“Mom, I want my dad. You must call him and tell him to come back home. Do you hear me?” Islam said, irritated.
“Islam, why are you yelling? Just wait a minute, and I will call him,” she said.
“Okay, okay. I am sorry,” Islam said. “I want to paint something. Dad always helps me; he is an excellent painter. My teacher asked all the students in the class to paint a map of their original villages,” he explained to his mother. “I know that my country is the best, and my map will be fantastic. Dad told me this, when I started Grade 4,” he continued.
Islam started to leave his room but hesitated for a bit. Something on the wall distracted his attention. He saw it almost every day, but he could not figure out what it was. This time he felt it was about to come to life, the trees swaying wildly, the clouds looming in the upper right corner. It was so vivid. He took some time to stare at the picture. It was a painting his father helped him paint, only this picture does not show the sun. He did not like that. He ran hastily to his mother.
“My dad, he is late… .” Islam rushed back again to gaze at the picture on the wall. “Mom, Mom… I am talking to you. Can you hear me?” Islam shouted from the other room.
His mother, moving around the house normally, acted as if he was not speaking, as if he were not there at all.
“I remember when I was living there in that small house. It was a small house. The old tree, yes, which Dad planted. Yes, he planted it. Or maybe my grandfather did. No, I was the person who planted this tree,” he yelled, hoping his mom would come and look.
Islam looked at his mother. He felt that she was so tired. He could see how her eyes were getting smaller and darker. He wished his father was there to help, but he spent most of his time outside their home. He did not seem to have time to help around the house, unless it was a heavy thing to lift. Islam wanted to be strong like him. Maybe he could help his mother, and then she would have time to speak to him instead of him talking to himself all the time. It was four o’clock and his father was not home yet. His mother once told him that his father was “wanted.” He did not know what it meant except that he did not see much of his father.
“He must come before it gets dark,” Islam hoped.
“Islam…Islam, wake up!” a friendly, nasal voice called.
He turned his head to the place where the voice came from. He did not care.
“Islam, Islam…. Your father will be here soon. He will stay for fifteen minutes this time. You know that your father is very busy, so be polite,” came his mother’s voice from the other room.
“Fifteen minutes? I can wait for fifteen minutes.”
She smiled. “You are a naughty boy, aren’t you?”
“But he is very late, and… .” He smiled too and stared at the picture again.
“My map will be the best one. Dad will paint it for me. Well, I will help him a little. In addition, it is the map of my country and my house. It is my map. He makes me choose the colors (although I still remember how he once protested my use of red and suggested green instead) and sometimes allows me to color in. It is one of the few things I got to do with Dad, as he is a very busy person. Last time he promised to let me do all the coloring.”
“Mooom, I tell you, I won’t take the map with me to school if Dad does not show up as you say,” he protested, hoping his father won’t let him down. He wanted to take the map to school and show it around. He wanted to brag about it, about working together with his father to make it perfect.
“Islam, Islam…. Wake up quickly. Argh, you’re very lazy, man!” Joe snarled, hitting Islam with the two pillows on the sofa, his voice grating on Islam’s nerves. “Islam, you will be very late; you know that you will be very late. If you don’t wake up, I will have to… .”
“No, please, just fifteen minutes. I know the Master’s thesis. Anyway, please, just fifteen minutes. Don’t pour water. It is so cold. Uh, you know, I like my tea with a little sugar. Please, let me sleep just for fifteen minutes. I need those fifteen minutes.”
“I can wait fifteen minutes,” Joe replied.
Islam stretched his hand calmly from beneath the pillow, gently touching the framed map next to his bed, making sure it was still there, and went back to sleep.
“You’re finally home, Dad. You’re finally home,” he repeated in his sleep.