A father with a severely autistic son dreams of going to Hajj, but will it ever happen?

Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Golden Grill

Murid was on the way home with the kids after picking up Junaid from his special school, then Mina from the Islamic school. Driving up India Street, he happened to glance into the Golden Grill, a tiny halal Syrian restaurant, and saw that the three tables were empty, there were no customers. Must be the hour – somewhere between lunch and dinner.

On impulse, he turned into the next driveway and pulled up in front of the restaurant. He rarely took the kids to restaurants because Junaid had no impulse control and would take whatever food he liked from anyone’s plate, including strangers. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the boy had a whole host of food allergies. A single bite of spicy or sweet food could give him stomach pain for hours.

But the whole family loved Golden Grill’s chicken kebabs, french fries, hummus and flavorful bulgur. Murid didn’t care much for tabouli or stuffed grape leaves, as the acidity tended to give him and Junaid heartburn. Junaid’s would be much worse, actually. There were times when Junaid ate something he shouldn’t and Murid would be up with him half the night, giving him medicine and holding him while he cried. These sorts of allergies and digestive issues were common with autistic children, but knowing that didn’t make it easier to live with.

Nine Pennies

Murid ordered all his favorites, plus something called muhammara, which he was not familiar with. Today though, he felt like experimenting. The world lay ahead of him, full of possibilities. It was as if Allah had seen how hard he’d been working, how much he loved his kids, and how he yearned for certain doors to be opened – and of course Allah had seen all of this – and had answered. Murid was not normally the adventurous type. With two challenging kids to care for, he couldn’t afford to be. In the past, Dana had always been the brave one, curious about every new thing, while Murid had been conservative, wanting to play it safe. But Dana was gone to Allah knew where, and Murid had been stuck in a deep rut for a long time, and now the doors were opening, subhanAllah walhamdulillah.

So why not try something new?

Murid laughed at himself, acting as if trying a new food item was like diving into an unexplored trench.

“It’s your move, Baba,” Mina said. “Are you going to laugh at nothing like a weirdo, or play the game?”

They were playing a game called nine pennies. Murid had learned it from his mother as a child. You put nine pennies on the table in three rows of three, forming a square. Each player on his turn would take away either one, two, or three pennies in a row. Whoever was left with only one penny was the loser.

Boy Was Hungry

Junaid was walking around the restaurant, touching things, or, more often, extending his finger and almost touching them. The drinks cooler, the display counter, the register, the two other tables in the place. Sometimes he’d hum, or say an almost-word, like, “dowww,” or, “yaamm.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? Calling me a weirdo?”

He scooped away a row of three pennies, leaving Mina with five. She immediately snatched one away, leaving a square of four. Murid studied the square, considering his options.

“You’ve already lost,” Mina said. “If you take one I’ll take two, leaving one. And if you take two I’ll take one, same result.”

“Oh, jinx,” Murid complained, and swiped his hand through the pennies. They’d played twelve games in a row and Mina won every time. Which was especially annoying, considering he was the one who had taught her to play.

The food arrived. Murid looked around to call Junaid over, and found him standing at his side, eating a chunk of beef kebab. He frowned. Where had Junaid gotten it? He spotted one of the restaurant workers sitting with a plate of food at the table behind him. The man met Murid’s eyes and smiled, waving a hand.

Murid was mortified. Junaid had taken food off the man’s plate. He stood and approached the man.

“As-salamu alaykum brother,” Junaid said. “I’m very sorry. My son is autistic, he doesn’t understand.”

“Is no problem,” the man said. “Boy was hungry, I give it.”

“Thanks.”

Muhammara

Returning to his table, he found Mina shielding the plate from Junaid.

“This muhammara stuff is delicious, but it’s spicy,” Mina said.

“I didn’t know. Scoop it into a little dish, I’ll eat it myself.”

“No. It’s bad for your heartburn, and it’s high in sodium. Take it back.”

Murid sighed heavily. Mina was right, but it was difficult sometimes being told what to do by your own child. Mina shouldn’t have to do that, she shouldn’t carry that responsibility. He scooped the muhammara into a napkin, and pushed it to the side.

He gave Junaid a chicken kebab, and the boy went back to wandering.

Mina dipped three french fries in ketchup and stuffed them into her mouth. “How many days,” she mumbled, “until you go for Hajj?”

“Four more days.”

“And how long will you be gone?”

“Twenty days.”

“You’re leaving us with Juliana for twenty days?”

“You’ll be fine, as long as you behave. Don’t give Juliana a hard time, okay? Don’t boil the eggs and put them back in the carton, or put toothpaste in the cream cheese container, or put a fake spider in the mailbox.” (All things Mina had done to Juliana in the past).

“Well…”

“I’m serious, honey bear. No weird pranks. Be ready for school on time, do your homework and chores, and help with Junaid. If you make it easy for her, you make it easy for me.”

“She’s not our mother.”

“Trust me, I know that. Also, Juliana will take you to visit Dada and Dadi sometimes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“They’re your grandparents and they love you. Just be nice. You know what I’m talking about.”

“The incident with Aunt Ganya.”

The corners of Murid’s mouth quirked upward as he suppressed a smile. “Incident. That’s one word for it. More like a fiasco that will go down in family history.”

“She started it.”

Murid sighed.

Junaid returned to them, grabbed Murid’s face and pressed his forehead against his father’s. Murid closed his eyes. Junaid’s hands were hot on his cheeks. The boy finally released him but continued to gaze into his eyes. Junaid’s eyes were light brown with golden flecks, and filled with calm intelligence. There was something deeply peaceful in his gaze, as if he accepted the world exactly as it presented itself, asking nothing more or less from it.

Then the boy took a kebab and walked away,

Make A Deal

“Baba,” Mina said, “Will you pray for Dana when you’re at Hajj?”

Murid paused. He swallowed a bite of food, put down the fork, and met Mina’s eyes. “No.”

“Do you still think about her?”

“Yes.”

“Then why won’t you pray for her?”

“It’s not the same thing.” Subconsciously he touched the coat pocket in which he kept Hiba’s letter. He’d been carrying it around and reading it from time to time.

Mina noticed the movement. “Will you let me read that letter?”

“No.”

His daughter looked down at her plate and pushed the bulgur around with a spoon.

Junaid came back to touch base. He leaned into his father and breathed in his ear. Murid put an arm around his son and pulled him close, then kissed his cheek. Junaid held his arms out, so Murid lifted the boy onto his lap. He didn’t care how it looked. Junaid grabbed another chicken kebab and took a bite, humming as he chewed.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Mina offered. “I’ll behave myself when you’re gone if you pray for Dana at Hajj, and don’t marry anyone without me agreeing.”

Junaid squirmed in Murid’s lap, and Murid let him down.

“Counter offer,” Murid said. “I’ll pray for Dana, and I’ll consult with you before I marry anyone. But the decision is mine alone.”

Mina nodded seriously. “Deal. You still can’t beat me at nine pennies, though.”

“Yeah, well. That’s a different thing too.”

Part 6 will be published next week inshaAllah

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See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

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