Authors: P.K. Tyler
Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) (28 page)
The wind stopped. Sand hovered in the air for a moment before falling to the ground around Recai.
He knelt within a circle of sand which grew until his entire body was covered with a light dusting.
"There you are!" a familiar voice said, reaching out for him. Looking up Recai saw the terrified face of Fahri Kana. "We have to get you out of here. There's no way you aren't going to get the blame for this insanity."
"I know. I couldn't stop him."
"If it wasn't him, there would just be someone else. Let's go!"
Fire rushed forward, wrapping around the two men until they were surrounded by the hungry flames. With a grunt Recai pulled himself up, refusing Fahri's help.
"I can't go out through the front," Recai said.
"In the back, there's access to the alley. All these buildings have one."
He began to run toward the rear of the building, but Recai heard a scream from the main door that stopped him in his tracks.
"Kana!" he called and ran in the other direction.
Rushing through the flames, Recai choked on the black smoke. The chemicals used to dye the clothing were being released with the heat and flames, poisoning the air until it was toxic. His shoulder throbbed, and his left arm screamed in pain as he moved toward the sound of the voice.
"Where the hell are you going?" Fahri called out, catching up to him.
"There's someone up there!"
"I'll get him and go out the front. You get out!"
Recai turned and ran while Fahri pulled a man with wild, curly hair out from beneath a fallen supply shelf.
In the back of the warehouse, Recai searched for a gate or a door that led to the alley. Smoke and fire tore through the building, consuming the walls and storage boxes stacked tall. Behind one of the shelves Recai heard another call.
"Help me! I'm…" the voice coughed, choking on the toxins in the air.
"Where are you?" Recai yelled.
"Here!" Another cough. Recai followed the hacking to identify the voice's origin. Around the corner, surrounded by ash and smoke, sat the man Recai had set out to capture. He was sitting on the ground, blood pouring from a wound over his eyes. Smashed pallets lay on the ground around him.
"Help me." The man looked up into Recai's eyes. "They fell on me. I think my leg's broken!"
Recai stared at him before turning away.
"No . . ." Recai's voice was low, barely audible above the crackling flames closing in around them.
"Please!"
He stopped. Fire crackled around him, nearly reaching the tall ceiling now.
"Who are you?"
"Dayar Yildirim."
"No. You're a thug, a rapist."
Recai turned and spat, stepping closer, feeling his strength return. Lust for justice pounded through his veins. The fire blazed hotter, and voices could be heard in the distance over the din of destruction.
"No…" the man protested.
"You are nothing! All you are is the shit that burns in the desert sun, and you can burn here."
"My name is Isik," the man confessed.
"Nice to meet you, Isik. Tell the angel Malik I said hello."
Recai turned and strode toward the back wall to search for the alley exit. He heard the man's sobs over the crackling fire, but ignored them. Against the wall he found an old door which opened easily. Stepping through the doorway he found a gate which separated the warehouse from the alley. It was rusty and old and looked as if it hadn't been used in years. He pulled against it, trying to force it open. Pain ripped through his shoulder as he did, but it finally moved.
Outside there was a small alley, which led out to the main road in front of the warehouse. Sirens blared as the RTK and fire brigade arrived.
Taking a deep breath of the smoke-free air outside, Recai paused, then turned and ran back in to the flames.
Isik had passed out leaning against a smoking wall. Soon the entire room would be too hot to attempt a rescue, and anyone inside would be lost. Recai leaned down and lifted the man upright. His shoulder roared as the injured muscle tore itself farther apart.
Each step was labored. Recai's left arm refused to continue, and hung limp at his side. With one arm he pulled Isik—the rapist, the murderer—out of the fire. Dragging his body against the concrete floor, Recai didn't worry about any injuries the man might incur. He'd be alive; that was more than Rebekah got and more than they'd meant for him. But Allah had sent him here. He couldn't leave another man to die.
Outside, Recai dropped Isik. The man would live. Someone would find him, and if not, he'd recover. Pain swirled in Recai's mind, threatening to overtake his conscious thoughts. With his left arm still hanging limp, Recai approached a manhole cover. From here he could find his way back down to the tunnels.
Kneeling next to the iron cover Recai despaired. One hand was not enough to move it off. Silently he prayed.
As he knelt, the sand on the street and in the air swirled together. Soon a wind picked up, and Recai opened his eyes to see a small tornado gaining momentum and force. The funnel did not move about, only hovered before him. Reaching out, Recai allowed his hand to be surrounded by the force. He could feel the velocity, but it did not rip through him the way it seemed it should.
"Lift," he whispered, praying to Allah to save him, if it be his will.
The small tornado grew larger, spinning furiously. Recai removed his hand and stood up, pulling away from the tornado. He watched as it touched down on the manhole cover and lifted it into the air, where it hovered next to Recai. He climbed in and down the ladder, using one hand to keep his balance, the other braced against his side.
When he reached the bottom, the cover dropped from the sky back into place. Sand from the tornado drifted through the holes and landed silently at his feet.
Recai knelt down on the grated ground above the water and laid his head before him. Prostrate to God he swore, whatever was happening to him, he would use it in the name of Allah. He would redeem himself and his people. He would be a SandStorm of redemption.
Each shift in the air, each movement, ran along her flesh like a tidal wave of pain. She sat letting the flood wash over her—drowning her in a sea of unbelievable consequences. Inside and out her nerves were raw, screaming against the onslaught of sensations.
Months had passed since the fire. Her burns healed, leaving her scabbed and oozing. The dark room surrounded her, its curtains drawn, keeping out the curious glances of the stars. None had ever seen anything as hideous as this woman.
Her beauty flaked away as the healing flesh reformed. Deep, puckered scars formed where delicate skin had once been, running along the length of a body that would never be seen by a man again. New skin, purple and tender grew across her scalp and down her back. Its thickness ensured her hair would not return.
Meals were left outside her door as she sat, tearless agony pulsing through her body. Together with her pain, anger held her close, feeding her will to survive. Yearning for freedom, she had reached and failed. Allah was twisted. The story was the same in every lie, and her disappointment animated her features until the only recognizable part of her were her eyes. Even those were distant and driven.
She sat with nothing better to do than replay her betrayal and pain. What had she become? A monster in the memory of a woman. The person she used to be never considered failure, and now, mutilated and shattered, she drowned in hatred.
He had come to see her. Her brother. Her enemy. Her friend.
He would come again, forcing himself to look at her destroyed beauty. She did not try to conceal it from him, sitting naked and raw. Without clothing her pain was dulled, only the air stung as she moved. She had been without clothing her entire stay at the private medical center where she was treated, as well as during her convalescence at home.
Standing slowly she walked to the bed, agony clenching down as she looked at the black garment lying there, mocking her. She had longed for freedom. Dreamed of a world where she could be herself no matter where she was, where she could command the power and respect she deserved. She spent her entire life clawing out of the hole of oppression her uncle had buried her in.
She pulled the loose dress over her head, which fell down to her feet, covering the white and purple splotches that riddled her brown legs. Slipping her feet into the black slippers in front of her, she pushed her arms into the sleeves of the shapeless gown. Leaving the hood hanging down her back, she reached down for the black gloves she had requested.
Her nails were gone, replaced by scar tissue. Despite the ripping of scabs along her fingers, she pulled the tight gloves on until they reached her elbow, high above the bottom of her sleeves.
Looking in the mirror, she saw how her upper lip had melted away and her nose no longer had a distinct shape on the left side. What little hair remained were mere wisps compared to her former locks, thick and beautiful. She covered her head with a skull cap—black, like the rest of her garb.
The hood fit snugly over her head, wrapping around her neck and flowing into her dress easily, creating a perfect picture of piety. Pulling her disfigured lips up into a smile, she placed the niqab over her nose and hooked it to her ears, covering the rest of her face so only her eyes remained visible.
Now she was nothing. She disappeared into the blackness of her rooms, dissipating into the air like smoke. All that remained was a shadow on the wall.
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A Reader's Companion to Shadow on the Wall
Q&A with Pavarti K Tyler
Q:
Shadow on the Wall
is a very ambitious work. With what parts of the writing process did you struggle?
A: Shadow flowed very naturally for me. The relationships and characters made sense from the very beginning. However, the subject matter I wanted to tackle is tricky. I was advised by a number of people to write a different story or write it a different way. But to shy away from the authenticity of my characters just because it was uncomfortable seemed dishonest. I owed them more than that. So the process of staying true to the story I needed to tell despite a publishing and cultural climate which was constantly telling me to sanitize it was extremely difficult.
Q: What inspired you to write such a heavy story?
A: I certainly hope those who read
Shadow on the Wall
will enjoy the story, but I wrote this story not only to entertain but to inspire examination of the world around us. Our civilization is at a breaking point. People are taking sides and oppression is closing in on all of us. From religion to politics to the general cultural climate it seems everyone is on high alert. In my experience though, people – average, everyday people – are not so different from each other. Perhaps writing such a dark story is my call to action; this is the nightmare waiting for us at the end of the tunnel. What will it take for each of us to stand up for what we believe in? Recai has a calling, a mission. He is given his path. We are not. When faced with a choice between oppression and freedom, between standing up for someone else or sitting back and watching the sky fall, what will you do? Will you choose to live like Maryam, seeing the good in people and finding a way to make the world better? I hope so.
Q: What was the research process like for this novel?
A: The research for Shadow was intense. I've done this kind of research for other authors and playwrights before but never for myself. The process of taking that research and reorganizing it internally so the details of a culture can be conveyed without sounding like a lecture was the most difficult part. Since I'm neither Turkish, Kurdish nor Muslim there were a lot of small details requiring research. I have studied religion extensively and being a bit of a superhero aficionado that aspect of the book was less of a challenge. My training as a dramaturge prepared me for this kind of research but nothing compares to the experience of so completely stepping outside of myself into the shoes of not only another person but another culture.
Q: Why did you choose to set
Shadow on the Wall
in Turkey?
A: Elih, Turkey is a real place, although it is nothing like the fictional city I created. When I set out to write a story set in the Middle East, I looked at maps and wanted somewhere ripe with history and culture but not in the current crosshairs. Turkey is positioned between Europe and the Middle East, populated by Muslims, Jews and Christians and has a historical conflict between the Turks, Arabs and Kurds living there. It was the ideal location.
While Shadow touches on issues relevant in the world today, I didn't want to write another post 9-11 story about the Taliban or al-Qaeda. Turkey was a good solution because it is rich in culture, plus Elih is the Kurdish name for the real city of Batman, Turkey. And when writing a superhero story, how could I resist setting it in Batman!
Q: Did your own religious views or upbringing contribute to your choice of religions featured in this novel? Why didn't Christianity make the list?
A: My religious views most definitely played a part in my choice to write this story. As a Unitarian Universalist I believe that each person has the right to find their own path to God. While we embrace all religions the first tenant of UUism is that we affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person. When I look around me and see the increasing number of hate crimes, women forced to both cover and uncover against their will, the fear mongering and profiling that occurs in the political arena internationally and the general rise of Islamaphobia, my own beliefs demanded that I say something.
Christianity only played a periphery role in
Shadow on the Wall
as it wasn't appropriate in the plot to include at this point. However, in Prisoners of the Wind, book 2 of The SandStorm Chronicles, Christianity will play a more prevalent role.
Q: Which character do you relate to most? Which character was hardest to write?
A: Of all the characters I'm most drawn to Darya. Her story is so tragic but I can see how the circumstances of her life took her down that path. I imagine being in her circumstance and I get frustrated for her; to be so smart and capable, to have such ambition and no way to express it, plus the privilege she has adds an extra layer of confinement. I don't mean to imply this is the case for all women in Muslim countries. Maryam is an example of that! However, were I Darya, I think it would be easy to become angry and bitter. Taken to the extreme I can even see how that could drive a person a little insane.
As for the most difficult, Recai took me a long time to wrap my brain around. Other characters shone brightly in my mind, leading me through their stories and teaching me about themselves. Recai, however, much like in the book, was more elusive. Because he doesn't have a clear sense of himself or who he wants to be, it was difficult to convey him as a three dimensional character instead of just a big whiner. Thanks to some amazing advice from friends and my brilliant editor, I think he has come into his own, and by the end of the book we all have a clearer understanding of who he is.
Q: There is a strong focus on women's issues in Shadow. Would you consider this a feminist book?
A: No. I'm not interested in telling the story of one gender over the other. I think the situation for women in Shadow is as much of a concern and issue for the men. As with any conflict, there are two sides. Darya is a woman who despises women for their weakness. If anything she's the biggest misogynist of the entire book. This isn't a book about men and women; that is a vehicle through which we explore ideas of power and corruption.
Q: There are some similarities to Batman in Recai's character. Was this on purpose? Did you include traits from any other superheroes in the novel?
A: Certainly
Shadow on the Wall
is reminiscent of the Batman mythos. The Bruce Wayne/Batman dichotomy is my favorite superhero story. While Recai doesn't have the same back story as Bruce Wayne, the creation of his character did happen as an homage to Batman. The archetype of the anti-hero or the resistant savior is extremely appealing to me as a storyteller. Recai's internal conflict and inability to reconcile his own insecurities and doubt with the demands of his faith pulled me in and kept his story going far past the limits of Batman
Q: Why did you choose to describe violent scenes in vivid details rather than simply letting it remain implied? Are you concerned you will lose any of your potential audience because of the graphic nature of some of the scenes?
A: We do not live in a bubble. Life is messy and painful and full of awful things. In the beginning of the story Recai really has no concept of this. His experience of Rebekah's rape and murder is cataclysmic. In order for us to follow along with his evolution and struggle we have to see what he sees and feel what he feels. If that feeling was revulsion, anger, pain, outrage, so be it. The reader must feel it too. It is certainly possible that some readers will turn away from this. I understand that. However, the evil of the oppression is in many ways an additional character who cannot be sanitized or avoided. In order to truly understand the evolution of Recai, Darya, Maryam, Isik, Hasad, Fahri, Sabiha and Abdullah, you must understand how deeply demented their world has become.
Q: What type of reader will most enjoy
Shadow on the Wall
? What type would most benefit from reading it?
A: This is a novel written for adults. It is not intended for children or teenagers; both thematically and because of the explicit content. However, there is a universal appeal to the characters. As much as you may dislike Isik and Darya, they are relatable. Their circumstances are untenable and at a certain pressure point all of us will break. The question is will you heed the call of the desert or burn?
Q: There are so many life lessons woven into the novel, what do you hope people will gain from reading
Shadow on the Wall
?
A: My hope is that people will read Shadow and see that we are not so different. No matter what culture, what religion, what gender we may be, the reality is: life is hard. We all need a hero and we all need someone who will believe in us even when we don't believe in ourselves. So the next time you see a woman in the grocery store with a scarf on her head, don't ignore her, don't look away, instead smile and say hello. She may have something to teach you.