Footsteps

by Umm Zakiyyah

  A soft yet powerful recitation escaped her lips at that moment.

  “In this verse, Allah, subhaanahu wa ta’alaa, describes the Qur’an as a rooh. Now, we know the rooh is the spirit that Al-Khaaliq placed in our father Adam that transformed a lifeless creation made from earth, to a walking, thinking human being and prophet. In other words, the rooh is the human soul. When it is removed, we die.”

  Sarah creased her forehead, reflecting on Nusaybah’s words.

  “Likewise, the Qur’an is our rooh, our soul. Without it in our hearts, in our lives, we die. Even as our hearts beat and blood runs through our veins.”

  She went on, “This rooh is our guidance, our light, our path through and out of the darkness that still lurks in our hearts, and in our souls. In our lives.”

  She paused, letting these words sink in. “Look around you, at anyone who has not been guided and you will see their death, even as they live. Their thinking testifies to it. Their desires testify to it. Their very tongues testify to it as they speak.” She paused, her own eyes filling now. “Yet, are we grateful? Are we grateful for this rooh?”

  She drew in a deep breath, blinking as her eyes glistened. “Or do we count our guidance, our gift of life, as a favor for which Ar-Rahmaan should be grateful? Or perhaps we live secure that we will never die. Perhaps we imagine that we will never have the rooh of Qur’an taken from us.”

  Sarah saw Khadijah’s tears spill from her eyes and the sister hung her head as her baby lay face down on her lap . Alika’s eyes welled behind her lids, but she continued to look at Nusaybah, a look of intent interest, of eemaan. The other sisters were looking toward their laps, their minds in distant reflection.

  “No, our tongues would never say these things. But our actions bear witness.” She recited from the Qur’anic chapter Al-‘Aadiyaat.

  Indeed mankind is, to his Lord, ungrateful.

  And indeed he is, to that, a witness.

  And indeed he is, in love of wealth, intense

  But does he not know that when the contents

  of the graves are scattered

  And that within the breasts is made known

  Indeed, that Day, their Lord is fully acquainted with them

  “I want you to look in your hands, at the glass of milk you are holding, and think back to when you first recited the words testifying that nothing has the right to be worshipped except your Creator. Or think back to when you first began to understand the significance of these words. Who were you?” She paused, letting the question hang in the air. “What opinions did you have then that you no longer have? What baggage of sin, of the world did Allah take from your hands, from your hearts, when you recited those words?”

  A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away, squinting her eyes slightly, seeming to reflect on her own life. “And what, after you became comfortable in the gift of guidance, did you turn back for, to put back into your life? What impurities did you seek? What opinions did you reinstate? What sin did you weigh yourself down with? What of the world did you want that the Hereafter didn’t offer, or reward?”

  She drew in a deep breath, exhaled, then shook her head, tears welling in her eyes again. “We are all guilty. Each one of us. And surely, Allah knows us better than we know ourselves. So look within. And begin to numerate for yourself the impurities you wish to remove from your heart, your souls. Your lives.”

  She went on, “The days of Ramadan are upon us, already passing us by. This is the month in which Allah closes the gates of Hell Fire, opens the gates of Paradise. The month of mercy. The month of forgiveness. Your month. Your gift from Allah. This is not a month of socializing, of eating. This is a month of worship. This is the month in which there is Layla-tul-Qadr. The Night of Power, The Night of Decree. Do not hesitate to spend every day of the month in asking Allah’s forgiveness, mercy, and salvation from the Hell Fire. Do not hesitate to seek out Layla-tul-Qadr in the last ten nights, a night which is better than a thousand months.”

  She added, “Increase your kindness in this month. Increase your prayers. Increase your du’aa.” She paused. “Increase your eemaan.” She took a breath, looking out at the moistened cheeks of the sisters. “Do not let your eyes become dry. This is the sign of a hard heart.

  “Every night Allah saves people from the Hell Fire. Be one of them. And remember, we are taught, that everyone, every person, every slave will be forgiven during this month,” she said. “Except those who do not want to be forgiven.” She paused. “And those who do not want to be forgiven are those who do not ask.”

  Ismael lingered in front of the mailbox at the end of his yard after Sulayman had shown the brothers back inside after returning from Maghrib. Ismael’s hand rested on the open metal box, and his gaze was on the car parked three feet away. His mind was far from the waiting envelopes and store catalogues bunched inside the small space. The car was facing him, its windshield reflecting the glow of the streetlights, and a distorted, dark reflection of himself.

  How appropriate, he thought, his heart heavy, body weak. How appropriate was his image in the glass that she looked out whenever she sat behind the wheel and gauged the path before her. If she were there now, seeing him, would she see what he saw? Or would she see what he was trying to convince himself had never taken root in his heart?

  He didn’t know it felt like this. The incompleteness. He didn’t know it would hurt. He had convinced himself that she could go. Perhaps it would make Sarah stay. His desperation precluded logic, sense. He knew when she told him her decision. He knew then that he didn’t want her to leave. But a part of him had given up already, holding onto Alika only because Sarah had said he would trample yet another heart.

  Alika had read in his words what he couldn’t say with his voice. “I’m not going to leave you, Alika,” he had said. “I didn’t do things right, but I can’t right them by doing more wrong.” Even he had heard the footnote, the meaning beneath the words. I can’t right the wrong, but you can. I can’t leave, but you can. If you do, it won’t be wrong.

  Gazing at her car, he wished he could take it back. Take back the desperation, the hidden plea. And replace it with faith. With determination. With truth.

  What would it have taken to say what he really felt? I’m not going to leave you, Alika. Because I don’t know how to let you go. You are a part of me, and I don’t know how to give up part of myself.

  Regret. It was painful. Tumultuous. Unrelenting. He would have to learn to live with that.

  If he only knew how.

  As Alika listened to Nusaybah speak, she realized she had made the right decision to come. She needed to hear the reminder, the reminder that there was more to this life than her heart. Even if it could never be mended completely. She had her soul. She had the Hereafter. She had her faith.

  She had Islam.

  Guidance was a tremendous bestowal. She would not take it for granted. If she gained nothing from meeting Ismael except this, it was more than a life with him could bring. She would use this month for herself, to turn to Allah and ask for His guidance, His strength. She would not walk this path alone. She carried a fractured heart and soul reborn. Not perfect. But she would survive. With the rooh of Qur’an, she would endure the pain. She would triumph over it, give it no energy, no time. No place.

  But it was not hers to remove. She had not placed it there. Her heart itself belonged to her Creator. He had decreed that Ismael Ali come into her life. And that he would leave it. Even if by her own hands.

  He wanted to go. She saw it in Ismael’s eyes the moment he stood at her door for the first time. That she didn’t want him to go made everything feel imbalanced, unfair. Even as she felt he were a part of her, and she a part of him.

  Her father. Oh, how she respected him, admired him now. She would keep her promise to her mother. She would never judge him. Blame him—for being a man. She had no idea how to blame him, or why she had judged him in the first place. If only Ismael had been more like her father… Or pe
rhaps Ismael did not feel like she, did not need her as she needed him, and maybe he was unwilling to build a life with her—if it meant hurting what he already had.

  “Right now, Sarah can remove fifty bricks…and still have a castle. But what about you, Alika? You don’t even have a foundation.”

  The words pierced her heart right then, a fire of regret, of jealousy burning within. Why couldn’t she have a foundation, or even more? Wasn’t it possible that fifty bricks could be laid by a mere smile, a laugh? She held more than a foundation of bricks in her heart for Ismael. Why wasn’t it the same for him? Was this the bitterness she would have to somehow concoct into a sweet drink? If women had done it for centuries, where was her share? Where was she to find the strength, the wisdom? Or was there something else she could say, could do?

  Ismael.

  She sat in his house right then. How strange it was to sit in his home. A guest of his wife. His family. She didn’t want to like Sarah, didn’t want to see the kindness, the strength. The healing, the pain. It would be easier to cast her as the culprit, think her unkind and weak. But Alika knew better. And she would not lie to herself. She had enough baggage to ask Allah to remove—from her hands, her heart. She didn’t need more.

  If only there were someway to know how to calm a wailing heart.

  Abdur-Rahman stood with his car door ajar as he caught sight of Aminah walking with her parents back to their car after praying the night prayer. He wanted to run after her, ask her to wait up for him. But he had no idea what he would say if she did. They talked only once on the phone, and Aminah had relaxed somewhat although the awkwardness of the situation made her shy. His shyness did not help as he kept repeating himself and stuttering, even as he knew it was his wife on the other end of the phone. His wife.

  He watched as she stopped next to the car, her head visible over its roof, and her face glowing under the lamppost. She lifted her head to gaze into the night, and her expression changed from deep thought to surprise, then a hesitant smile of recognition. It took him a moment to realize they were looking at each other. When he did, his heartbeat quickened, and he held her gaze, unable to believe she was his wife. She looked so beautiful, so innocent, so pure. She cast her eyes down, unable to look at him any longer. Her mother was looking at him now, and Sarah said something to her daughter before she opened her door. Ismael turned as he opened his, and he waved to his son-in-law, and Abdur-Rahman waved in return. When Ismael continued to wave, Abdur-Rahman realized his father-in-law was not waving to greet him but to gesture for him to come. Nervous and unable to keep from smiling, Abdur-Rahman closed his car door, and pushed his hands into his pockets, where he jingled his keys, noise to distract him from the pounding in his chest.

  “As-salaamu’alaikum!” Ismael pulled him in a firm embrace, commenced by a slap on the back.

  “Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam.” Abdur-Rahman couldn’t look up, afraid his eyes would wander and look into Aminah’s instead of her father’s.

  “Sarah was just saying you might want to take Aminah home.”

  Abdur-Rahman’s eyes widened as he met Ismael’s gaze. “Take her home?” An awkward smile formed on one side of his mouth. “Drive her?”

  Ismael laughed. “You can walk if you like. But it’s quite a distance.”

  Abdur-Rahman nodded, averting his gaze again as he chuckled in embarrassment. He grasped the keys in his pocket, not knowing what else to do.

  “If you don’t want to…”

  “No, sir it’s not that. I just…”

  “Aminah?” It was Sarah’s voice. “Do you mind going home with your husband?”

  Abdur-Rahman lifted his head to see Aminah grinning shyly at him, and she shook her head. Abdur-Rahman’s heart sank, and his cheeks grew warm. “I don’t mind,” she said.

  His forehead creased, and he looked up as Aminah’s mother nodded to her. He realized then that Aminah was shaking her head to say she didn’t mind, not to refuse the ride.

  “Drive safely,” Ismael said with a wink. A second later, he and his wife were in the car, the shutting of their doors the announcement of Abdur-Rahman and Aminah’s presence, alone.

  For a moment, they gazed at each other then cast their eyes down then looked up shyly. Aminah giggled from discomfort, and Abdur-Rahman grinned, unable to keep from staring at her. If he could hold this moment, he would. But right then, he wanted only to hold her hand. He was thinking of a way to when he heard Ismael’s voice.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Aminah’s father said through the crack of the automatic window he had let down. “But my wife and I were wondering if you and Aminah didn’t mind staring at each other away from the car. We don’t have much space to pull out.”

  Abdur-Rahman laughed in embarrassment, and Aminah immediately rounded the car, laughing herself. “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “No problem,” Ismael said grinning.

  When Abdur-Rahman and Aminah started toward his car, he heard Aminah’s parents drive away, the sudden knowledge that they were alone for the first time making him jingle his keys, his hands still in his pockets. The parking lot was crowding as people filed to their cars, and Aminah moved closer to him to make way for others to pass. The cloth covering her arm brushed his, and he felt his palms sweat. He played with the keys in his pocket until he was forced to withdraw them as they approached his car.

  “You know the way?” Aminah held a hesitant smile on her face, but she didn’t look him in the eye. It was her attempt at breaking the awkward silence, and he was grateful.

  He looked up and smiled back. “If I don’t,” he said, surprising himself that he hadn’t lost his voice, “I’m sure you’ll show me.”

  She nodded as he unlocked the car from the passenger side and opened the door for her. After she was inside, he closed the door and walked over to his side, feeling himself relax slightly as he climbed in and closed the door.

  Their solitude made them nervous, and Aminah looked out her window as he started the car. His gaze fell on her profile then on her hands that lay folded politely on her lap. She’s so beautiful, he thought. My wife. Inside he smiled as he pulled away, wishing he wasn’t too shy to hold her hand, even if for only a moment.

  The drive was silent, but Abdur-Rahman was relaxed in the quiet, knowing that there was no need to talk. He wished Freddie and Freda were there to seal the moment. But he hadn’t brought them tonight. He didn’t think it was a good idea to have birds in the masjid for Taraweeh though he imagined they would enjoy the sound of their Creator’s Words being recited for so long.

  At Aminah’s house, Abdur-Rahman pulled to a stop, putting the car in park, his hand still on the gearshift as he stared through the windshield. “So…I guess we’re here.”

  Aminah nodded. “Yes, I guess we are.”

  They were silent. He glanced at her lap again, her hands still primly folded. He turned off the car, surprising himself. “You mind if I walk you to the door?”

  She shook her head, grinning self-consciously.

  He got out of the car and hurried to open the door before she could open it herself. When he did, he held out his hand, surprising himself by the gesture. She lifted her hand and placed it in his, sending his heart in a frenzy as he gripped his wife’s hand and guided her out the car. Hand-in-hand they walked to the front door of Aminah’s home, and neither wanted to let go once they reached the door. Not knowing what else to do, Abdur-Rahman reached for her other hand, holding both as he smiled at her under the porch light.

  “I had a great time tonight,” he said, making her lower her head and laugh quietly.

  “I did too.”

  He nodded, and they grinned at each other, finding humor in their inability to find the right words. “So I’ll call you?”

  She nodded, unable to keep from grinning. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “What time?”

  “Anytime.”

  “Can I see you again?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

&nb
sp; “Tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Same time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Same place?”

  She laughed, making him laugh too. “Yes,” she said finally.

  Then he let her hands go, feeling as if it were the most difficult thing to do. “You have a key?”

  She reached into a pocket and pulled it out. “Yes.”

  He nodded and started to walk away then stopped to watch her put the key into the lock.

  “As-salaamu’alaikum,” he said when she opened the door.

  “Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam.” She stood in the doorway smiling before slowly closing the door, her face the last thing he would see before he drove away, and the first thing he saw before drifting into a pleasant dream that night.

  That night Sarah woke in the last third of the night to pray again. In her prayer alone that night, she reflected on the words of Nusaybah, still feeling their weight on her mind, her heart. She begged for Allah’s forgiveness, guidance, and strength. She reflected on removing impurities and returning to Allah pure. She thought of kindness, of sacrifice. Of doing the right thing. And she knew then, in the silence of the night, in the quiet of her tears, what she had to do.

  Saturday morning Ismael left for the masjid to pray Fajr after eating Suhoor, his heart heavy. Sarah and Aminah were asleep when he left, having prayed immediately after eating. The night before he heard them both praying late into the night, Sarah downstairs in the living room and Aminah in her room. He had climbed out of bed himself and prayed two units of prayer after lying awake listening to the melodious recitation of his wife and daughter. The sound of Qur’an gave his home an air of tranquility, and his mind a clearness he hadn’t felt in a long time. After praying in the masjid, he sat alone in the parking lot, hands loosely gripping the steering wheel. He reflected briefly before he picked up his cell phone and made the call he should have made two months ago.