Life in Lightning Part II

Finding no resistance, the water had cleared the air, so to speak, the thunder roared a mighty roar. It would rage and dance through the night.

In the hut below, a little boy trembled. His father was in the next room. He closed his eyes so tight, they started to hurt, and he tried to think of what his father had told him about fear. He couldn't remember it. He opened his eyes, rubbed them, tentatively, the thunder growled gleefully, watching him jump.

The postman was in the room with the three candles, his wife screaming as she pushed, and pushed. Nothing came out. She looked at him, and screamed. Nazam, his wife, named for a poem screamed. He scrambled next to her, got on his knees, held her hand, and squeezed it tenderly. Her squeeze was tight in response, corresponding with another scream and push. Her hand was sweaty, her little finger had a long nail. It’s funny how you notice things, it’s funny when you notice things most.

He looked into her eyes, they were moist and red with pain. She didnt see him. He closed his eyes, behind his glasses, looked up, and whispered a prayer to the Lord Almighty, the Creator of the Heavens and the earth.

A small whimper broke him from his reverie. It was coming from the other room. He slipped his hand from his wife’s grasp, she didnt notice. He ran to the other room, past Aafia who was putting a wet towel on his wife’s head, and then massaging her stomach, bless her kind heart, he thought with a smile as he rushed to Saad’s room. His son was sitting up, crying.

The thunder danced joyfully, making patterns in the moonless night sky, the air sizzled with hot lightning sparking, worming through it. His son cried, eyes red and puffy, nose watery.

The postman hugged his son, tight. For a minute, they were each other’s solace. His wife screamed, more urgently than before. He opened his eyes, and rushed out, leaving his son’s arms hanging in the air where he had been hugging his father only a few seconds before. 

Nazam was panting, more and more frequently. He couldn't bear to look. He knew it was over when a new smell entered the room, a smell of blood, a smell of life. He knew it was over when his wife sighed, amidst the pain. He knew it was over when he heard a squelch. Silence. Those three seconds of silence were the longest of his life.

The boy cried. His heart lit up in joy, in warmth that nothing could take away. Not the frigid cold outside, not the lightning. His heart like up with joy. He hugged his wife, his happy tears mixing with the dried ones on her face, he caressed her face and kissed her. He took his son from Aafia, who was offering him to the postman. He kissed him, and wept. He performed the Azaan in his son’s ear. Outside, the lightning stopped to listen.