Asunder Chapter 48

Chapter 10.1 (48)

The Man in Reverse

Like Mother

“Breathe deep, release from machines.

Seek peace in all our suffering.

Extinction won’t become of,

Those who run and hide from the sun.

We bleed to believe in something.

Hearts beat as one now drumming,

To our song, we’ve all become as one,

Unite in strength and fight we must.”

- “Song of the Freeborn”- Author Unknown

- 278 years before the present day -

- The year 2010 -

- Age 0 -

Aida walked down the old street of El-Adawy. Colorful stores and honking taxis lined the busy street. Though she and her husband had only lived in Cairo for eight months, she missed her small farming community of Jazīrat al ‘Awānah. The congestion of human bodies in this big city panicked her when they first moved to the neighborhood, but she had slowly grown used to the commotion. She quickly crossed the street to access the alley to their home when a taxi swerved and honked at her. The sudden noise caused a stir within her, and she felt a kick in her ribs.

Quickly jumping onto the curb, Aida nearly spilled her groceries. Her belly made it difficult for her to maneuver in most body positions, and adjusting the weight of her grocery bags felt more like balancing on a barrel while juggling than an everyday activity. Being nine months pregnant, Aida felt ready to have the child out of her body and into her arms rather than kicking her insides out. Pausing to catch her breath, she stared out into the distance. The massive tan apartment buildings jutted into the sky, casting deep blue shadows into the street, providing solace to those in the hot, arid world below.

Wiping the sweat from her eyes with her sleeve, Aida sighed. The sweltering summer heat, her hijab, long sleeves, and the extra thirty pounds of baby weight added to her discomfort. Why she chose to go to the grocery store at this time of day every time discouraged her—combined with the fact her husband would be home late again, made the trip seem futile. His new job in the government kept him from home more than usual. Karim was a good man and supported Aida and their baby-to-be. Since Aida felt satisfied with most things in life, as she was not a picky woman, their tiny apartment and meager furnishings provided all the comforts she needed. She did not need much regarding temporal belongings because she had her dreams.

Her dreams were an escape from her worries—a world where she could see and communicate with both the living and the dead. In this dream world, she especially loved to visit with her mother, as she and her mother shared the same gift. With this gift, they could converse as though speaking over the telephone or in person. She used this method to communicate with those most dear to her. Back home, her family glorified her gift, but in Cairo, things were different. They didn’t have many friends yet, so she often spent many days and nights alone. Not only were they isolated in Cairo, but she also felt the burden of a masculine society permeating the city. Unlike her small hometown, men here repeatedly told her she needed to “learn her place.” So, in effect, she would lower her head and move along, making her way home to escape the male-centered society via her dreams.

Aida often wondered if the child in her womb would have the same gift of dreaming. For as long as she knew, the gift appeared in the women of her family thus far, and the ultrasound at twenty weeks informed them she carried a boy. Though her husband was excited at the prospect of having a son, she was just grateful to be able to bear children. Her sister had been trying for eight years with no success.

She cupped her abdomen as she ascended the stairs to their sixth-floor apartment. The weight became exhausting, and she heaved a sigh of relief as she reached the final step. The apartment provided little to no reprieve from the heat outside. The air conditioning unit was too expensive to run, so she opened the windows and turned the fans on in every room, trying to get the air to circulate. Setting the groceries in the kitchen, she plopped onto the couch, hoping to take the weight off her back. Staring at the tapestry hanging on the living room wall, Aida noted the beautiful and poetic script gazing back at her.

فَاذْكُرُونِي أَذْكُرْكُمْ وَاشْكُرُوا لِي وَلَا تَكْفُرُونِ

“Fadhkuruni 'adhkurkum washkuruu li wala takfurun.”

She whispered to herself and smiled.

She loved the verse, “So remember Me, I will remember you, and be grateful to Me, and do not be ungrateful.”

She remained grateful for the gift of the child in her womb and for a husband who worked hard and loved her. Gratitude for a home and a bed to sleep in each night overwhelmed her. She prayed within her heart, thanking God for the food on the table, clean water to drink, her dreams, and her family. With the motion of the prayer and the weight of the heat, her eyes became heavy and drooped. Nodding into a slumber, Aida barely took notice as the world quietly faded into nothingness.

§

Aida stood on the road to her hometown, basking in the sunlight. A cool breeze blew around her, giving her reprieve from the summer heat. The cotton fields bloomed to her left, and the shade of orange trees to her right graced her feet. Her village appeared in the distance, the mosque’s minaret reaching for the heavens. She could almost hear its call for prayer from the speakers. The faint sound of children laughing echoed through the grove of orange trees.

As she took in the familiar sights and sounds, a rustling of footsteps suddenly approached, and a small boy, no older than six years old, emerged from the tree line, running onto the road, still laughing. Such a presence did not usually take her aback, as her village contained a plethora of children running about at all times, but something seemed different about the boy. Not taking her eyes from him, the boy looked back, hoping someone still followed him, but no sign of his comrades appeared. Still not noticing her, the boy rested his hands on his knees and caught his breath.

Aida continued to observe the child, raptured by his familiarity and innocence. His wavy black hair toppled over his face, and his immaculate white linen shirt and tan woven trousers seemed out of place for a boy running through the dirt. The clothes did not appear modern in any way, yet they remained spotless as though his mother had recently dry-cleaned them. The boy stood up with his hands on his hips, squinting as he looked into the sky. Bending backward, he finished the last of his deep breaths, and suddenly, in a dialect she had never heard before, the boy spoke in her native Arabic tongue.

“Hello, Aida.” The child spoke aloud, still not looking at her.

Startled, Aida stood motionless, not knowing what else to do besides reply. “Umm… Hello.” She hollered back.

The boy turned his head and smiled at her. He had perfect pearly white teeth and a glint in his dark eyes.

“Are you excited about your baby?” He spoke loudly and breathlessly, as he was still not within conversational distance. Turning, he began walking toward her.

“Ummm…” she mumbled as she attempted to process his question. The boy’s voice seemed mature for his childish frame.

“Baby?” She spoke under her breath.

“Yes, your baby!” the boy reiterated, somehow hearing her, though he remained a ways off, not close enough to have heard her whispering to herself.

Looking down, she noticed her protruding abdomen, and with this, she suddenly remembered her pregnancy. A flood of realization began to flow in, but she had to calmly slow it to a trickle so as not to push herself from what she just realized was her dream—a “real” dream. Her heart skipped a beat. She loved her “real” dreams, or, as she called them—her “commune with dead” dreams—her “visit her mother and laugh” dreams. Looking back at the boy, he now appeared within speaking distance.

“Of course I am!” She responded honestly.

Her mind reeled at where she knew the child from. Who is he? She thought.

“Good,” he chuckled, “Just checking.” The child had finally reached her. “Well then, I suppose it’s time you see it before it’s too late.” The boy replied jovially.

“See what?” Suspicion crept into Aida’s mind at his comment.

“Ah, don’t be impatient now.” The boy smiled. He spoke as if he were decades beyond his current age.

“Come,” he waved his hand to her and entered the orchard.

Baffled by the series of events and with uncertainty tickling her conscience but also understanding that it was only a dream, she followed. As the boy skipped through the perfectly parallel-lined orange trees, Aida had to walk faster than what was comfortable for her at this stage of pregnancy. Finally reaching the end of the row, the world opened into another cotton field. A small clay shed stood at the threshold between the orchard and the cotton field, and the boy approached the structure. Beckoning Aida to follow, she hurriedly advanced, meeting him at the door.

“It’s locked,” the boy spoke plainly.

“Okay,” Aida responded tenuously. “Do you need to get inside?”

“Of course,” he smiled, his hands resting on his hips.

“What’s inside?” Aida returned to questioning.

“Oh, you will see.”

Slightly taken aback by the comment, Aida began to step away from the boy and the shed. Fear whelmed deep within her.

“It’s okay. There’s no need to worry.” A warmth suddenly emanated from him as though he could sense her apprehension.

“What’s inside?” She questioned again.

“Something with answers to many of your questions. Something you must know in order to understand your gift.”

The boy’s words spoke a truth she knew deep within her. She could feel his honesty and goodness. The fear from before dissolved away, and peace suddenly overcame her.

“Well, how do we get in if it is locked?” she questioned.

“You must unlock it,” he smiled.

“Buy how?”

“You know how.”

Then, like lightning in a storm, a knowledge of truth struck her, and she reached for her neck. There, still hanging from its chain, she gripped the key her grandmother gave her in her first “real” dream.

The boy grinned and nodded.

Quickly removing the necklace, Aida approached the door and inserted the key into its lock. The key fit perfectly and slid through the tumbler like a knife through butter. Turning the key, she felt an electric sensation flow through her, and she knew something great was waiting beyond its threshold.

The door easily swung open, and with this, the boy impatiently entered the darkened room.

“Follow me,” the boy yipped and disappeared within.

When she entered the small building, rather than entering a small room, she immediately met a steeply descending staircase—a cool, damp air wafted from its depths. Small lanterns hanging from hooks in the stone lit the walls. She carefully descended the stairs and took a turn to the right. She followed the steps further until she came to a long stone hallway. The boy was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked with some hesitancy.

“It’s alright, mother, I wouldn’t lead you astray.”

Mother? 

Did he just call me Mother?

The boy disappeared further down the hall, and she quickly followed him.

“Boy, excuse me, boy!” she called after him. He was now at the end of the hall waiting for her.

“Ha, my name is Aaroseli. But I suppose I could go by ‘Boy’ if you’d like. It seems a rather general term rather than a name, and I’m not sure what others would think when I’m born, and you tell them my name is Boy.”

Aida interrupted, “When you are born? When I tell people?”

Then, it clicked.

“You are my son,” she spoke with clarity now. Reaching down, she felt her abdomen.

This boy was her soon-to-be son. 

Nodding in agreement, he quickly turned and entered a doorway. Aida hurriedly followed and soon found herself in a stone room illuminated with lanterns and walls lined with old scrolls.

“I have something to show you, mother.” He motioned her to follow.

Between the shelves lining the longest wall stood a high-raised reading platform where the scrolls lining the shelves could be set and read.

“We do have a name for you,” Aida said, clarifying their previous conversation.

“Oh, that’s nice,” the boy indifferently responded as he scanned the scrolls. Reaching for the one he wanted, he lifted it from the shelf. It appeared heavy, and he struggled to lift it out. Stepping forward, she helped him manage the heavy roll.

“Here, let me help you,” Aida kindly spoke.

The boy smiled, “Oh, thank you, mother.”

They heaved it to the reading table, and the boy began unraveling it from the wooden umbilicus. He had to stand on a nearby box to reach the raised reading table, and she stood over his shoulder, watching him. Staring at his face, she now understood who he was. She could see he had his father’s nose and lips. He had her eyes and cheekbones and her grandfather's wavy hair. Taking the view of him in, she smiled as she cherished the experience.

“We are going to name you Balthazar,” she whispered in his ear.

The boy turned his focus from the scroll and looked up. “It is nice. It is rather long, but I do like it.”

“It is not a traditional Egyptian name but comes from your father’s grandfather. He was not Egyptian exactly," she said hesitantly.

“I know,” the boy smiled, reassuring her. “I really do like it… just call me Azar for short. I think it will be much easier to say at times.”

She had not processed yet what they could call him for a nickname, but she liked the sound of “Azar.”

“Aaah, here it is!” The boy exclaimed.

He pointed to the scroll. Glancing down, Aida saw a list of names. It comprised two columns. The text was not in any language she knew, but somehow, she could read and understand it. Next to each name appeared dates, which went back a thousand years. Peering over to a part of the scroll partially rolled around the umbilicus, she noted the dates continued backward in chronological order. Looking through the names in the column on the left, she could not recognize any of them, as many were foreign Anglo-Saxon names that were challenging for her to pronounce. Looking at the column on the right side, she scanned the names. It was full of names she was better able to understand, mostly Arabic. Midway down the list, she began to recognize many of the names and even was able to put faces to them in her mind as she read.

Her great-grandmother’s name was the first she recognized. Her daughter, Aida’s grandmother Zahra, followed his. Following her grandmother’s name appeared Aida’s mother’s name, Fatima Salah Mostafa. The list was a genealogical record. Except it was only single names, not an actual family tree. There was no branching or spouse names, no names of other children. Her mother’s sister’s name was not present. Aida’s name followed her mother’s on the list, only with her last name by marriage rather than her given surname inscribed on the scroll. The name below hers appeared: “Balthazar Karim Gutien.”

“This is some sort of family tree?” She questioned.

“Yes, sort of,” he grinned. “It’s a record of the gift.”

“The gift?” She questioned.

“Mother, I think you know what I’m talking about,” the boy grinned but spoke with some exasperation.

Realizing what he spoke of, she contemplated the record. All the names she’d seen on the list had been dreamers. It was a record of the dreamers in her family. She glanced back at the list and noticed something peculiar she had not picked up. Below Balthazar’s name was a female’s name, but the column split into two more columns below her name—each starting with a male’s name.

“What happened here?”

“Twins,” the boy spoke pragmatically.

Aida smiled. She had always wanted twins. There was some allure to having two children at the same time. Two children who could have an immediate best friend. Someone they could share their entire life with. She looked back at the columns. The left twin’s column names began to veer across the blank margin separating the Anglo-Saxon and Arabic names. It lasted only about six names until it merged with the names within the left column.

“What happened here?” Aida pointed to the discrepancy in the column. “It looks like they merged.”

“They did,” the boy spoke excitedly.

She looked at the last name before the columns merged, the last person within her posterity on this twin’s side. She spoke it aloud.

“Elijah Veno Rose.”

She looked at the name from the Anglo-Saxon column adjacent to her distant grandson.

“Jane Wilder Rose.” She continued to struggle to pronounce the non-arabic names.

The name emerging below the two names welled inside her. It somehow ignited a warmth and excitement within her as she read it.

“Imogene Eleanor Rose.

“This means these two families come together for her?”

“Precisely.”

She stared at the scroll in wonder. Then she stepped back and took in the room. Her son stood there, staring at her.

“Why all of this?” She questioned lovingly. “It is remarkable how someone has kept such a record, but why show me? What does it all mean? Why is this child so important?”

The boy smiled. “It is difficult to understand now, but the world will need this child someday. The survival of humanity will hinge on her existence.”

This explanation caused Aida’s brow to furrow.

How could a child be so important? 

What would cause the entire human race to depend on one person?

“Is she a prophetess?” Aida questioned.

“I suppose you could say that.” The boy responded.

“Here, let me show you.” He grabbed her hand, and they exited the room and ascended the stairs.

When they reached the door, the boy, still holding his mother's hand, pushed it open. Instead of the greenery of the citrus grove, a vast scene spread before her eyes. They stood atop a high-rise apartment building in Cairo, not so dissimilar from her home but further into the city’s heart. From their height, they could see the great pyramids of Giza in the distance.

“Why are we here, son?” Aida asked.

“Look close at your surroundings, Mother.” The boy responded.

She looked down and was surprised to see, rather than a street full of cars and people, windswept sand filled the streets, piled high upon them, covering them from the world. Not a soul was in sight. She peered all around her now. The buildings surrounding her appeared like ancient carcasses strewn about a sandbox. Their insides spilled out, exposing their framework like the ribs of a skeleton.

She glanced back at the pyramids, which remained intact. Suddenly, something shifted in the distance, just beyond the pyramid. Within moments, an enormous black mechanical monster with spider-like legs emerged from behind the largest pyramid. It moved menacingly through the terrain and approached the buildings before them.

“What is it?” She asked concernedly.

“This is but a piece of what is to come.”