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Souls of the Night – Vol3.3
66.
and suddenly we were in a small cramped hut - more precisely, I recognized the inside of my parents' garden shed, which hadn't changed much in ... well, 20 years because it was my parents' garden shed. The imagined pain in my feet had turned into a dull ache and I straightened up with Lexington's help. And between the junk and the lawnmower, Uncle Murshid was crouching with little Nathaniel in his arms.
He put the same ointment on his feet that he had just used to put Jasmine to sleep and I felt the cold and his gentle touch on my gargoyle paws, just as my seven-year-old counterpart must feel it on his tiny feet. This child - the one of my renewed memory was sobbing quietly.
"It hurts," he sniffled.
"It's just in your head, look, your feet are okay," Murshid said gently, pulling out a handkerchief and holding it to his nose.
The little boy's eyes flew to his feet for just a moment. He had lost his shoes and his trouser legs were scorched black up to his knees.
"It was hot, the floor was on fire," the child insisted before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing his nose into the handkerchief. He blew into it as children do and the snot that ran down the lower part of his face was wiped away by Murshid.
"It wasn't the ground that burned, it was your feet. If you decide it doesn't hurt, the fire can't hurt you."
"I was on fire?" The child blinked, puzzled. But accepted the facts that the adult told him as if there were no scientific or physical (or magical) questions about it.
"Has this ever happened before?" the adult asked.
The boy shook his head and Uncle Murshid seemed to think about it, before huffing and laughing softly and shaking his head in a way that made you realize he was actually shaking his head at himself.
"Little Djinn... you have no idea what it meant to me that you burned today of all days and near me. I've finally reached my destiny. You have been chosen. At last they walk the earth again in a united host. Among all your kin, you are the answer to an ancient question. Oh Nasser ...', he mumbled emotionally from under his beard after a few moments and something tensed up inside me for a moment. Jussuf called me Nasser all the time and that pet name therefore had a bad ring to it for me. But the way Mushid said it ... In this mixture of awe and - and love ...
"Why are you crying?" the child asked, raising his hand and stroking Mursid's beard, which was now not only damp from the rain outside but also had fresh tears rolling down its thicket. The adult smiled so broadly that it had to hurt. I was overwhelmed, and not in a good way. Even as an avatar in my memories, even as a gargoyle, even though I could half make sense of what he was babbling, I felt lost and robbed of what little knowledge I thought I was sure of. And my younger self? He didn't understand anything here. All children were always left feeling a little helpless and insecure when they saw adults - especially men - crying. I sensed these emotions in my younger self as he tried to wipe the traces of these raw feelings from the adult's face, who laughed more heartily.
"I'm crying with happiness," he stated.
"Happy about what?"
The adult lifted the boy slightly and hugged him so tightly that I felt the pressure on my mature ribs. "About you. That I've found you. Them in you. You don't have to be afraid. You have been given a great gift. Very few mortals will rise to the heights you will reach. At last - at last I see you. Do you hear me, I see you!" he whispered almost silently and barely audibly under the pouring rain outside, looking into the child's wide eyes as if he could see thru and beyond.
Lexington next to me shuddered and his face showed discomfort, as did that of young Nathaniel, who shifted uncomfortably in Murshid's lap. "But ... we saw each other in the house earlier."
"But now it's different. Now I know you're the one I've been looking for all these years. All these centuries."
"Centuries?"
"But I must have been wrong," the adult babbled on excitedly and hurriedly in his disconcertingly good English. "Tell me ... Have strange things happened to you before? Things you couldn't explain?"
"How- how what?"
"Things you saw that no one else saw. Or-"
"Like the monsters all over Manhattan. And the black stuff?"
Mursid sucked in the air.
"Since before tonight? Like a creature made of swirling smoke?"
"The black thing always comes when I'm feeling unhappy. It's small and if I don't distract myself it gets bigger and bigger until it looks like a child - like me with no face and all black and umm - smoky?" the child admitted shakily as if talking about a bad dream for which he would be reprimanded. I slowly lowered myself onto some packets of grass seed. The dark, wafting figure had been with me for so long, but I hadn't believed that it had apparently ALWAYS been with me. I had thought it was the embodiment of my depression for so long before I realized that it was probably Fiery (my fire demon). But if a - a shadow of Fiery had already been haunting me long before that night shortly after Jasmin's birth- what did that mean? WHAT did all this mean?
Murshid was still eyeing the boy Nathaniel intently and out of shame or awkwardness, my younger self avoided eye contact just as I would have done as an adult. But Uncle Murshid didn't judge him and this was perhaps the first time the child had a positive experience. He rubbed the child's back and cuddled him consolingly.
"It's okay. It's okay. The being doesn't want to hurt you. It's a part of you. It must ... just sent echoes ahead." The adult laughed again in barely contained mirth and rocked the boy from side to side so that the child stiffened in his arms. "We have found each other again. Tonight makes up for the wasted centuries. All that time. I assumed they jump into people when they're born - like they used to. Everyone in the family has ... that spark of magic. The right frequency, the right vibration. Oh, they used to make sure that they would always have opportunities to jump. But it was never about their options, it was always about fate. Which led to you and only you, young Nasser! The time stream is unchanging, we just jump from one plane to another. It happens as it has to happen and that's why it had to be YOU. No wonder I never recognized it before it entered you. You had that spark too but it was ... like a drop of oil in an ocean full of water. And now? Now you ARE the ocean - although that's probably not a good comparison considering the nature of our ancestors in you. But they must have been taken out of the cycle of becoming and passing away. Oh, the malice of the usurper knows no bounds. But now you are complete. Now they are reunited in one body. In yours. I should have sensed it, even before her reappearance - you had something so ... otherworldly about you."
The child just looked at him. Long, long moments in which he perhaps expected the adult to provide answers that were understandable. Damn it - I was waiting for understandable answers. Adults were supposed to be the ones with the answers! That was their job! But Murshid just laughed softly, setting the boy back on his feet but keeping him close, stroking both of Nathaniel's cheeks, reassuring him how happy he was. It was so obvious that a huge chunk of rock had fallen from Uncle Murshid's heart - by the fact that, what?- this was obviously the day Whisp and Fiery had crashed into me? But should I have had traces of that energy before? So it was ... not just in my DNA (because Murshid had long kept a record of all the children in the family, no matter how scattered) but ... my destiny to be their host? Some pieces of the puzzle fell into place and at the same time I discovered parts of the puzzle where nothing was in place.
Lex leaned against the edge of the workshop table, arms folded and frowning just as deeply in thought as he tried to make sense of everything here with his brilliant mind. He looked at me as I sighed loudly.
"I just don't get it. I- we're here and Murshid... I want to ask him SO many questions but I can't. He was looking for me? Not me, but rather for the host of these beings? For what?"
"He was obviously immortal. If he called the entities in you family- and sought them all this time- then he must be either a powerful magic user or well- a child of Oberon."
"But he was talking about a usurper. Didn't he mean Oberon? Was he looking for these beings, that they ... start another rebellion against him?" I whispered. Lexington shrugged his shoulders.
"It would fit the story Alex told us. Murshid would be a devotee of these ... insurgents."
"So one of the bad guys?" I asked unhappily, rubbing my neck. It was suddenly so stuffy in here. I knew I wasn't really physically here, but I suddenly felt like I could claw open the walls. My friend put an arm around my shoulders. "Breathe easy, Nate. You know you can't make this distinction between light and dark, good and evil - it's not that simple, it never is. And just because you forgot everything here doesn't mean he betrayed you. Do you regret being here? Learning things about your uncle that you'd forgotten?" he asked.
I shook my head, watching Murshid cradle my younger, clearly totally distraught self in a completely asexual way but in such a manner that there was no doubt that he was full of love and happiness that he could barely contain himself so as not to overwhelm the child even more.
"I ... think ... it didn't matter whether Uncle Murshid loved me as a person or whether he loved Whisp and Fiery in me," I said. And I meant it even when the tears stung my eyes. The important thing was that I had someone who was there for me, who made me feel good, a safe haven, even if only for a few years.
The child - obviously tired of waiting for answers - pressed a hand to the adult cuddling him.
"I don't understand all this, mister. Thanks ... for the feet quenching and ... the cool story? But ... why are you happy?"
"Because I'm not alone anymore. I was alone for far too long, I was cursed to stagnate for far too long. But now - I can feel the energy swirling inside you. In here." He placed a hand on the boy's chest. "Inside you ... there are great powers at work. They are still small like a seed. But they will grow - I will help you let them grow until they are so powerful that you can turn the world upside down but without the traitors and lickspittles noticing us. I've learned quite a few tricks over the centuries. I'll explain everything to you bit by bit, don't worry. And please, call me Uncle Murshid. The uncle thing is an extreme distortion of the truth - but I think it will get us through the next few years," chuckled the man who looked like he was in his fifties.
"So... you're... centuries old, uncle? How does that work?"
"A curse. A blessing. Depending on the interpretation, my dearest djinn. But not important right now."
"And that's not a fib? Are you older than our imam's mother, because she's really very old, she only speaks old Arabic that sounds like pebbles clicking together?"
"MUCH older than her. Much older than the declaration of independence of this country, older than most of the monuments in old world Europe, older than the last dragon and the spell that made these creatures fall into oblivion," Murshid boasted with obvious pleasure at the child's mouth opening wider and wider and even Lex next to me laughed.
"There were dragons?!" I asked at the same time as the child shouted the same thing.
"Just one of the many things I can teach you."
"Now! Tell me about the dragons now!" demanded my younger self with puppy eyes I didn't even know I could make as a child and yes- I understood him- friggin dragons! I really wanted to know more even though the adult part of my head knew that the kid should be asking Murshid a hundred more important questions.
My "uncle" put his big hands on the shoulders of young Nathaniel, who was literally fidgeting with excitement, and looked him in the eye with a smile.
"Other stories have priority. Like the one we tell your parents," Murshid said with that conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes, which triggered a new memory in me.
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My mom's (the younger version with hair and derriere) eyes nearly popped out of her head when Murshid walked in with Nathaniel in his arms. The kid's pants were rolled up to his knees so you couldn't see the burn marks but he had no shoes on, was wet, dirty, looking teary and disheveled and Murshid hurriedly set little Nathaniel on his feet so it didn't quite have that "strange uncle abducted small boy" vibe. Baz sitting on the table quickly apologized to some "sir" on the phone who I assumed was someone from police headquarters who he had just been about to tell that his child had disappeared. The garden and the house were bare of all relatives because although the rain had been torrential and short-lived, it had broken up the party and probably only then had my parents realized that someone (their first-born) was missing. I myself - grown up and Gargoyle - stumbled forward as Hila grabbed my younger version by both arms and shook him.
"Where have you been! We almost died of fear," she exclaimed and other things in Arabic that were also typical reproachful mother's utterances. The child stared at her with big wet eyes, looking for help at Murshid, who sounded very serious.
"Sister Hila. Please don't get upset. Everything is fine. The heavy thunder and rain scared him. I found him in the garden shed."
"What?" snapped back Hila, pushing her child towards his father for him to deal with and getting in Murshid's face.
"YOU found my child in the shed?"
"Yes. I calmed him down for a few minutes. He didn't want to go out again until the rain stopped," Murshid said with a poker face and a steely gaze while Hila eyed him like a snake eyes a mouse, waiting for him to take one wrong breath.
"Man, even I wouldn't believe him," Lexington muttered next to me and I sighed.
I had to admit. My mother's distrust now seemed understandable with my adult perspective. Her child had been alone with a stranger for minutes and now his shoes were missing - everything was wrong here, had somehow ... as scary as it was to admit it to myself, child molester connotations.
"And you didn't think for a second about getting one of us? Where are his shoes?"
"Remains of them were probably washed away," Murshid said dryly and winked at my younger self, who giggled softly but immediately shut up and lowered his gaze at the glare of our mother.
Hila looked at her husband with a snort of rage in the international "stand by me and say something!" attitude of many wives. Baz came from the dining table into the living room next to her with the seven-year-old on his hip.
"We're his parents. If he's scared, you should have come for us! We almost put the police and all the neighbors on alert!" Hila insisted.
I couldn't help but giggle at Murshid's grumbling eye roll, although this situation was serious, I found it delightful how stoically and imperturbably calm he took my ever exuberant bossy mother. Then again, if he was immortal, he must have had a few brushes with overbearing Muslim women. Because if you thought all Muslim women were bludgeoned, coy, veiled damsels, you were sorely mistaken. You had to watch out for angry Muslim men. You had to flee out of town and country from angry Muslim women.
"Unfortunate exigency. He didn't want me to go. My priority was his comfort, not yours," Murshid said tartly and Hila gasped, snapping her mouth open to say something almost certainly very insulting in a language that was far more colorful in these matters than she was given credit for. But Baz put his free hand on her shoulder and raised his own calm, deep voice.
"Thank you for succoring our son. I'm sure it was a conflict of conscience."
"Less than you think, Brother Baz."
He turned to his son.
"You're all right Nathaniel? Murshid took good care of you?" My younger self was wide-eyed, looking from our benign, mild-mannered father to our mother, who for the first time in years was halfway sympathetic to me because she would fight for ME if her child gave her the slightest reason to. Something that really gave me hope for Hassan. But when the boy's eyes finally fell on Murshid and he grinned broadly, it was impossible to keep insisting that the strange uncle had done something naughty or otherwise sexual with the boy.
"Uncle Murshid looked after me. The rain was so bad and I'm sorry you were worried. But he really looked after me. We're friends now."
"And your shoes?" his father asked, much more gently checking for irregularities in the story than Hila.
The child bit his lower lip and looked down. "The other boys took them from me and threw them somewhere," the child admitted quietly. "They pushed me too, they ruined Jasmin's doll too," he whispered.
Hila huffed in displeasure, turned to the crib where the baby had just started to whine and picked Jasmin up. She kept her back to the men, visibly angry, though I, and probably she herself, didn't know if she was angry because of Murshid's disrespectful attitude towards her, that her child allied with him and gave her no reason to kick his ass out, or because her husband was playing the good host instead of fulfilling his Allah-given male role and explaining to Murshid how things were done in the Sharif house.
"Nathaniel. Go up to your room, change out of your wet clothes and into your pajamas. I'll be right up and check," she said coolly as she made the baby bounce a bit and struggled to keep her composure and control under her roof.
Baz put his older child down, patted him on the head and the boy disappeared, but not before thanking Murshid and wishing him goodnight. Both his father and the non-related uncle smiled as the child scampered upstairs. Everyone waited a few more seconds before a door slammed shut there.
"You must be cold, Murshid. Would you like some tea?" Baz asked, sitting down on the couch.
"A quick tea before I go, I'd love one," he mumbled as he settled down next to the master of the house and an apologetic look from Baz made his still grumpy wife take up her duties and disappear into the kitchen with the baby to fetch said tea for the men. Even as "modern" Muslims - my family had never been so modern as for men to fetch their own damn tea while women were around.
"He's... very soft for a boy," Murshid commented.
Baz, however, sighed in a rather defeated manner. He didn't take offense at his counterpart stating the facts.
"Don't I know it. It will grow out."
"He's a good kid. He wanted to fight back against the other children but couldn't do it physically or mentally. How do you feel about me taking care of him? It will do him good."
"You ... want to spend time with him?"
"Yes. We got on well."
"I thought you were going back home next week."
"I've decided not to do that anymore. This traveling back and forth. What used to bring me joy is now just a nuisance. I want to find peace of mind. America is quite pleasant. I could even open a store again - just for fun, of course - I have enough money. Americans have a good nose for beautiful machines."
"If you long for a family of your own - there are some young women in the mosque -"
"That's not what I'm looking for."
Baz smirked. "If you want more mature companionship, we have a few widows who probably wouldn't mind a second husband who's good to them. Some who aren't too old to have another child or two."
"I was never the baby type. But Nathaniel and I got on brilliantly. I could take him off your hands a few afternoons a week."
"We don't need your help with Nathaniel's upbringing," Hila said, setting the tea tray down on the table and placing a teacup in front of Baz and one in front of Murshid. I noticed that the tea was no longer steaming. Serving lukewarm tea (ready to drink) to a guest meant nothing more than wishing they would leave as soon as possible. Where Baz cleared his throat unpleasantly because his wife was now being rude, Murshid took the cup without being bothered by the temperature affront.
"Nathaniel doesn't get on with the other children. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."
"If he's becoming more sociable and socializing more with his cousins-"
"It's because he's different from them, sister. And I would never accuse you of not caring for him wholeheartedly. But Nasser is simply too far ahead of the others in his age group."
"Ahead?" both my parents asked at the same time and although I knew that they only knew my child-me, I felt a little offended by their stunned looks at the assessment.
"Wow, thanks," I mumbled as Lex nudged me and grinned.
"I think you're way ahead of other people."
I snorted. "You do realize that Murshid is just pulling things out of his ass so that my parents don't bitch when I spend time with him? Right?"
Lex laughed. "It worked, we already know that. And no matter how sneaky he is, who or what he was - you're perfect for me," he murmured.
I rolled my eyes but leaned in and kissed him hastily.
Lex caught my lower lip between his teeth a second before he chuckled. "You don't have to shield us with your wing, Nate."
"Please, they're still my parents," I whispered.
"It'll be good for him to spend time with an adult who takes him seriously," Murshid continued. "I can't deny that young Nathaniel has struck a familial cord in me. But I don't long for female companionship, but rather to have someone under my wing. I have so much to give in terms of spiritual and monetary resources and I really think Nathaniel would be the one to benefit from it."
Now my mother pricked up her ears. I would never dare to say out loud that my mother was greedy for money ... she had just always appreciated the security that money could bring. Then as now. And had Murshid just offered to make me (my younger self) his heir? I would know about a big inheritance after Murshid's death.
Hila and her husband exchanged glances where Murshid put down his cup and made facts.
"Baz, your work will take up more of your time. Hila, you'll have to deal with the new baby and a boy like Nasser, who doesn't stand up for himself, can quickly go under. The other children are simply not up to his mental capacity, they unsettle him and slow him down with their malice. I'll take him off your hands every few days."
Baz scratched his chin. He knew that Murshid, this uncle who was not an uncle and yet had done so much for the family, was raising good points. His wife's caution was exaggerated. EVERYONE in the family - both his and Hila's - knew him and spoke well of him. Murshid's words carried weight because of his status- even if he was weird. But Baz himself, as head of the family, had to say the words.
"After school and on weekends, you can spend time with Nathaniel- if we don't want to do anything with him. And his homework must always be done. One bad grade or one word from him that he doesn't want to come anymore and we'll put a stop to it."
"That's only right and proper," Murshid said and stood up. The men hugged and patted each other on the back as one did among even distant relatives. Baz looked at his wife, who was clutching and cradling the wriggling baby as if it was the next child the foreign uncle would claim. But after a brief exchange of eye contact between the couple (who wanted to be modern and American but really wasn't - not in the most important ways), she grudgingly nodded.
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Lex stumbled into a snowdrift, through which his feet went smoothly without stirring up a single flake.
I instantly began to shiver. It was cold out here in front of this familiar brick building.
"Man, more jumps," my friend said, looking around for my younger self, or Murshid, who was the subject here.
"This is my school. What do you think it means that there are so many of them?" I asked.
At that moment, the oldest of the boys who had annoyed me so much at the family party approached. The one who had also torn up the doll, wrapped up in a jacket, scarf and beanie. Before he was pulled out of our field of vision into an alley. Lex and I scurried along and saw Uncle Murshid pushing the boy against the brick wall, making him groan and wriggle.
"That's him?" the adult asked a rather dazed Nathaniel, who nodded vigorously.
"Hello, I'm his uncle Murshid. And you're going to drop the 'Nutty Nasser' thing. And if you hear any of the other brats say that or see others tormenting my boy in any other way and you don't stop it, I will do things to you that have taken me a very long time to think up, practice and refine. Do you understand?"
"Mhmm, your uncle was really something, but I like his priorities," Lexington said, crossing his arms beside me.
"How nice that you approve of his violence against children for my benefit, love," I muttered ironically and smirked back as he grinned at me.
"You let your uncle beat up other children for you? Wow," the older boy squealed as if he wasn't currently in the grip of an adult who wasn't well meaning to him.
The younger Nate looked down at the floor with a red head, looking like he wanted to sink right into it. He knew what it meant when kids tattled on their bullies to adults.
"Oh, you think I'd beat you up? Inshallah! I think I'll give you a taste of what I tend to do," Murshid grumbled through his beard, pulled out a flask of green liquid, snapped the lid open and held the vessel under the nose of the kicking but pinned-to-the-wall child. It squealed like a pig, then briefly stiffened like a board. Urine soaked his pants as he wet himself and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. Knowing that there was nothing we could do anyway - this damage had already been done decades ago - Lex and I both refrained from wasting a single disapproving growl on the situation. Then it seemed enough of the torment, Murshid let go of the boy. He slumped to the ground, howling and trembling. Murshid dragged him into a position where he was forced to look at Nathaniel.
"This boy -" the adult gestured to Nathaniel, who looked thoroughly distressed. "This boy is off limits from now on. Even for others. I'm not asking you to worship him - that will come later. But if I find out that you're not defending him against other cruelties, I'll come back and everything that's been running through your head will come true - and much more." He let go of the boy, who stumbled away.
"What was in the bottle, uncle?"
"Something that will make you see your worst nightmares. A demon I know traded me some of its blood for Knicks tickets. Remember - sometimes good people do bad things when the ends justify the means. There is not always black and white. The urchin doesn't know it, but by recruiting him as your guard, we may have saved quite a few lives."
The younger Nathaniel nodded uncertainly and you could see that he was afraid. I wasn't sure if he was afraid of retribution from his classmates, of his menacing powers, or of Murshid and what he was capable of. I had never remembered my uncle as such a threatening figure. But ... that was probably what those jumps were for. I wanted to dig through my memories to find him. It was only natural that a few veils were torn away from my eyes. Never meet ur idols and never look into the kitchen of your favorite restaurant.
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On the next jump, this time I really landed on my feet. The concrete floor probably helped and the fact that I was now able to feel the sensation of those time and space jumps in my memories a second before they happened. But when I looked up, it was rather not a good sight.
"Jesus, what happened here?" Lex wondered aloud and we both watched as Murshid doused the last remnants of a smoldering motorcycle with a large fire extinguisher. Then he tossed it aside, looked at the general chaos in the medium-sized garage that had been his workshop, sighed and wandered over to a mini fridge in the corner. From which he took two colas. My younger self was sitting somewhat pale on one of the workbenches.
"Phuuu, four weeks in business and an experience like this," my not-really-uncle said light-heartedly and plopped down on a chair next to the kid. He opened Nathaniel's Coke and handed it to him, whose "thank you" was rather mechanical.
"Tha-tha-that was one of the monsters. Like the ones I saw all over Manhattan back then and the ones they always talk about on TV now, like that big purple guy on TV. But this one was really mean!"
"Well, the gargoyles I knew from earlier centuries were a bit different - definitely."
"He was really scary."
"More bark than bite, if you ask me. And you chased him away. Good job then," said Murshid, opening the tab of his own can of Coke with a pop and taking a slurping sip.
"You're not mad at all?"
"About what?"
"He wanted to throw the bike at us! And I- I did it-well, that was me with the explosion! I destroyed the motorcycle."
"Oh, that was a reflex. Your protective reflex. How can I be angry with you for that?"
"Protective reflex?"
"And we'll build the customer a better bike. You did it to protect me and nothing you do to protect others can be wrong. And for the first time, you let your magic run free. And so purposefully!"
The child remained silent with a very conflicted expression. Murshid put an arm around his shoulders.
"Heyyyy. You did a little damage. So what. It's just things. And to people who want to harm you and your followers, they don't deserve any different - remember that. I'm proud of you."
"Yes?"
"Yes, very much. This needs to be celebrated, come and raise a toast with me, Nasser."
My uncle raised his coke and my younger self smiled uncertainly as he clinked cans with him.
Then another jump.
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Lex and I plopped into the two remaining free chairs in the break room in Murshid's workshop. My child me and Murshid sat together and while Nathaniel ate, Murshid read the local newspaper. The few employees my uncle had had had probably left for their break and so they were alone.
"So... how was last Friday at the mosque?" Murshid mumbled without taking his eyes off the pages.
"Mhmm- good."
"Mhmm, good then. I heard the weather was bad."
"Just a little cold."
"Not too windy then?"
My younger self stopped stuffing his face with the sandwich, but avoided eye contact with our uncle. Who turned the newspaper around to show the kid - and therefore Lex and me - the headline.
Disrespectful spirits at the Makki Masjid Muslim Community Center? And just below it: Eyewitnesses report carpets fluttering around and burqas and quamis being blown up. Not even the imam was spared.
Lex next to me started laughing loudly, his mouth so wide open that I could see his throat past his teeth. And his laughter infected me too. The uncle, who was old enough to see faith communities, religions and gods themselves rise and fall, began to guffaw too - although of course he didn't hear us - a devilishly proud glint in his eyes. He pinched the cheek of my younger self, who continued to eat with a grin.
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Uncle Murshid and my mini-me were obviously sitting somewhere in the woods - at least I didn't hear any city noises or passing cars. It was just after dark and a small campfire cast a dancing orange glow on Murshid's and my face. It smelled earthy and damp. The leaves under our claws were wet. There was a fire extinguisher by the adult. Insects buzzed and it was peaceful and homey, clearly the end of summer. A a bit older Nathaniel and Murshid sat shoulder to shoulder, Murshid's voice a focused, leading whisper at the ear of the child, who had his eyes closed, a concentrating frown on his face.
"Okay. Consciously bring forth the powers. Concentrate. Breathe calmly."
"I am."
"In and out. Nothing has to blow up, there's no danger here. Nature is our friend and ally. We are part of it."
"I know, uncle."
"Let the warmth and the light feeling rise deep within you."
"I am trying."
"Visualize it in your mind's eye. Imagine the wind howling. How fire crackles in front of you. Don't worry about your clothes, I've got a spare. The ones inside you won't hurt you or me. Fire and wind are our elements, we swing on their waves."
The child squeezed his eyes tightly shut and concentrated with obvious concentration.
"Yes. ... Yeaaah ... Mhmmmm no, I don't feel it," he said unhappily, looking from his hands to Murshid. "Maybe they're not in the mood. The ones inside me."
"Yeah ... could be," the adult said a little crestfallen too.
"Sorry Uncle Murshid."
"It's okay, little djinn. You are young. You will grow. And those inside you don't want to overwhelm you either. You're important to them and they love you like I love you."
"Will you tell us a story - the one about the old gods and how they ruled the world?" the boy asked, his eyes shining again.
Uncle Murshid gave a long, drawn-out and clearly artificial sigh. "Fine, then. But only if we grill these fluffy mushy things on sticks." With that, he pulled out a pack of marshmallows and Lex and I chuckled. Then we were dragged away again.
.
.
"Too bad, I wanted to hear the story," Lex said.
"Yeah, me too," I said, shuddering and scratching my chest and arms. My whole body tingled as if ants were running over it. Not my sensations, but those of Nathaniel, who was about ten years old and standing in the bathroom with Murshid in his old ( NOW MY) apartment. My uncle drew simplified "evil eyes" with a paintbrush on his shoulder blades and chest - even one on his chubby belly.
"But what for?" asked my younger self, holding two pots of blue and black paint.
"I've told you before. Your powers grow, they become more focused."
"But why do you say the eyes are hiding me. From whom?"
"Well, the ones that forced the others inside you into mortals in the first place. The usurper. The enemies of those within you and their followers. The very fact that both forces now exist within you is delicate. With the eyes on your skin, you won't be seen even if you use more of your abilities. Better safe than sorry - as the Americans say."
"But ... if those in me have enemies ... shouldn't they try to make peace with them?"
Uncle Murshid stared at the child for three eternal seconds. Then he grumbled, "You can't negotiate with murderers and criminals if they think they're in the right."
Then he continued painting and I could feel the insecurity and shame in the child locking his lips on the subject. I sighed and looked at my friend, always by my side but silently observing.
"Why don't I remember any of this?"
.
.
At the next jump, my first reflex was to reach out for the steaming cups that Miss Conner brought to us. But she stepped right through me. Lex and I turned and the woman - almost thirty years younger but seemingly unchanged ancient - handed the cups to a snotty-nosed Nathaniel and Murshid, who were both sitting on the curb in front of her house, the roof of which had just been put out by the fire department.
I knew Murshid was one of the previous residents at Mrs. Conner's- but I didn't remember setting the place on fire once.
"So ... we won't tell your parents about this, okay?"
"I'm so sorry, Uncle Murshid. Sorry Mrs. Conner. I'm so sorry, really," the child whimpered, blowing his nose loudly into his handkerchief.
"Oh, dear. I'm too old to grow gray hairs over something like that. I know your uncle is a man of decency and honor, he'll pay for it and my apartment was hardly damaged. Although it will need a renovation to get rid of the smell of smoke and the water stains everywhere."
"What do you think about installing photovoltaics on the new roof?"
"I've always been for the environment and saving electricity costs," said Mrs. Conner, flashing her witchy grin. The child still looked devastated.
"Can you ... get them out of me? Wind hardly ever comes up. But fire keeps jumping to my surface. What- what if I set one of the mean kids on fire at school? I'm dangerous. I can't-"
Murshid hugged the trembling child and rubbed his back. "Nathaniel, this isn't something you need to run away from. On the contrary. Now you're a caterpillar, squeezing and rubbing against your cocoon. But when you someday become a butterfly, your powerful flapping wings will purify the world. They are your family and mine. Hug them instead of pushing them away and everything will be so much easier."
"And it's in the nature of fire to be hot-headed and attention-seeking. Everyone has to grow into their body with their abilities. With you, it's just a fiery affair." Conner bent a little and plucked the necklace from Nathaniel's neckline. There must have been half a dozen little "eye beads" hanging from it. "But the eyes not only blind the others but also restrain your powers until you have more control," said Murshid's former and my current landlady, her eyes a little distracted behind her thick glasses as she ogled the ass of one of the firemen who had just walked past the people hefting a large fire hose.
"Now even Mrs. Conner knew!" Lex shouted indignantly, as if he were the one who had been cheated about the truth for decades. It was so ironic that one of my shrill hysterical laughs came up again and I took it with me into the next vision of the past.
.
So please, I wouldn't forget my old girl, Mrs. Conner! And into what exactly is Murshid trying to groom the child here?
Okay, a preface to the next chapter:
Totally unimportant but a motorcycle - an Indian is called a "ride" there. In the episode Temptation (just cult, Brooklyn on a motorcycle - girl shriek!*) his machine is called a "righteous hog" by one of the bikers - I wanted to call mine the same. BUT apparently hog is used for Harleys. Brooklyn's bike was a custom build, not a Harley and either the writers didn't know that hog basically only refers to Harleys or they didn't care. Or, as a foreigner, I see it far too narrowly. But for me it's now righteous ride (I'm a simple person, I like alliterations - aaand ride is a synonym for a motorcycle, isn't it? That's where my translation program lacks slang. -..-
AH- by the way- trigger warning for trauma and character death(s) in the next chapter- or did you think the chapter titles were just décor?
If you don't know the comics MAUS and In the Shadow of No Towers by Art Spiegelman- shame on you! Both should be school literature - international. That is not negotiable.
Thanks for reading, Q.T.