‘Do you remember when I used to put a kettle on the stove with eucalyptus leaves and mint leaves to help you breathe better, my heart of my heart?’
He lies and says that he does, that he for sure does. And moments later it’s not a lie anymore, because some vague memory of that black kettle on the stove and the steam rising to the ceiling does flow to him.
He can hear she has trouble speaking. Something is pressing on her chest. He can’t see her, but he knows. He knows the sound of his mum’s voice when she is in pain. She sounds way too cheerful.
When he was 3 his mum tried to move an old matrass. Her idea was to saw the matrass in pieces and then take it down by stairs. He remembers how seconds later his father carried him and not the matrass down. The springs in the matrass had flipped out and one had hit her in her foot. There was lots of blood. They took him to an aunt and an uncle and went to the hospital. The aunt and the uncle warmed their house with coal and he remembers sitting on a green little chair that was a bit charred from once standing too close to the hot stove. His mum has a permanent scar on her foot. He doesn’t remember if it’s the left foot or the right foot, but he knows that because of the stitches it looks like the pound sign on a keyboard.
It’s relatively warm outside. 18 degrees Celcius, but his mum is shaking. He can hear her teeth chatter, somewhere down there, under all this deformed material.
One of the men puts a hand on his shoulder, but he pulls away, he doesn’t want pity or sympathy now. Compassion and attention from these men who are the biggest heroes in his eyes, make him go soft inside, and then he will start crying and he doesn’t want the last thing his mum hears in this world to be the sound of her son sobbing.
The worst is when she whimpers in pain. The sounds cut through him. He wishes he had some pulverizing gun so he could make the crumbled walls and the twisted steel vanish and he could get to her.
The men are still circling around what’s left of this once tall building to see if they have a way in, but without the proper tools they have no way to clear this much debris. These are huge concrete blocks with unwelcoming steel bars sticking out. Here and there you can put your arms between them, but there is no way through. Her voice is coming from about 5 meters down. It’s a miracle she has survived the collapse of such a big structure until now. One of the men is thinking out loud and coming up with theories as to how she could have ended up there when must have been somewhere on the fourth floor. One of the other men tell him to stop.
His three sisters are all almost certainly dead. One for sure, because his mum has confirmed that. His mum says she can see her head, squished, but definitely her head, but no trace of the rest of her body.
Even in these moments his mum says that Allah has chosen him to be saved. She says there is a plan for him, he needs to trust the plan and everything will be redeemed.
She says: ‘Am not sorry I lose you when you are nine years old, I am grateful I could be a part of your life for nine years, I wouldn’t give away those nine years for anything in this world.’
No matter how hard he tries now the tears break through.
‘My love is in you. Every kiss I gave you is in you. Every gentle touch is in you. Every kind word I spoke to you is a part of you. My love will always be in you. I will always be in you. Repeat these words to me, habibi, my heart’s treasure, repeat: My mother loved me dearly, I was worthy of her deepest love, I am worthy of all the good life has to offer.’
He repeats the words, though they sound strange to him, at least he tries to, but the tears make them come out in bits and pieces.
She says: ‘You will have a wife, you will have children, you will live. The creator will make right what others have made wrong. Do not burden yourself with thoughts of vengeance. Am only sorry now that I can’t hold you one last time. I so loved to hold you. We did eskimo kisses and it made you giggle. Ah, the sound of your giggles. I smile even now. I have been so blessed in my life, with you and your sisters, your beautiful sisters. What a blessing too that my parents went before me. Am not in pain, habibi, am not in pain. Your mum is not in pain.’
The sounds that follow indicate something quite different. No more words follow. A weird kind of subdued yelping. He has to muster all his strength, he is scared he will not produce a sound before it’s too late, but with the greatest effort he can open his choking. closed throat and wails ‘thank you, mum, thank you, mum please don’t go, please don’t go’
One of the rescue workers falls to his knees and slams the palms of his hands on the ground until they bleed. One of his colleagues drags him up and pushes the wailing man’s head against his chest. The man sobs uncontrollably.
The boy wonders why a man who has never met his mum is so sad that she is dying and it encourages him to let go, so now he starts scratching his face and also sobs, he is ashamed, but he sobs like never before. He can now, because no more sounds are coming. It’s done. He can’t see her, but he feels it, she is gone.
There is an iciness, a gaping void in his chest, every part of his body hurts. He was nowhere near the building when it happened. He was out playing soccer with other kids when it happened.
Now he wishes he had stayed home. He could have perished with them. There would be not this life of pain ahead of him now.
He has no idea where his father is. Six months ago he went with two other men from the neighbourhood to get sacks of flour from a nearby village where trucks had arrived. They disappeared without a trace, along with many other men. Nobody has received any news.
A crushing sense of aloneness follows. He’s as alone as can be. There is nobody who knows his history, his likes or dislikes. He has some friends his age here, but he wouldn’t know where to turn to now. He also feels burning injustice, because right about now their mothers are tucking them in and kissing them good night.
He sits for a very long time. He doesn’t know how long. In his head he keeps asking to be allowed to join his mothers and sisters. Eventually a voice says: ‘Come now, you can stay with us.’ The boy realizes a rescue worker has been sitting quitely behind him the whole time, waiting to break the silence.
The man takes the boy to his own family.
The boy has been with them for six weeks.
He still hasn’t spoken any words, except once in his sleep.
It sounded like a question, a question filled with incredible happiness.
‘Mama?’
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The Confessor 