A Black Book and Golden Letters

A Black Book and Golden Letters

With a heavy heart, Khadija stood upon her uncle’s grave with white flowers dangling from her grasp. She knelt down, looked up to the night sky and poured her soul into prayer that this kind man may face a beautiful fate. Mournings and pain brought tears to her eyes as memories flooded through her head. She remembered how he never failed to bring smiles to their faces as they were children; to Khadija, he was the gift giver, the storyteller and her comforter. She remembered his wealth, his generosity and the happiness he spread to our family, street and town. Above all, she remembered his last days. When he silently held her hand and gently pressed it. His lips would slowly curl around and tears would roll on either cheek. That was all the power he mastered to express his content and affection.

Abruptly, a howling voice interrupted Khadija: a sound booming from every direction. While her heartbeats raced, shoutings from the background focused her attention that the voice was coming from the grave itself. The workers around her questioned in wonder and suggested re-digging the grave to determine the source. Khadija looked at them in fright, but without a single thought, she jumped up and headed home.

The next day she woke up to the deafening silence and painful emptiness. All the events of the past day returned and her heart felt heavy as she remembered the unexplainable voice at her uncle’s grave. As mad as it sounds she was curious to discover the source of his misery and if it was him or not. She decided to ask her relatives regarding the loud sounds at the graveyard but was deceived with their replies:

“Enough trouble! just forget about him, he is dead and gone,” impatiently replied her aunt.

The cruelty and intolerance stood clear in their tone. Khadija failed to understand their attitude since her uncle never abandoned a need they had.

Ever Since the last three years Khadija and her family spent with her ill uncle this was the first time his absence weighed down on them so much. A gap has been torn in the fabric of their days. In her misery, Khadygia started to trace down the past days.

Her first memories of uncle Kareem Youssef originate in her grandmother's house, where her childhood first sprouted. They all gathered in festivity telling stories, singing and laughing through the night. Uncle Kareem was always the one purchasing all the fruits, the sweets and the best of gifts. He never left anyone in their street hungry. No one in town was ignorant of uncle’s generosity.

After his discovery of pernicious cancer cells in his body his health immediately degraded. Without direct monitoring of his business affairs and his profit sales gradually dropped. In just a year He lost everything: his house, his wealth and health but most unfortunately he lost his family and friends. His family abandoned him; while everyone is seeking their own path in life, no one is ready to occupy their time with him. They fail to see it as an act of preserving family bonds or as a reimbursement. They fail to value what will last.

The moment the family members announced their decision of keeping uncle Kareem in a seniors home, Khadija left her job in the west and traveled back to her homeland to nurse her dear uncle that had brought her so much happiness as a child.

Khadija’s whole family had to adapt to their new life with a new family member. The three children Noor, Salma and Ali would gather around him at night and tell him stories as he drifts asleep. Khadija would spend the day comforting him through his agonizing therapy, healing his wounds and showing him old picture albums of the golden past. This made him smile: a rare occurrence. As the days neared his end, however, he would suddenly look at her and whisper in her ears:

“ The black book”

This frighetened her and frustrated her all at once!

“ You are the kindest, purest soul I know; how do you say a black book? Your book of deeds will definitely be illuminating-white, with not one stain,” comforted Khadija in a soft voice.

He only continued smiling.

At this moment Khadija held the picture album as she sat in his now vacant room. She pulled one picture dear to both their hearts; a picture of her in a little pink puffy dress by Uncle Kareem on his wedding day. She stared at it for hours.

Oh, how could a single human being, a distant relative who sat silently on his rocking chair staring through the window sill, have the power to alter all of us at once. He was a light that dimmed but not completely; he left value. He could still be felt in the air.

That night, Khadija dreamt of a great shadow lingering around uncle Kareem's grave. It surrounded him, spun around and started to strangle him. A loud sharp scream dragged her to her feet. She headed for the graveyard determined to dig up the grave and free her uncle from the dark spirit. The men forced their shovels into the soil with shaking hands. When they thought they had found nothing peculiar they wanted to recover the body and leave quickly, but they stopped short. A voice called:

“I found a black object, a black book!” called the gravedigger.

Khadija received the ragged, sand-covered book between her hands and returned to home to inspect.

“ To whoever opens this book, read it till the end”

These letters, written in golden ink, covered the first page of black, smooth paper.

“ My name is Kareem Youssef,

People may know me as one of the richest men or most powerful in town but my story is not as simple. I labored for every penny in my fortune: starting as a 6-year-old boy made responsible for my family’s living. Ever Since childhood, I stood in the streets working strenuous jobs, learning to bargain and to handle trade. These had been toilsome days.

“At the end, I was rewarded with wealth, trade and family: I had everything. I spent my fortune on the disadvantaged and underprivileged but also the people I perceived close to me. Doubts and fears overcame my thinking that my relations with family and friends are much more fragile than I believed. I doubted that if all my wealth is lost there would be nothing linking me to them.”

Khadija’s heart beat rapidly and she struggled to catch her breath.

“I fear your doubts were true my poor uncle,” she whispered to the book.

She read on:

“Once I had lost my whole fortune and cancerous cells invaded my body, my coworkers and relatives belittled me. They wondered how it disappeared so quickly and how they did not receive a share before it was all lost. My wife reacted dreadfully, expelling me from my house and separating me from my son. While my cousin pretended poverty to escape from providing shelter for me. My Sister on the other hand believed her husband’s words that I would bring dark spirits if I stayed at their house. I was left to the cruelty of the malignancy in my body and the marring of time. “

“This crushed and devastated me in every way. Their words were sharp and dark piercing through. Little did I know that when I pretended bankruptcy that this would be the true reaction of my close ones. My entire fortune still remains. I sold every building, mansion, stock, company, and converted every profit in the bank to golden coins; coins which I buried under the tiles in a mansion I bought by the sea. Please flip the pages to see proof of my words: all the documents of the sold property and the papers of ownership of the mansion by the sea are in the next pages.”

“Dear carrier of a heart of gold

You now own all of which you hold

Of wealth and gold.”

The last words, in beautiful golden letters, glistened against the matt paper. Two large teardrops dampened the black page.

“May you rest in peace, dear uncle, just how you filled our hearts with peace,” prayed Khadija between her tears.