Dear Reader,

I'm sorry it has taken me SOOOO very long to update this story. I hope you all are still reading this story. I can tell you that I am hoping on updating this story again soon. Sorry again for the wait. But do be happy, for this chapter is substantially long.

I would also like to give credit to Gibran Khalil Gibran, for his song Song of the Soul, which is a modern Arabic song, but still fitting to this chapter (even if it isn't from the time period.)

-LunarLitLover

Recap: Yasmine was hurt in the market place but has been taken in by Ali; she is healing, but slowly due to the severity of her injuries. Nazihah has turned in Yasmine's letter to the Sultan and has been taken by Ja'far for questioning about Yasmine's whereabouts (aka, she will be tortured.)

Preview for next time: Examine the yields of Ja'far's interrogation and Nazihah's new position

Chapter 7: Ali al Din

Swallowing and Singing

I held back the worn curtain over the entry way and saw that Fatima was awake. I entered the room, bringing with me food from the market. It had been early morning when I'd left to get her breakfast, and she'd been sleeping soundly, yet delicately due to her injuries.

I'd hurried back as quickly as possible, but Fatima was already awake. And not only was she awake, but she'd actually managed to sit up on her own.

As I made my way over to her, a bundle of food in my hand, her large eyes, which had widened when I'd entered, shrunk back to their normal size. Then she smiled warmly.

I couldn't help but smile back.

However, Fatima's smile faded from her face. It was replaced by a puzzled look and a tilt of the head. She was confused by my actions.

Only then did I realize that I'd been simply standing and staring at her. Embarrassed, I quickly began to speak, "Well, I got you some food…I know that you can finally handle solid food…it's good that your ribs are healed enough to swallow…so I brought you some warm vegetables to put inside your khubz bread…I hurried through the market place as fast as I could…I hope they're still warm."

Fatima's brown eyes melted into a sea of dark, rich qahweh coffee. She was touched by the kind gesture.

I handed her the whole of the meal and sat down opposite her as she constructed her food.

Upon biting into it, Fatima sighed with delight. "Oh, Ali, shukran, shukran, thank you, thank you! It's delicious! The best food I've ever had!" She took another gigantic bite.

"Well, that's only because you haven't tasted real food in so long," I replied.

She didn't reply, but instead gnawed away insatiably on her meal.

I, feeling unoccupied, tried to find something to do. I looked into the corner and saw my oud, my old instrument. Then an idea came into my head, as a goat comes to grass.

"Fatima, would you like to hear a song?" I asked her, although I was confident in what her answer would be.

In her hasty eating, I had caught her by surprise. Fatima looked up from the meal in a guilty manner. Her mouth was nearly overflowing with food, yet she attempted to respond.

"Oh, I voould 'ove tooo!" she managed to say through a stuffed mouth.

I tried to keep my face neutral and devoid of emotion, but I couldn't manage it. It was so strange to see Fatima, usually proper and polite, talking enthusiastically with her mouth full. She looked so funny, and I burst out laughing.

By now, Fatima had both swallowed and realized her mistake. She too grinned, although she also reached out to shove me. "It's not that funny!" she argued.

However, as she reached out to push me, she reached too far and had moved her still-broken ribs too much. Fatima grabbed them and doubled over in pain, dropping the few remnants of her meal in the process.

I quickly grabbed her from behind and steadied her to prevent a further collapse. Gently, I reached my arms around her stomach and leaned her body back against my chest. We stayed like that, her in my arms, until the pain had passed.

(That evening)

"Masah al-Khair, Ali. Good evening."

"Marhaha, Ayska, Admin, hello," I greeted the couple at my doorstep.

I drew the worn curtain back from the entryway to allow my neighbors in. Ayska bounded in without restraint, heading immediately to Fatima's side.

Ayska, who'd been my neighbor from across the street for years, asked Fatima, "So how's the patient today?"

Fatima, still covered in patches to heal her bones, responded, "Well Ayska, my condition's improving so rapidly…today I sat up on my own…It was exciting! But then I pushed myself too far; Ali helped me though." She flashed me a small grin from the opposite side of the room.

At that my insides jumped. Fatima was such a beautiful woman, and her smile made her more so.

Fatima continued to tell her caretaker and new friend about her improving conditions. She truly had improved rapidly, despite her painful relapse this morning. In the short month and a half since she'd been injured, Fatima had gone from an unconscious state to sitting and eating substantial food on her own. At first, this hadn't seemed like much progress to me, but Ayska, always the nurse, explained what improvements these really were considering Fatima's excessive injuries.

Fatima had continued to talk about her new-found ability to swallow substantial food. She hadn't been able to before now, due to her broken ribs and the pressure on them. "And, Ayska," she said, "I filled my khubz flat bread with vegetables today and was able to eat it. You have no idea how wonderful it was to be eating real food again…and Ali made a special point of getting warm vegetables for me to eat…"

I decided to let the women continue their conversation in peace. I, instead, turned to my best friends, Admin, to strike conversation. I, however, caught him fondly, lovingly watching the women in the corner. I knew from experience that he was savoring Ayska's every smile and animated gesture, taking them all in with appreciation.

"Oh, Admin!" I said. "When will you just marry her!"

He snapped out of the chance at my abrupt statement. "Well…"

"You and Ayska have been together so long, having everything in marriage except the contract! When will you stop being blasphemous to Allah and marry her!"

"Now, wait a-"

"Admin, you know that neither of you would ever marry anyone else. Neither of you would survive without the other." With that, I rested my case.

Admin sighed. "What you say is true, Ali," he admitted. "I do, however, know we will be marrying soon. We have not actually discussed it, but we both know it will not be long."

"You two do things so unconventionally," I noted. It was custom in Arabia for an arranged marriage to take place, and if it wasn't arranged, at least the family was asked for permission.

"We do. But would you expect anything different?" Admin responded. "You live in a neighborhood for misfits and outcasts. Everyone here defies society in one way or another."

"That is why I chose to live here," I said, recalling. "I wanted the creativity, the originality, the variety and the acceptance."

"As did we all," Admin agreed. "Come now," he said, changing the subject. "Let's attempt to be accepted by the ladies."

As we approached Ayska and Fatima, I had an idea. "Would you like to hear the song I promised you earlier, Fatima?"

"I'd love to," she responded without hesitation.

"As would I, thank you for asking," Ayska interjected boldly and sarcastically.

Retrieving my oud, I showed the pear-shaped wooden instrument with six paired strings to Fatima, for my old friends had seen it on numerous occasions.

"It was built by my mother's father and given to her in her dowry. My grandfather did an excellent job crafting it. It has become my pride and joy." I sat down near the others, ready to play. "I shall play a version of Song of the Soul." I strummed on the strings and began to sing:


In the depth of my soul there is
A wordless song - a song that lives
In the seed of my heart.
It refuses to melt with ink on
Parchment; it engulfs my affection
In a transparent cloak and flows,
But not upon my lips.

How can I sigh it? I fear it may
Mingle with earthly ether;
To whom shall I sing it? It dwells
In the house of my soul, in fear of
Harsh ears.

When I look into my inner eyes
I see the shadow of its shadow;
When I touch my fingertips
I feel its vibrations.

The deeds of my hands heed its
Presence as a lake must reflect
The glittering stars; my tears
Reveal it, as bright drops of dew
Reveal the secret of a withering rose.

It is a song composed by contemplation,
And published by silence,
And shunned by clamor,
And folded by truth,
And repeated by dreams,
And understood by love,
And hidden by awakening,
And sung by the soul.

It is the song of love;
What Cain or Esau could sing it?

It is more fragrant than jasmine;
What voice could enslave it?

It is heart bound, as a virgin's secret;
What string could quiver it?

Who dares unite the roar of the sea
And the singing of the nightingale?
Who dares compare the shrieking tempest
To the sigh of an infant?
Who dares speak aloud the words
Intended for the heart to speak?
What human dares sing in voice
The song of God?

I finished with a soft note. The small crowd erupted in applause. But no one cheered louder than Fatima.