Miracle And Wish Fulfilled

I thought I had seen it all in my hundred-and-three years. I had seen families come and go. Arguments, love, jealousy, and kindness. I had seen births and deaths, tears of happiness and sorrow, the whole life cycle. But nothing, absolutely nothing could ever have prepared me for what was to happen in the early hours of February sixth.

The day before had been a completely ordinary day. I watched as mum shouted at the twins, who as usual, were taking way too long getting dressed. With one hand, mum stirred the porridge and with the other rocked the cradle where the family's youngest stared at his mum with his eyes open wide.

The baby, Burak, was certainly living up to his name and had shown his strong character again last night. He had been crying most of the night for the third night in a row, refusing to sleep, and there were dark rings around mum's eyes. The neighbours hadn't been too happy about it either. While they created me more solid to protect the inhabitants from the elements, my internal colleagues are thinner and less substantial and the sound carries through them. With Burak up all hours crying, it is no wonder that the neighbours have had enough. Their frustration reverberated through the walls as they banged the wall separating them and us.

But what was poor mum supposed to do? I have seen enough babies in my time to know that they cry when they want to. But for now, all was calm.

"Girls, hurry now," she shouted, and finally the twins emerged from their makeshift room.

Makeshift, because their little space was only separated from the kitchen with an old curtain and a blanket full of holes. It was a far cry from the spacious room they had had back in the village.

The family had only moved in less than six months ago when lack of work had driven them from the village their families had lived in for centuries. They had arrived together with half a dozen other families and one day workmen had arrived to put up additional internal walls to make space for more families. Hence the lack of proper soundproofing and lack of space.

But I knew from their conversations that the parents were grateful to have a roof over their heads and money to put food on the table. But grateful did not equate happy and several times I had caught the mum crying when the twins had gone to school and her husband was sleeping after a twelve-hour night shift. In the months after their arrival, I had seen the mum's face grow haggard, and the dad become ever quieter.

Only the twins were still as lively as they had been when they first arrived. Right now, they were explaining to mum all about a game they had invented with their new friends at school.

"Mum, are you even listening?" Harika, the one older by a few minutes berated mum who had taken Burak out of the cradle and was now feeding him with half-closed eyes. She looked ready to fall asleep in her chair. If only Burak would go to sleep, maybe she could catch a few winks next to her husband once the twins had left for school.

"Of course, I am. That sounds like a lot of fun, darling." She looked at Harika and Neylan, her dear daughters they nearly lost at birth.

The story of their miraculous survival was one of the twin's favourite stories. They had been born early, and the doctors had not expected them to live. But mum and dad had never given up hope and named their daughters Neylan - a wish fulfilled and Harika - a miracle. And true to their names, the twins had proved the doctors wrong and over the years had grown into strong and healthy girls.

"And now, my darlings, it is time you hurried off to school to have all that fun." She finished feeding Burak and set him back in his cradle. There was a content smile on his lips and he fought to keep his eyes open. "That's it. You go to sleep now."

She set the cradle into motion before ushering her daughters to the door. She gave each of them a kiss on the forehead.

"Love you lots," she said, opening the front door for them.

"We love you more," the girls replied in unison as always, and skipped down the stairs. As the sound of their feet on the concrete steps faded, mum closed the door. She checked on Burak and, finding him asleep, she picked him up in his cradle and left the kitchen to crawl into the bed next to her husband. A perfect calm descended in the home disturbed only by the faint murmur of the traffic from the main road a few blocks away, the tweet of the birds in the tree outside, and the steady tick-tock of the wall clock.

The rest of the day carried on like most of the days in the tiny flat since the Demir family had moved in. Dad slept until the early afternoon, having only made it to bed shortly before sunrise. Mum, after waking up from a much-needed nap, went between feeding the baby and pottering about in her daily tasks. To her credit, she had made the flat very homely by covering the dreary walls with colourful fabrics they had brought with them. Her herb garden, which she nursed every day brought a hint of the outdoors into their flat.

At 3:30, their front door flew open and the twins burst through the door. They were delighted to see their dad had not yet left for work and roped him into their games until he had to leave. With everyone at home, the place was filled with joyous love and the twin's laughter as dad pretended to be a ferocious lion.

But all too soon, dad was gone to work, and the girls settled down for their homework and dinner. At bedtime, they begged, as usual, to stay up later.

"What do you think my answer is going to be?" mum asked. "Am I likely to say yes?"

"No, but..." Harika began.

"Maybe just this once." Neylan finished her sentences.

Both girls looked at her with such puppy eyes that she had to laugh.

"Not this once and not tomorrow either," she said, holding the curtain aside while the girls crawled into their bed, which was really nothing more than a mattress on the floor. They lay down facing each other and holding hands. As long as mum could remember, they had slept like that. Inseparable they were. She sometimes wondered what would happen as they grew older and took an interest in boys. She watched the girls, thankful that those times were still several years ahead of them. For now, their life was simple.

She was distracted by Burak stirring in his cradle. Sighing, she let the curtain go. She had a feeling this was going to be another long night. Little did she know how right she was.

I felt it before the family did. At first, it was a low rumble. Unfamiliar and frightening. I felt it deep in my bones. I knew something was wrong and wished I could alert the family that lay in their beds. Even Burak, for once, was fast asleep next to his mother.

The rumble game again, stronger, shaking the floor and rattling the washing left in the sink. Then it started. I felt pulled apart from every direction as the mum, Burak, and the twins woke up with a start. Before they could react, the forces ripped through me and rubble and dust rained on the family.

Eventually, all fell silent. Too silent. There was not a sound around me as I lay in a thousand pieces. Even the birds had been shocked into silence.

The first sound I heard was Burak's miserable cry. I was amazed anything could have survived the shock. Earthquake, I believe they called it. All around us were ruins of homes. My pieces mingled with those from other homes. Here and there, a dazed person in their pyjamas wandered over the rubble, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Then everything erupted. The air was filled with screams and sobbing as those who had not been buried under the collapsed buildings frantically searched the ruins for family members and friends. Sometimes there were tears of relief as they discovered a loved one. But mostly, the air was thick with grief.

Burak's cries drew my attention from the scene all around me. Had the others survived? I wondered as Burak's cries got louder and angrier. Poor baby could not understand why no one responded to his cries with a soothing whisper or a gentle touch.

I don't know how long had passed since the tremors had subsided when dad arrived. It seemed like a fraction of a second, but part of me felt I had been drenched in the surrounding sorrow and fear for eternity. Dad was limping, and he had a nasty cut on his forehead, but otherwise, he seemed ok. At least he was alive. At least Burak would have a father.

"Leyla!" he shouted. There was no answer. "Neylan! Harika!"

He stopped and listened, desperate to hear them reply. Then he heard it. Burak's scream. He rushed to where the scream had come from and began clearing the rubble, shouting to others near to him for help. Soon, there were several hands throwing my broken pieces out of the way. Before too long, they had made an opening big enough to pull out Burak. His father cradled him in his arms as the others continued to clear the rubble until they could get to his wife.

"She's alive," one of the men who had come to help shouted and with the utmost care they pulled her out. She was bleeding and pale and her lower left leg was twisted at a strange angle, but she was alive.

Beneath my broken pieces, I felt the twins move just as dad handed Burak to a woman she recognised from the grocery store. Reluctant as he was to let his son out of his sight, he still had to find the girls.

He'd only just started shifting the rubble where he estimated the girls' mattress should be when the ground shook again. Not quite as strong, but still powerful enough to tear through the structures that still remained standing. More dust and rubble rained on us until everything became eerily still again.

But only for the briefest moment. It was only when dad screamed that I realised I was now buried at least two feet under fresh rubble. The rear wall, which had somehow remained upright after the first earthquake had now collapsed. It now lay on top of me and the twins.

I heard rather than saw people restraining their dad, saying he had to go to the hospital. Something had hit him during the tremors and he was now bleeding heavily. He was still arguing with the others when he lost consciousness and was carried away.

Underneath my rubble, a tiny hand moved. It squeezed the other hand and waited. It trembled as it felt it squeeze back.

"Harika," a faint whisper.

"Yes, Neylan," another voice whispered back.

"Do you think they know we are here? Do you think they know we are still alive?"

"I'm sure mum and dad will come. Let's tell each other stories until they do."

In the hours and days that followed, the voices grew fainter. Sometimes they went quiet and I prayed I would hear them again. Each time I feared I wouldn't. Many times I gave up hope until I'd hear them again.

They had been buried under me for nearly three days when they were finally rescued. Weak, but still alive and holding hands, they were reunited with their parents and Burak. Neylan and Harika, once again living up to their names.

- - -

This story was inspired by some of the miraculous rescues in Turkey and Syria. In a disaster that has cost so many lives, every life saved is a miracle.