The ride home was silent except for the motor’s clunking. The boys couldn’t muster the energy to talk, and even if they had been able to, they wouldn’t have known what to say. So they rode quietly, with vacant expressions.
When a heart is clean but the eyes bear witness to such atrocities, the body falls into survival mode. Oftentimes there is numbness, followed by confusion and hopelessness. This is a feeling that has been shared by thousands of years of humanity in various parts of your world. It doesn’t change. And it baffles me how it continues, with all the wars and bloodshed throughout the generations, how anyone can still kill. The words never again are uttered but not attained.
In this war, it’s not just Daesh who have cold blood running through their veins. The shadow this war casts reaches beyond one country. It’s a mushroom cloud, and Syria today is its ground zero. But like a nuclear explosion, the debris and emissions have widespread, long-term catastrophic effects.
“This one was particularly bad.” Musa broke the deafening quiet. “They’re all bad. But I mean . . . I don’t know.” He stopped his failed attempt at trying to comfort his cousin.
“Did you know him?” Tareq asked.
“No. I don’t think so. But I’m sure someone we know did.” Musa took a deep breath before he wiped a tear from his eye. “His poor parents.”
“What will happen now?”
Musa shrugged. “The usual, I guess. They will put a sign on his body that says something like, ‘This man was an apostate. He was a kafer. And this is what will happen to you if you do the same.’ It’s about ruling us through fear.” Musa rubbed his forehead, containing his emotions. “Daesh have started putting up screens on the main streets broadcasting their executions. It’s put on repeat for everyone to watch.”
Tareq shuddered. “How many executions have you seen?” He looked at his cousin, who took another calculated breath.
“I don’t know.” His eyes weakened. “I really don’t know. They replay in my dreams at night. Like a Daesh screen in my mind.” He tapped his head. “I went to school with a boy, he was a few years older than me. He came from a good family. He joined a group of citizen journalists, exposing the horrors of our lives for the world to see. He was caught.” Musa’s voice broke. “They stabbed him in the heart, shot him and cut his head off. Over and over, it played. What kinds of monsters do this?” Tareq watched as another tear formed in his cousin’s right eye.
“Allah yerhamo,” said Tareq.
“Yes, may God have mercy on all these innocent souls lost.”
• • •
As Musa pulled into his neighborhood, he glanced at his rearview mirror. “Dammit!” he barked.
“What’s the matter?”
“Shit, shit, shit!” Musa continued. “I’m so stupid!”
“What? What’s going on?” Tareq asked, now scared.
“I was so lost in my thoughts that I wasn’t paying attention.” He looked ahead. “Use the mirror,” Musa instructed as he pointed a finger up, “and carefully look behind us.”
Without moving his head, Tareq saw a white pickup truck behind them. The two men in the cab of the vehicle had their eyes on the cousins. “What’s going on?” He recognized the man in the passenger seat. He had seen him at the square.
“They’re following us.” Musa turned onto another street, and the truck wheeled after them. “Shit!” He pulled into a spot by his home. “Look, we’ll get out of the car and go into the house. Whatever you do, don’t look at them as you walk.” He grabbed the bags from the backseat and opened his door. Tareq kept his head down and followed his cousin’s motions. Both boys closed their doors at the same time. Tareq shifted his gaze to the house. And they kept their eyes on the door as they walked.
Tareq could feel the men’s glares burning his back as he approached the entrance to the courtyard. Musa creaked open the heavy metal door and quickly slammed it shut once they were in. No longer in view, they ran into the house.
“Merhaba!” Tareq’s aunt greeted them before quickly registering the looks on their faces. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, don’t worry, Mama,” said Musa.
“Musa . . . ?” She looked at her son with concern. “Waleed!” she called. Not long after, Tareq’s uncle and father entered the room.
“Yes, my queen!” Tareq’s uncle said. With one look at his wife’s face, his mood changed. “What’s going on?” He turned to his son. Musa tilted his head down and kneaded the back of his neck. “I said, what is going on?”
“There are some men outside,” Musa finally responded. Chilling words, even before the war. “I think they followed us from Naim Square.”
“You were where?” Tareq’s father turned his eyes to his son, who shifted his head uncomfortably while nodding. He wasn’t in the mood for chastisement, but neither was his father, who ran over and embraced the only son he had left.
“Baba?” Susan’s small voice broke into the room. She was clutching her little doll.
“Binti, let’s go watch some cartoons,” Tareq’s aunt said. She looked up at the men with distressed eyes. Her husband bobbed his head. A private language both husband and wife understood. Nada would keep Susan away from this, walking her to her own bedroom to watch television. “I bet there’s a channel showing Tom and Jerry. Do you want to watch it from our bed?”
“Yes!” Susan screamed in delight. “Can Farrah watch too?” She lifted her doll as high as she could.
“Yes, of course, habibti.” Aunt Nada kissed the top of her curls.
The men put on a smile and waited with feigned patience for them to leave. But as soon as they heard the door click shut, the conversation continued.
“I recognized one of them from the square,” Tareq said.
“Shit!” Musa blurted out.
“Stop!” his father ordered. “We will deal with this, but no profanity. If they hear you, they can punish you with forty lashes.”
Tareq’s eyes widened at the thought. Forty lashes for cursing?
Before they could discuss any more, they heard the doorbell ring.
“You three stay here,” Tareq’s uncle said. “I will take care of this.” The other three nodded in agreement.
• • •
Time went by slowly for the three men waiting.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Fayed asked Musa. Tareq could see the fear in his father’s eyes.
“Truthfully? All I can think, Uncle, is the cubs of Daesh,” Musa answered. The dread in Fayed’s eyes built. “I mean, I think we’re too old for it. But you never know with these guys.”
“What’s that?” Tareq asked. Both boys avoided looking at Fayed when they noticed the tears building in his eyes, giving him a semblance of privacy and dignity.
“Daesh has camps, training camps, for children,” Musa said. “Indoctrinating them. Teaching them how to use weapons. But really it’s a month or so of brainwashing. I’ve heard of some kids coming out and executing their own parents for not following their rules.”
“Impossible!” Tareq said, horrified.
“Wallahi, it was in the news and our neighbor witnessed one,” Musa continued. “They said the mother tried talking her son into escaping Raqqa together because she wanted to save him from the war. Instead, he turned her in and was the one who executed her in front of a crowd.”
“Ya Allah.” Tareq dropped his gaze as they all fell silent again.
They heard the handle squeak and the door creak open. The men stopped breathing as Tareq’s uncle stepped in. He was alone. They let out the air they had trapped in their lungs.
“Everything is fine for now,” he said, rubbing the beads of sweat off his forehead. “But we need to be ahead of them.” He was met with blank stares. Uncle Waleed shifted his attention to Tareq and Fayed. “You guys have to leave sooner than planned. The money we got out today will have to be enough. It should get you to Turkey.” He then turned to his son and put a hand on his shoulder. “And you will go with them.”
“No!” Musa yelled. “I’m not leaving you and Mama. I’m your only son, your only child. I can’t leave you.”
“Hayati.” Uncle Waleed’s voice was soft and eyes were gentle. “There is no choice. When the war is over, you will come back. Or, if it comes to it, we will join you later. Either way, we will reunite.”
• • •
But they all knew that might not be possible. And the truth is, I know so many families who have said the same with only sadness to meet them when I did.
This family was no different.