Death's Life

by B Latif

  I began to chew my lip, having no idea what was going on. Aisha was pleading continuously.

  “Have mercy, Jason,” she said with so much helplessness that anyone’s heart would have melted for her, “this girl is your blood! I’m your wife!”

  “I don’t care!” he really didn’t. I knew it.

  “At least, don’t sell your daughter,” Aisha cried.

  “She would have been my daughter if you had changed your religion, bitch!” he roared, “Now, come with me, I don’t have the time to listen to your stupid words!”

  When Aisha didn’t get up and keep on crying, Jason grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet and dragging her out of the room.

  I felt such immense hatred toward him, more than anyone could imagine. Even now, when I sometimes remember that man, hate is the only thing I feel for him.

  Hate.

  That was the first time I truly wanted to kill someone. If I were a human, I am certain I would have killed him.

  “Jason, please don’t! I’ll do whatever you say, just don’t…” she kept pleading in sobbing whispers.

  But he dragged her all the way to the top of the staircase. Throughout this, her daughter was asleep. Aisha broke away and ran, but Jason raced after her, slipped, and fell far too hard on the stairs, injuring his head and hitting every step as he tumbled down.

  He lay motionless halfway down the staircase.

  I wanted to see Aisha, but she never looked back and locked herself in her room.

  Now was the part where I played role of villain, with Jason as the victim.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes. I stood in front of that atrocity of a man, looking straight in his eyes. Clearly puzzled, he blinked and looked around because the room had changed. In the darkness, there was a dim red light. His worst nightmare and his worst fear, me.

  He tried to get up.

  “Don’t bother.” I hissed.

  I must remind you that I only mentioned once how I take the lives of sinners and pious ones. Here is an example of how I take the lives of perfidious beings.

  With a crease between his eyebrows, he looked at me. He couldn’t see my face as it was hidden by the shadow of my hood.

  Propping himself up on his elbows, he asked, “Who are you?”

  The same boring old question I have heard too many times.

  “I am,” I began to laugh sardonically and sharply as I drew my hood back, revealing the face of fear, the form I had taken then. My face thin and long, high cheekbones, clown-like lips with sharp teeth, long nails, a snake’s tongue, hair like thorns, and a stooped figure, “you. I am you, Jason, the inside of you. I am the figure of your sins!”

  The same figure he was for Aisha. The My sly eyes scared him, and he swallowed hard.

  “What do you want?” he asked in panic.

  I grinned again.

  “You’re going to die,” hissing Aisha’s words, I smirked, “Sound familiar?”

  “HELP! HELP!” he yelled, but there was just darkness.

  I laughed louder, “Help, help, help… ahh... pity, pity, pity.” I teased him, “Look who has come to help you? Me!”

  “Who are you? Where am I?” the panic clear in his voice.

  I frowned this time. Malice filled me once again. It always does when humans fail to recognize me, and as they reach their end they shout for help.

  OBSERVATION No. 7

  “No matter how many close friends you have, no matter how deeply you are connected to someone, there is just one truly intimate relationship you have in the end: Death.”

  Angrily walking towards him, I flared my nostrils, twisting my hair around fingernail, “I am the one you didn’t believe in, Jason. I am the one Aisha warned you about. I am… Death.”

  He turned pale, just like a wingless bird in front of a cat.

  “Please… please, have mercy…”

  The epitome of my indignation was sky high now. Have mercy? What is that, by the way?

  I grabbed the front of his shirt and the tip of my nose almost touched his, “Have mercy? Did you have mercy when you bought her?”

  I slammed him into the wall, breaking his nasal bone.

  “DID YOU HAVE MERCY WHEN YOU LOCKED HER AWAY IN THE HOUSE?” I roared as I slammed him again onto the floor, shattering his teeth.

  “DID YOU HAVE MERCY WHEN YOU TRIED TO FORCE HER TO CHANGE HER RELIGION?”

  The grand whip that belonged to him appeared in my hand and I whipped him with all my strength.

  “DID YOU HAVE MERCY WHEN YOU WHIPPED HER?”

  As the lash disappeared, I placed him motionless on the embers, his body seared. My roars added to his wild screams.

  “DID YOU HAVE MERCY ON YOUR DAUGHTER?”

  He was a puppet now. The man who had made his wife a slave was himself a marionette before Death.

  He was dangling in the air, slamming into the walls.

  “DID YOU HAVE MERCY WHEN YOU WERE GOING TO SELL HER?” I shrieked, “I WISH YOU WOULD DIE AGAIN AND AGAIN AND BE BORN AGAIN AND AGAIN, BECAUSE SHE USED TO DIE EVERYDAY!”

  He was lying on the floor now, which was scorching like hell itself.

  I stepped forwards, staring at him, “Let me give you a demonstration of the hell that has its gates open for you.”

  I narrowed my eyes, and his body lit up like a wick. I watched him running around in desperation, yelling in pain. It was probably enough pain for the sins he had committed, although I wanted to continue.

  As the fire extinguished itself, his skin began to peel off his body like that of a snake, and he screamed when I clasped my hand in a fist and his soul left his body.

  He fell.

  It was over.

  For a moment, I stared at the dead body on the stairs. Then I spit on his face and left. I entered Aisha’s room where I found her sweating with fright. After all, a locked door is hardly a barrier for Death.

  Hearing the heavy steps of three men ascending the stairs were loud and clear. They were coming to get her. With a gulp, she took her head dress, tied her daughter to her and opened the window.

  Climbing outside, she carefully stepped onto the pipes.

  Once she jumped on the ground, she ran at full strength, glancing back frequently in that cold night of snowy winter.

  As she reached a bridge, she decided to take shelter beneath it in the shadows. Although she was shivering herself, she untied her daughter and wrapped the headdress around the baby, even though she was already covered.

  Anyone could possibly meet me because of that coldness.

  Once again, she kissed her daughter as she took off her socks, covering the baby’s feet again although they were protected.

  Is mother’s love so strong that she forgets herself, becomes selfless and cares only for her child? Is it?

  I was watching in amazement as she wrapped her arms around the baby to provide warmth from her body.

  I left.

  I learned another thing about her. She could’ve killed herself, committed suicide and ended it. In fact, she could’ve have done it years ago, as people commit suicide because of small issues, but she didn’t.

  OBSERVATION No. 8

  “When the Lord gives you a reason to die, a human doesn’t realize it, but he gives a million others the chance to live.”

  And her optimism was her reason before, and her daughter was her purpose now. She was living for another soul.

  Of all the loves in the world, the strongest is that of a mother. She sacrifices herself for her child.

  But I’ve seen humans. A child turns into an adult and then that child begins to scold his mother on small things. He forgets that she was the one who taught him how to speak and now he scolds her with the same tongue.

  Do you scold the mother who taught you how to speak so that she may regret she taught you?

  Do you scold the mother who asked a question twice when she used to answer you even if you asked the same question ten times?

  If I could, first, I would remove to
ngues of humans. Why do they need a thing they can’t control?

  Just think how much euphoria there would be in the world without tongues, because most humans are sinners because of the words they speak.

  I watched Aisha pray that her daughter wouldn’t be like other humans.

  And I prayed that she would be like Aisha and not Jason.

  And both of us prayed that she would understand nothing hides from the Lord’s eyes.

  ***

  It was morning and Aisha was standing outside a café, very hungry, weak and sick. A man tossed a piece of bread towards her and when she didn’t move, he tossed an apple to her.

  She didn’t eat anything herself. No.

  She fed her daughter and saved the rest for the next day. I looked under the bridge wishing there was someone there with an ounce of human compassion to help her.

  Even if I’m not human, I still felt something inside me. A desire to help her.

  So, why didn’t others feel anything when they were humans?

  Maybe, because they hadn’t seen her life or the way she had lived it.

  Even so, why didn’t they feel any pity? I couldn’t understand why everyone walked around on the street as if she didn’t’ exist, unaware of the circumstances around them. She never begged anyone, she only sought help from Allah.

  And help came.

  Me.

  It was evident from her situation she wouldn’t survive. The moment I had anticipated since the first day I saw her, was near.

  Under the bridge, trembling in fear and cold, I came to her.

  This time, I never changed anything. The place remained the same except there wasn’t anybody around, only me, her, and the baby.

  The most enchanting face with small glittering stars by her eyes stared at me. Her blonde hair styled in an updo with a royal crown placed on her head and clad in a princess-like dress.

  I looked down at her, as she moved her eyes slowly towards me.

  I wondered what she was thinking about me and she was probably wondering why all the pain and coldness had suddenly disappeared even though the snow was there, and she was sick.

  She didn’t shiver anymore. It seemed a long time because she just looked at me, maybe wondering what a beautiful lady was doing there, or who I was.

  I wanted her to initiate, so I remained stoic.

  I knew what the first words would be, ‘who are you?’ I thought I had surprised her with my uninvited presence, but she surprised me.

  So much so that I couldn’t speak.

  With a faint smile appearing on her dry lips, she whispered, “I’m angry with you. You kept me waiting for a long time.”

  It made me wait. Wait to understand. Was I imagining her erudite words or not? I stepped towards her and sat down beside her.

  After a long pause, I asked, “Since when?”

  “Since the day of the riot when I was captured by the British Army,” she said, staring in to midair.

  I smiled at the little coincidence, “That was the day when I first saw you. Aisha, you have been very brave.”

  After years, the shy smile appeared on her face at my kind words, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  I laughed at this. Then, to confirm if her thoughts were right about me, I asked curiously, “You know who I am, right?”

  Rather than answering my question, she asked me one, “Do you always talk to people like this?”

  “No, not normally. In fact, never… just a few, fourteen hundred years ago.”

  She nodded.

  “Listen,” I looked at her suddenly, “Why didn’t you ask anyone for help?”

  “But I did,” she replied. When she saw I was unable to understand, she continued, “I asked Allah for help. I only beg from Him. No one can help anyone unless He does.”

  I changed the topic because I had little patience, “That day you defined me. I liked it, you didn’t call me cruel or anything like that.”

  “Humans are cruel,” she cut across me, “Death is a healer.”

  “Thanks,” I smiled, “You know, you didn’t deserve this kind of life.”

  She remained reticent for some time and when she spoke, her grief was audible.

  “No one deserves the kind of life they live. It is a test of whether they can live the kind of life they don’t deserve and have patience or not.”

  Our conversation came to a long pause during which she kept staring at her child. I knew she didn’t want to leave the baby. But what she asked surprised me.

  “Will you write something on my gravestone for me?”

  She looked at me with hopeful eyes.

  “Of course. What do you want me to write?”

  “You are going to die.”

  I stared at her for speaking the greatest truth of life: death.

  “Why do you want me to write that?”

  “So that…” she hesitated, “if… if a man like Jason looked at these words, he might believe in Death then.”

  We became silent. I wanted to tell Aisha that it was time to go now, but she had her daughter in her lap and was looking at her with love and the pang of separation/

  She breathed heavily.

  “It’s time to go now,” I whispered.

  Aisha was crying now, caressing the baby’s cheek, “She… she doesn’t have anyone in the world…”

  Silence again. I watched her tears drip on the baby’s cheek when she kissed her.

  “Can’t you take her too?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m not allowed.” I told her it was impossible to take a soul without order, “You gave her your bread, your clothes, and stayed hungry so that your daughter might live. Now, you want her to die too?”

  “No,” she wept, trying to control herself, “I’m scared.”

  “You are scared of me?” I was shocked. After so many words, could she still be afraid to die?

  “No,” she was still weeping, “I’m scared of another Jason who will take her... I told you… humans are cruel… and… she is alone…”

  Suddenly, she looked at me with something in her eyes that I couldn’t recognize. She licked her lips, tasting her tears.

  “I’ll die… and rest in peace only if… if… if…”

  I frowned. If what? I had an impression that whatever it was, it was probably impossible. She held my hand and squeezed it.

  “If… if you would take her and look after her, away from humans, because I only trust you.”

  The winter froze me.

  Or was it her words?

  Chapter 4

  “Please,” she stressed the word.

  I was stuck in something odd that humans are often stuck in. Confusion.

  “What?” I stared at her. Almost immediately, she placed her child in my lap.

  “Take her,” she was trying to control her tears, “keep her safe. Please! For God’s sake, take her!”

  Her plea began to melt my… what should I say? Heart?

  I directed my eyes at the baby who was awake now and looking at the sky.

  “Don’t mind my asking,” I asked dubiously, “but are you using me in some way?”

  She didn’t answer my question, but replied, “Please, take my soul. I can’t bear this pain anymore.”

  So, life had given her pain. I was victorious after all.

  I had a chance, for the first and last time, to experience what I wanted: what it would be like to be a human and feel. My chance was lying in my lap and letting go of this opportunity seemed a stupid mistake.

  While I was ruminating about it, I realized I had been staring blankly at Aisha. So, I cleared my throat, finally putting my arms around the girl.

  “Okay, I will.”

  Her whisper was so grateful and full of happiness that she had never had before, “Thank you… I’m ready.”

  I raised my chest, put my hand on hers and…

  She flinched for a moment, then she was gone.

  Her body lay there, eyes closed, motionless. I sat there
with the baby for some time under the bridge, staring at that human.

  Thinking has never been my strong suit. I don’t think, certainly never about things such as this.

  Now I was trying to think. Where to keep her? What to name her? What to name myself? How to bring her up?

  I scratched my forehead.

  “Mama,” a small voice said.

  It was the only word she knew as it was all Aisha had taught her. I smiled at the poor girl. She began to play, dancing her hands and feet.

  “Mama,” she said again.

  “She is gone.” I whispered.

  I got up and began to search for an isolated place where there were no humans, where nobody could come, where the girl and I would be alone.

  Soon, I began to feel pity for myself.

  It was a difficult job. She couldn’t survive in the sweltering heat of a desert, or the killing coldness of Antarctica. I had promised Aisha I would look after her child and bring her up away from humans, as if she didn’t exist.

  Her girl was pretty. Her features were different from her parents’. Black hair, white skin, and red lips. I wondered if her persona would be like Jason or Aisha.

  While traveling, I thought about her name. What would I call her?

  I never asked Aisha about her name, so it became a great mission for me.

  Giving a name, why was it a difficult task?

  A name could be an identification of religion. Was I to give her a Muslim or a Christian name? Was I to make her a Muslim or a Christian?

  I knew Aisha would want her daughter to be a Muslim, but a child inherits the father’s religion. She should have bequeathed her religion too.

  It was a difficult decision for me, I don’t make decisions usually, humans do. I lack the phenomena of proper judgment.

  How can I judge anyone?

  My duty is just to take life. And the sudden endowment of another duty was a burden on me.

  Once or twice, a thought struck me. Why not leave her in an orphanage? But then, I wanted to prove desperately that I could be a better human than humans are.

  ***

  Tropical rainforest.

  Our home.

  I chose the place because it was full of nature but devoid of humans.