She crawled through the bedroom door and pushed it closed behind her, blocking it with her body. The sensation of icy pressure in her back morphed into a throbbing heat. She waited with dread for Mr. Saleh to push through and stab her, but he did not follow. The pain in her back worsened, growing hotter and spreading to her buttocks and even her legs. She didn’t understand how being hit could hurt so much. With one hand she reached around and felt her own back. To her horror, her fingers encountered a hard, steely object protruding from her back. The knife. She’d been stabbed. With that knowledge, the pain leaped to an unbearable level, as if her back had been roasted with a flamethrower. She reached behind herself, scrabbling for the knife, trying to pull it out, but could only touch it with her fingertips. She felt weak and woozy, as if consciousness were a tide that was ebbing now, pulling away. She had a thought: I let Mo down. And I never told him how I feel. Then the tide pulled away, and the world went black.
***
Muhammad rode through the Mission District, turning randomly onto one street and another, sometimes circling a block then moving in a different direction. His thoughts were a bleak mess of self-recrimination. This was a no-win situation. Maybe fate was telling him that he was better off without his father, and that he’d made the right choice in leaving him at the terminal. It did not feel right, however.
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There was no soreness in his legs – like most experienced bike messengers he could ride all day and feel not a trace of muscle fatigue – but his mind was exhausted. It was time to slog up the hill to the Lower Haight and go home. He turned onto 15th Street and began to wend his way there, when he saw a tall figure stumbling directionlessly down the sidewalk. The man was thin as a knife and carried a green backpack. It was his father.
When he pulled up next to his father the man reacted with alarm, backing against the steel security gate of a shuttered restaurant.
“Easy Baba, it’s me,” Muhammad said. “Your son.”
“Muhammad?” His father gazed at him with wide eyes, as if Muhammad were an angel come to pluck him from the depths of Hell. He came forward and touched Muhammad’s face, as if wanting to be sure that he was real.
Muhammad flinched at the contact. He was not used to being touched by his father except in violence. He had no idea how to react to this frightened, dependent shadow of a man. He had to admit, though, that he was profoundly relieved. He could not have lived with himself if something had happened to his father.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Muhammad said. “How did you get here?”
His father looked around in confusion, craning his neck as if searching for an answer in the night sky.
“Never mind,” Muhammad said. “Let me think.” He put his hands on the top of his head and studied the dirty sidewalk. There was only one person he could call.
Hassan answered on the second ring. Muhammad described the situation and gave his location.
“Stay right there,” Hassan instructed. “I’ll be there in five. I’m driving an Audi sedan.”
An Audi? Muhammad blew out a puff of air and shook his head. This day just kept getting weirder. He dismounted from his bike and leaned it against the security gate, then put one arm around his father’s shoulders. It felt very strange, but he could feel that the contact relaxed his father and calmed him down.
Only a minute or two later Hassan pulled up in a shiny white Audi, as promised. He popped the trunk and Muhammad stashed his bicycle. Muhammad and his father both climbed into the back seat. It was best to stay close to his father, he felt.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, Hassan turned to face his passengers.
“I have to go out of town,” he said. “Long story. I’ll be back by tomorrow. I think I should take you guys to my place. What do you say?”
“Uhh, sure,” Muhammad said. He was beginning to feel like a passenger on a roller coaster, hanging on as the wild machine took its turns and loops. It felt good to hand this problem over to Hassan and let him take charge, at least for now.
Hassan made a u-turn and headed north.
“Whose car is this?” Muhammad asked.
“Mine,” Hassan replied.
Muhammad’s father sat back in the comfortable seat and closed his eyes. That was a good idea, and Muhammad followed suit. The interior of the car was quiet and climate controlled, and smelled of clean leather. He could easily sleep in this baby, if Hassan would drive straight and stop swerving.
Something wasn’t right. The car was not just swerving, it was rising and falling as if the street was built on the back of a great, walking beast. Muhammad opened his eyes and gripped the back of the seat in front of him just as Hassan pulled to the side of the road and put the car in park, engaging the emergency brake.
They were having another earthquake. (See “Kill the Courier” Part 3 – Author).
Almost as soon as Muhammad realized what it was, it was over. Car alarms were sounding up and down the street. He glanced at his father. The man was snoring, his head tipped back against the seat.
Hassan raised his hands in prayer and began saying a silent dua’.
“The guy on the TV was right,” Muhammad said.
Hassan looked back. “What did he say?”
“There were two guys, actually. One said that small quakes are routine and that they relieve the pressure on the fault. The other guy said he would agree if today’s quake had been centered on the San Andreas, but it wasn’t. It was the Hayward Fault. He said the pressure on the Hayward Fault is so great that the first quake was probably a foreshock and we can expect some major slippage soon.”
“Does that mean the one we just had?” Hassan said. “Or something bigger?”
“Bigger, I think,” Muhammad said. “That was another foreshock, if this guy is right.”
“Huh. Qaddar-Allahu, yaf’ala ma yashaa’. Allah does what He wills. It’s good to say istighfaar at such times.”
Hassan started up the car and pulled out. Muhammad sat back again, saying a few silent istighfaars for the sake of form. Earthquakes he could handle. It was the man sitting beside him in the car that made him want to wring his hands. What would he do with him? How could he pay for the medical treatment his father obviously needed? Why was this happening? It didn’t seem fair.
#Islam3 weeks ago
BintB
April 9, 2014 at 3:39 AM
Always a pleasure reading this story…MashaAllah.
Just wanted to point out the sentence in 15th paragraph, 3rd page: “to buy money for food” => A typo?
Wael Abdelgawad
April 9, 2014 at 11:48 AM
Yes, that was an error, thanks. By the time I saw your comment the error had already been corrected. Thank you Editor!
iffat sharif
April 9, 2014 at 5:45 AM
A Cliffhanger ?? AGAIN!! it is so tormenting to wait for this story evvery week!! I am hooked on to it…we all are :) well,i just wanted to know how old is hassan?? he has a past,was married and all and jamilah is pretty young?? isn’t it ??
Wael Abdelgawad
April 9, 2014 at 11:50 AM
iffat, Hassan’s age will be mentioned in part 3 of Hassan’s Tale – the next story – but I guess there’s no harm in telling you he’s 34. Yes, Jamilah is young. She’s 22.
On the cliffhanger issue, in my defense, let me point that the main question of this story – will Muhammad forgive his father and help him? – has been resolved.
Of course the question of Hassan’s survival remains open.
iffat
April 15, 2014 at 3:02 PM
please update the next part….waiting for so long !!
Safa
April 9, 2014 at 8:46 AM
Jazakah Allahu khairan. A pleasure to read as always!
Poor Alice,she should’ve at least txted the guys to let them know! Having a mentally unstable person in a lone apt is never a good idea
Feel equally bad for Hassan. He is preoccupied w an assassin yet selflessly finds time for his friend. Loyalty indeed. Though he’s running into a trap, Dr Bassem is prob being held hostage by the Partridge! But hes insightful and his survival instincts will come into play no doubt
Mo is admirable in helping his dad out. I cannot imagine what its like to be in his shoes. A magnanimous individual that deserves good after abandonment, neglect, abuse and a terrible past. Glad he has amazing friends that will sacrifice their selves and give their all for him
Wael Abdelgawad
April 14, 2014 at 7:25 PM
Yes, it was a foolish choice on Alice’s part. I think she was so intent on impressing Muhammad and helping him, that she didn’t think it through.
J K
April 9, 2014 at 9:51 AM
Masha’Allah, another great piece! Looking forward to next week. If you had an entire book written, I’d prob devour like a hungry lion.
Wael Abdelgawad
April 14, 2014 at 7:27 PM
JK, in that case, I’ll write a book called, “Wildebeest.” Good meal for a lion.
Samreen
April 9, 2014 at 11:54 AM
Started reading your stories a while ago. All the parts are amazing, mashallah. The characters are so interesting and different. Waiting eagerly for the next part :)
Grey Crayon
April 9, 2014 at 6:07 PM
Jazak Allahu Khair Brother, really looking forward to part 5…
Sarah B.
April 10, 2014 at 2:32 PM
Oh these cliff hangers! I’m really hoping Alice will be okay! She gets her life back on track and tries to do something good then gets stabbed in the back, literally. Insha’Allah things will turn out okay for each character!
ahmed
April 10, 2014 at 3:44 PM
i just realized this is a multipage article :)
Ihsan
April 11, 2014 at 8:13 AM
Thanks,i just noticed!
Mahvish M
April 10, 2014 at 11:30 PM
Very interesting storyline, keep up the great work! Just curious, When will you write a novel?
Wael Abdelgawad
April 10, 2014 at 11:35 PM
You’re reading it, Mahvish. :-)
Mahvish M
April 13, 2014 at 1:30 AM
I mean a novel I can purchase from a bookstore instead of reading online :)
Wael Abdelgawad
April 13, 2014 at 1:20 PM
Ah, right :-) When it’s complete I will see what can be done Insha’Allah.
Areefah
May 26, 2018 at 1:44 PM
Assalam Alaikum! May Allah reward you with goodness. Honestly I cannot thank you enough. These stories, they are irresistibly beautiful and they help me everyday. May Allah give you success in this life and the next, Ameen.
Wael Abdelgawad
May 27, 2018 at 2:14 AM
Areefah, wa alaykum as-salam. You’re very welcome sister. I’m glad you’re enjoying the stories. Ameen do your dua’, and for you as well.