I spent the whole night sitting next to Omar on his bed. His nanny called the doctor, and some whispering took place between nanny and the doctor. They were cold, soft whispers. Whispers that shook me, and made me feel as if I might loose Omar, as if his baritone, warm voice would fade out of my life at any moment.
Nanny came in hugging herself, with her usual, lifted head position then she sat down at her chair that stood against a small refrigerator.
Her wrinkled skin twisted up in a triangle around her mouth as she started to speak. "I believe that you're Omar's friend, and I believe that you love him." She said.
I nodded. "Yeah sure." I felt that my gesture wasn't enough to describe how important he was for me.
"Omar has been suffering from tuberculosis for two months now. " she said, crossing her legs and slurping some tea from her mug. "The doctor says that we can't help him."
I pushed the chair back with all my power that Omar shook in his trance at the sound of its collision with the wall. " can't help him?" I yelled at her. "Are you kidding? He's your grandson for god's sake. Do something."
She remained silent and unaffected in her seat. " I can't do anything boy."
" how, you can find him a cure or anything."
" I guess that it's better for him to die. No cure will help him, the illness has seeped into his body a long time ago, and none of us can help him but God"
God? I gazed for a moment at the ceiling where a fan whirred languidly overhead." Where's God when we need him?". I thought. Is he somewhere overhead, watching us live in anguish or he's busy making bad things happen to good people?
"You can do nothing" She said, standing up and leading the way out of the room. " now out of this house. I don't want to see your scrawny face, but at Omar's funeral"
"He'll not die" I screamed, kicking the chair once again that it landed on the other side of Omar's bed, broken.
" out boy" She gripped me from the scruff of my shirt across the living room. I struggled like a helpless rat in her hands, but finally she threw me out, slamming the door and shaking the whole building.
I went back home. My clothes remained kinky, and untidy. I didn't care for looking nice, I didn't care about telling father where I was, I didn't care about anything. Omar will die and I'll stay alone. The air seemed to be speaking sad litanies in my ears, as if telling me to begin mourning now.
Nanny came in hugging herself, with her usual, lifted head position then she sat down at her chair that stood against a small refrigerator.
Her wrinkled skin twisted up in a triangle around her mouth as she started to speak. "I believe that you're Omar's friend, and I believe that you love him." She said.
I nodded. "Yeah sure." I felt that my gesture wasn't enough to describe how important he was for me.
"Omar has been suffering from tuberculosis for two months now. " she said, crossing her legs and slurping some tea from her mug. "The doctor says that we can't help him."
I pushed the chair back with all my power that Omar shook in his trance at the sound of its collision with the wall. " can't help him?" I yelled at her. "Are you kidding? He's your grandson for god's sake. Do something."
She remained silent and unaffected in her seat. " I can't do anything boy."
" how, you can find him a cure or anything."
" I guess that it's better for him to die. No cure will help him, the illness has seeped into his body a long time ago, and none of us can help him but God"
God? I gazed for a moment at the ceiling where a fan whirred languidly overhead." Where's God when we need him?". I thought. Is he somewhere overhead, watching us live in anguish or he's busy making bad things happen to good people?
"You can do nothing" She said, standing up and leading the way out of the room. " now out of this house. I don't want to see your scrawny face, but at Omar's funeral"
"He'll not die" I screamed, kicking the chair once again that it landed on the other side of Omar's bed, broken.
" out boy" She gripped me from the scruff of my shirt across the living room. I struggled like a helpless rat in her hands, but finally she threw me out, slamming the door and shaking the whole building.
I went back home. My clothes remained kinky, and untidy. I didn't care for looking nice, I didn't care about telling father where I was, I didn't care about anything. Omar will die and I'll stay alone. The air seemed to be speaking sad litanies in my ears, as if telling me to begin mourning now.