Messengers of
Loved Ones
By:
Mariam Jouma'a
Great whirlpool… Heavy rain… Spectrums everywhere…
Suddenly, a strange loneliness overcame the silence
of darkness.
*****
She… woke up trying to catch her speeding
inhalations… wiped the drops of sweat that were
running down her forehead… checked her pulse…
discovered that it was beating strong and fast… took
a deep breath to exhale it slowly in a hope that it
will calm down her shivering chest… walked a few
steps slowly towards the washbasin… looked in the
mirror to take a glance at her worried face because
of the horrors of that strange dream… All that she
saw, for a moment, was nothing but the picture of
the absent…
She… washed for prayers… prayed her Morning Prayers…
brought her small Quran from the desk… embraced it
with her heart… kissed it and opened its dedication
page… The last effect of her horror was gone as soon
as she read: "… for without doubt in the remembrance
of God do hearts find satisfaction…" handwritten by
her loved husband… This holy Quran was his gift and
commandment to her before he left for his work in
south Lebanon… This was not the first time when he
goes to the south… However, this journey had another
taste…
She took her notebook and wrote the date:
July 13, 2006
A dream that worried me…
I woke up very tired on that very day although the
day before it was the happiest day after the
courageous resistance fighters succeeded capturing
two Zionist soldiers. However, that dream worried me
for real."
It wasn't very long until a close and powerful blast
echoed and terrorized her entire being. "God protect
us," she said. She rushed out and gazed at the place
of explosion to have an eye contact with a thick
cloud of dust on that particular day. This was the
day when the whole world launched a comprehensive
war to eliminate the resisting trend in Lebanon.
Thirty three days of heavy bombardment have targeted
the residential areas in the southern suburb of
Beirut and south Lebanon. Enemy's satisfaction was
limitless to reach with their aggression the middle
regions (Biqaa) and the north. Tons and tons of
rockets… Thousands of displaced people… Large number
of massacres…
Throughout this critical period she did not hear any
news from him or about him. She did not know whether
he is safe, lost or even martyred. All that she
cared for was hearing anything from him, be certain
about something.
The war ended without receiving anything. She
returned to her home to find nothing but the ruins
of what used to be a home in the past. There were
fractions of memories that were burnt by the rockets
of the treacherous enemy. She scoured the place for
something small that occupied her thoughts for
thirty three days. She hoped that God will keep it
safe above all her possessions inside that house.
She searched every inch, turned every stone. "At
last," she took a breath of sigh. Signs of joy
appeared on her face. She found it. She found the
Quran, the gift of the precious one. However, the
precious one is yet to return, but there is no news,
not even a word.
The day came when the news about his martyrdom
arrived through one of his comrades who accompanied
him on his journey of jihad until the day of the
reunion, the day when he yelled as he swam in an
ocean of his wounds to say, "I won by the lord of
Kaaba." The mujahid told her about the two bullets
that penetrated his chest, about the blood that
sprung and watered the earth to grow daises and
roses, about his determination when he tolerated his
pains and continued his struggle until he received
the third bullet that became his ticket of departure
towards the Creator, the Exalted.
Among the belongings that she received was a piece
of paper that he had in his pocket when he was
martyred, with some blood still on it. She embraced
it strongly and opened it to read:
"A strange time was following my steps
There was a dazzle in my eyes and painful bitterness
in my mouth
I opened my gates to the wind and rode a restless
passion
I thought of my future at sunset and at night
My hands drew the lines of the running time
I am slowly fading day after day
In my eyes I found deep dreams embracing my tears
In my ears I found a river that murmured along a
deep valley
In my thoughts there were doors with buried secrets
behind them
Each day left to be replaced by a new concern
I grew up while dreams and worries grew up with me
I searched for an eternal unity
My soul yearned after departure and traveling
I thought without knowing what I was thinking about
I lived without knowing what I was living for
I only knew that each creature had an end
And for each dark night there was a beautiful
morning" [1]
*****
August 25, 2006
Was that goodbye or reunion? Was that the bridegroom
or the funeral? No, that was a part of each. Rather,
that was the feeling in its perfection. Today I will
wear a gown that will oscillate between the presence
and the absence, the absence of your magnificent
eyes, and the presence of this illuminating crowd of
martyrs, which were stars that shined from afar.
They were anthems that sang the songs of victory.
They were torches that burned above high mountains.
They were those who suffered to protect us from any
harm. They received the bullets withtheir hearts to
protect our children from hearing their terrifying
sounds. What can I do? Should I scream or moan?
Should I keep silent or smile before the crowds of
those congratulating me for victory and martyrdom?
*****
Her spirit roamed on that very night while having a
vision, searching for the light of her eyes. She
found him, as usual, standing in a field of flowers.
He looked at her smiling. He gave a look of someone
in love. And he whispered into the depth of her
conscience saying:
"Do not cry my little one. Your heart will be my
paradise. You are mine and I am yours forever. That
will do."
And he disappeared from the horizon of her visions
until the next appointment.
[1] A
piece of paper that was in the hand of martyr Ali
Marmar (Abu Hilal) at the time of his martyrdom.
