Authors: Eboni Snoe
‘ ‘But surely you know, Faruuk, that Na’im is in a day’s solitude, as it has always been during the hours before Awya.”
Faruuk mumbled, “This is true,” glancing at a disgruntled Waheedah.
“I understand the research project will be over by the end of the week,” Yasmin added in consolation, “so whatever discomfort your family might feel now will be short-lived. Are you otherwise pleased with your living quarters?”
“We have not seen them. But one of my servants informed me that my bedroom is much smaller than I am accustomed to. I hope I will not become claustrophobic.”
This time even Waheedah’s parents looked a little embarrassed over her attitude.
“We hope that will not happen.” The sheik’s nerves were frayed to the end. He was not feeling well at all after this exchange, and was glad when the Faruuks decided to take their meals in their rooms and rest for the remainder of the evening.
No sooner had the Faruuks departed than a visually- distraught Fatimah appeared under the entrance arch. Her hands were clenching and unclenching the sides of the skirt to her pagnes.
“There is something dreadfully wrong with Kareem, Rahman. He’s highly excitable and he says he will not eat a thing until you come to him. I know he is nothing more than a worker’s child, but he has already had such a bad time. Aisha says his body cannot stand any more strain. Do you think you can find the time to see him for a few moments?”
"Nonsense. You know Kareem is more than a worker’s child. He is like a member of the family. Tell him I will be in to see him directly.’ ’
A sigh of relief escaped Fatimah’s lips as she turned back into the hallway.
“Fatimah,” the sheik’s voice halted her in mid step, “who is this Aisha?”
“Felicia told us about her. She is a very wise woman. Very powerful. I do believe had it not been for her, Kareem would not be alive today.”
“Very well, I am on my way.”
‘ ‘I will come with you, my husband.’ ’
A wide-eyed Kareem with flushed cheeks greeted Sheik Rahman and Yasmin. Aisha, whose chair had been moved further into a corner of the room, nodded her head respectfully as they entered.
“You are Aisha.” It was more a statement from the sheik than a question.
“I am.”
‘ ‘We are grateful for what you have done for Kareem.’ ’ ‘ ‘It was Kareem who decided to stay here with us. His will is very much one with ‘The One’.
Yasmin’s eyes lit up with understanding as she lis
tened to Aisha speak.
“So you are also a believer in ‘The One’, my child?” Aisha asked, looking at Yasmin.
“For as long as I can remember, I have been.”
“My mother is a believer in ‘The One’.” Kareem’s large eyes looked down at his hands folded in front of him.
“She was,” Yasmin echoed, “but how do you know that Kareem?”
“She
tell me so. And she tell me other things too.” The sheik and Yasmin looked from the boy to Aisha,
not
knowing what to make of such strange comments from such a young child.
“Kareem has had a very spiritual experience. I was with him, and he speaks the truth.”
Kareem felt more confident as he heard Aisha confirm his statement.
‘ ‘She tell me I can help Sheik Rahman. I am the only one. She
say you very sick and I am one who have what you need. She tell me you do not know this and I must tell you. She say it very important.”
Sweat broke out on the sheik’s brow as he realized what Kareem was saying. Yasmin stood as still as stone. They had told no one of the sheik’s illness but Na'im. There was no way Kareem could have known.
Kareem’s unnatural message from his deceased mother also revealed that Kareem was the sheik’s son and Na’im’s brother.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Only once in his lifetime had Na’im heard the repeti
tious clanging of cymbals signaling the beginning of Awya.
He was only five years old the first time, and the cymbals that rang out from the village woke him out of his sleep. His mother had come to his room and explained the custom of the continuous cymbals.
Twelve sets of cymbals were strategically placed throughout the town in households with women of marrying age, but who were not wed. At the appointed hour, one cymbal after another would be struck in succession, symbolizing the protest of all women against men who did not honor a prearranged marriage in a timely manner.
As a child, he’d thought the festival was one of the most exciting days of his life, with the strange customs and the dancing and singing. The entire village seemed to participate with an air of expectancy. He also remembered his disappointment at being sent to bed before the main event began.
He’d heard many stories since then about the Awya. The men spoke of it with apprehension, while the women
considered
it a just means to an end-matrimony.
His mind reflected on Hambir (Hahm-beer), the eldest village councilman, who was chosen to prepare him for solitude. Normally it would have been his father. Sheik Rahman, administering the rights, but because he was the sheik’s son, the duty was passed down the line of authority.
First he was instructed to dress in a plain black galabia. After that, he was escorted to the village masjid. The Imam led him to the back of the large structure, where they climbed two sets of stairs before approaching a heavy wooden door with a si2«able lock.
Behind them several villagers carried various objects, including a large trunk decorated with intricate carvings. No women were allowed to accompany the group, because a man who was facing Awya could not behold a female for twenty-four hours prior to the ceremony.
Na’im could tell the door had not been opened for quite a long time. It took great effort for the Imam and Hambir, who were both elderly, to force it open because of its rusted hinges.
After the villagers had put down the articles they carried, they left with the Imam, leaving Na’im alone with Hambir.
Hambir was dressed in a red ceremonial galabia. The ends of his headpiece touched his waistline. It was held snugly on his head by a braided cord of black, gold and red.
Hambir removed a large key from the folds of the clothing he wore. Kneeling on both knees, he bent forward placing his forehead on the top of the trunk. Then he opened it
In silence, he removed a tiny tasseled cushion, a burgundy book with gold-trimmed pages, an exotic oil lamp carved with numerous poses of nude women, whose
base
was pure gold, and a package neatly sealed in a square cloth.
Turning to Na’im after placing the cushion under his knees, Hambir opened the book to a page pre-chosen by a silk bookmark.
‘ ‘Kneel directly in front of me, Na’im Raoul Rahman.”
Na’im did as he was told.
Hambir began to recite. ‘ ‘This passage is not for the ears of those with peace of mind. If you are the one chosen to hear this passage or any other, reply Awya.”
“Tonight’s vigil and tomorrow should not be looked upon as punishment, but as an aid to one who has shown not the ability to honor the decision of his sire.’ ’ Hambir waited for Na’im’s reply.
“Awya.”
‘ ‘The black you wear symbolizes the darkness that clouds your mind, inhibiting you from taking Waheedah Faruuk as your wife. As you clean this room with what has been provided for you, you will also wash away the confusion that now blankets your mind.”
“awya.”
“Only after you have completed your task will you bathe your body and don the purple ceremonial robe. The purple will help magnify your ability to look inward, so that you can know your true mind.’ ’
On and on Hambir read, until he replaced the bookmark at the place where he had begun more than thirty minutes earlier. Once he was done, he did not speak again, nor did he look at Na’im. Hambir replaced the book inside the trunk and closed the lid.
Next he unwrapped the white parcel. It contained one purple and one gold ceremonial gown, along with a mask and a golden chalice. He laid them all out on top of the trunk. Picking up the lamp, he placed it on a stone-carved table. Then he left, without a second glance.
It had taken Na’im over an hour to clean the dust-filled room. The blanket on the makeshift bed was covered with it and so was the furniture.
Na’im used a wooden chair to climb up to the high windows in order to open them. The more he cleaned, the more the dust filled the air, until it was hard for him to breathe. He could hear the cymbals through the open windows.
He thought how different Karib was from Van Nuys, California, where he’d stayed for a short time while in the United States. The mystery of the Awya would be lost there. Karib had no air conditioners, so the villagers’ windows were constantly open, covered only by mosquito net to keep the pests outside of their homes. There would be no way to hear the cymbals in Van Nuys.
Na’im knew it was after midnight. Midnight was the appointed hour the cymbals began.
Hambir had told him during the ‘ ‘opening of the mind’ ’ that pita bread and the drink of Ya Natir, The One Who Waits, would be brought to him and left outside the door. He waited, listening for the approach of footsteps outside the door for an indeterminable time. He never heard the footsteps. The door was probably too heavy for that. Finally, he heard a rapid chain of knocks and the key turning in the lock. The great door opened wide enough for a tray to be pushed inside, and then it was closed.
Na’im sat on the bed with his back against the wall. He had not eaten since the day before. That, too, was preparation for the ceremony later that evening. His father had told him to eat well. It would be his last full meal before the ceremony.
Na’im could see the new moon through the arch shaped window as he chewed pensively on the bread and drank the poignant liquid.
Hambir had read that Ya Natir contained many pow
erful ingredients, including “the sacred man root.”
“It will be brought to you three times before the ceremony. Through it, the torture of the body will become one with the confusion of the mind. No man can drink of Ya Natir without evolution.”
As Na’im drank, he thought of his roots, his people. There was a part of him that had wanted to rebel against this antiquated means Waheedah had chosen to force him into making a decision. But Na’im was a true Karibian, one who respected his ancestors and their wisdom. He could not suddenly refuse their ways. Change would come among his people. But it would be subtle and in a way that everyone could accept.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A groan broke from Felicia’s lips as she straightened her back. Circling her head around in yogic fashion, she tried to release the tightness in her neck and shoulders.
Fatimah’s nimble fingers continued to work, sewing bead after bead onto the iridescent material.
The two young women had talked for a brief moment before dinner. Both had wracked their brains about the perfect dance costume for Felicia to wear. Looking in her closet, Felicia’s frustration mounted. There was nothing she could do to alter any of the clothes she saw there. None of the material conveyed the image she wanted to project, so her resources were limited.
Later, when Fatimah had returned to Felicia’s room, she was as fidgety as a child. Then she told Felicia she had something to show her. Taking one of the oil lamps, Fatimah led Felicia outside the house, only to reenter the east wing entrance-the exclusive wing of Sheik Rahman and Yasmin.
Apprehension rose inside Felicia as they entered the hallway and scampered into the second door to their right. A small lamp barely illuminated the large room, casting frightful shadows.
Felicia hesitated at the doorway, but soon followed Fatimah, who was feeling for something behind a heavy set of curtains. Then a tiny click resounded throughout the room. Fatimah had located the door she was looking for. After unlocking it, the two women stepped inside onto a stairway platform. They began to descend the stairs with caution.
“There is another way to come here, but the entrance is far out inside the stables. It is very busy there now. Some of the animals will be used during Awya.”
“Where are we, in the basement or cellar?”
“It is actually a large tunnel. Na’im’s grandfather built the estate. There was much unrest during that time. Many were seeking power. He built it in case his family needed to escape. At the time, there was no wall surrounding the grounds. Once they reached the stables, there was a good chance of getting away.’ ’
“How did you find out about it?”
“While playing in the stable, Na’im and I found the trapdoor. We called it our passage to the underworld. We used to play here quite often until we were caught and forbidden to come here.”
The humidity in the tunnel was heavy; nothing like the air above ground. Felicia had always pictured underground tunnels with rats and bugs of all sorts. Up to the moment, she had not seen any here.