If he entered the room, the conversation would change from the historic to the present, and he sensed a lesson within the Imam's words.

"Allah is the creator of everything: the animals, the plants, the worlds within worlds. Allah is the creator of causes, and he alone creates the effect. When he made man out of clay, he breathed life into us and gave us a soul, elevating us above the other creatures on the earth. This is truth. This is the message the Prophet,
Salla Allahu ‘Alaihi Wa Sallam
, gave to us.

"In the cliff walls of Hasankeyf and in the mountains of Diyaribira Tepesi remains have been found that show evidence that there were people here, long ago. Different enough from us to not be men, but close enough to not be animal. Science and religion met in the ruins of Turkey and began a series of questions no one could answer."

"Evolution," Hasad interjected. "That's just evolution. Any toddler knows that a fish crawled out of the water and grew into a person. We don't need a lesson in common sense."

"Hasad!" Maryam exclaimed, lifting her eyes to the Imam in apology.

"Yes," the Imam laughed. "For most believers evolution is truth. For many it's not. The Ulama is divided. Some believe science can't be refuted while others believe it is a trick of nature. Either way, the day the first man awoke and Allah breathed life into him was the beginning of humanity. We are all the sons of Adam.

"In the tunnels beneath us, there are graves filled with men, those who came before men, animals, and women—all intermixed. These graves travel along the underground from below Hasankeyf out into the mountains. We've lost the path under Gurabala Tepesi; the mountain is just too dense and rocky to continue with our limited resources."

"That's… you're keeping this from the people?" Hasad asked.

"Yes."

"That's criminal! That's history!"

Hasad gripped the back of Maryam's chair with his scar-ridden arthritic fingers.

"In a way I agree with you. But the Imams who discovered it felt it was too dangerous to tell anyone. The revelation would cause many to lose faith in Allah's word, calling the story of our creation into question. They did not trust the people to see how scientific proof and faith can exist simultaneously, and now the secret has been kept so long I fear it would cause more harm than good to reveal it."

"Men and non-men? Living together?" Maryam's voice cut through their debate as she saw the theological problem before her.

"Perhaps. At the very least, they died together."

"It doesn't matter," Recai spoke as he stepped into the office, eliciting a gasp from Maryam. "Allah tells us to take care of the orphans and needy, to tend to the animals and the earth. Men or not-men, we're still commanded to wish for them what we wish for ourselves."

"Recai!" Hasad charged the younger man and grasped him roughly, pulling his body close. "You are the most difficult, ornery child I've ever known. I don't know why I've been cursed to watch over you."

The older man pulled away, salty tracks running down his dirty face.

"I know Hasad. I'll do better."

Recai smiled and kissed the older man affectionately on the cheek.

Maryam sat frozen. Her body vibrated with relief and stress until tears spilled over. Hiding her face in her hands, she sobbed, her disheveled hijab concealing her completely.

"Maryam!" Recai released Hasad's embrace and rushed to his distraught friend. "Maryam,
fistik
, no…"

He reached for her hands, but she would not release herself into him and he would not cross the barrier of appropriateness to touch her.

"Leave her," Hasad suggested. "Sometimes women just need to cry."

"Please, look at me," Recai continued. "I'm fine. I'm here, and you're safe."

"I know that," she sniffed.

Recai waited as Al-Bashir and Hasad looked on uncomfortably until Maryam released a shaky sigh.

"You are in so much trouble," she said lowering her hands and looking at Recai's green eyes. "You are in so much trouble. You're going to wish the earth had swallowed you up and kept you in its belly!"

Recai's face split into a broad smile, making Maryam scowl before pushing him as hard as she could. Her blow offset his center of balance, making him land hard on the ornate Kashmir rug covering the floor.

"So much trouble!"

Maryam stood and stormed out of the office toward the entrance of the mosque. Recai got up, bent his head, and followed her out.

"Maryam!"

She stormed on without glancing behind her.

"Maryam! Why are you angry?"

He reached out and placed a hand on her arm to draw her attention to him. When she stopped walking, he pulled his hand back and stepped in front of her.

"What is it?"

"Hasad is right," she replied.

She stopped walking. Her hands shook as she adjusted her headscarf before looking up at Recai.

"You are stupid and impetuous and infuriating."

"I am," he chuckled low beneath his breath, holding her eyes with a smile.

"I was so scared," she admitted.

"I know."

Recai's voice was soft as he relaxed, sure that now she would talk to him.

"I don't know what time it is. I don't know what day it is. I'm exhausted, I'm starving, and I'm probably late for work. And it's all because you felt the need to drive into a sandstorm in the middle of the night like some lunatic jihadi storming Jerusalem!"

She paused, and Recai allowed her a moment to gather her thoughts so the wool of their meaning could be woven into words.

"And I was worried about you. I barely know you, and here I am looking like a drowned rat covered in muck after searching for you!"

"Maryam, I am sorry."

"I believed in you, and this is what happens!"

Recai took a step away from her and ran a rough hand across his face. He was tired, so tired of trying to understand what Allah wanted from him. The effort aged him twenty years, every day.

"I've been lost since Rebekah died."

Maryam stilled. This was the first time Recai had spoken of Hasad's daughter. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

"I don't understand why I survived being left in the desert, only to witness… and live…. I tried to lose myself, but the city drew me home. And since I've been back it's like there's nothing I can do. My father's company is falling apart. Money is missing and no one can explain it. I have no real friends left; they've all left for overseas, or were never friends in the first place. Nothing I've tried to do has worked. I've made no difference, and now I've upset you, one of the only people I feel that I can actually trust."

"You're wrong, Recai." Maryam's eyes remained on the ground, her voice hushed but confident. "You saved Hasad from doing something stupid. He came to the city looking for revenge, but now he has you, and me, and something to live for."

Recai exhaled loudly, begrudgingly accepting her point.

"And you rescued Sabiha. She's safe now! And Fahri brought in someone else. What you did changed him…. You should hear the nurses at the hospital talking about what you did, about what it would be like to not feel afraid every time we went outside alone. You started something important."

"I didn't want it. I don't want to be important. I just . . . I'm so tired, Maryam."

Recai closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, the hours of sleeplessness, the weeks of confusion, the years of mourning weighing him down. They filled his shoes and clung to his clothes, dragging him down to the floor.

"I can't do anything about that."

She approached, keeping a respectable distance, but close enough to show she trusted him and cared about him.

"But whatever happened out there in the desert last night, whatever pulled Hasad and me into those tunnels, whatever keeps you alive despite your insistence on trying to kill yourself through stupidity, it thinks you are important."

Recai looked up at her. She spoke the truth; he didn't want to hear it, yet his own prayer had shown him the will of Allah:
We sent upon them a punishment from the sky for the wrong that they were doing.

The shop's door opened, setting off the welcoming jingle of the small bells hanging above. Abdullah looked up from the counter as three RTK officers entered, smiling in the evening sun.

He hid his comic book beneath the counter and ran a hand through his haphazard curls as the officers milled through the far aisle, speaking in hushed tones. Abdullah tried to look less like a disheveled single man who lived with his parents and more like someone the RTK would respect.

"Assalamu Alaikum," a burly officer with a fistful beard greeted, approaching the counter with a bag of jerky in his hand.

"Walaikum as salaam," he replied.

"You're Aziz's brother."

The guard placed a bag down on the counter and looked behind him. The others were still grazing toward the back of the store. Abdullah glanced at the officer's gun holster slung over his uniform, unclasped.

"Yes. He'll be here later. Do you know him?"

"He usually has something for us," the RTK officer announced.

He leaned closer to Abdullah, his bushy eyebrows pulled low over his deep-set eyes.

"Do you know anything about that?"

"I… I don't," Abdullah stuttered. "But I can look in the back, see if there's anything there."

The other guards were making their way toward the counter, boots heavy against the linoleum floor. Abdullah was not used to having the RTK in the store; they usually stayed away. He was awed and terrified of their presence.

"Done?" a taller guard with close-trimmed hair and a clean-shaven face asked, slapping the larger officer standing at the counter on the shoulder.

"Aziz isn't here."

"Kahretsin!"

"No, listen, I'll go look," Abdullah insisted.

He stumbled off of his chair and lifted the counter opening that separated him from the shop.

"Is it a package? Or, what size is it?"

He stood in front of the muscled commandos, his foppish hair and wrinkled clothes more fitting for a child than a grown man running a store. He squared his shoulders as the taller officer appraised him.