Homegrown Hero

by Khurrum Rahman

  *

  Like so many times before‚ and probably for the last time ever‚ Shaz and I were back in the flat. With our feet up on the coffee table‚ in front of us lay different forms of fried chicken dripping in Tabasco and garlic sauce‚ alongside two open bottles of San Miguel and some fancy tequila that Shaz had bought over from Mexico a few years back and was saving for a special occasion. And‚ of course‚ a slow-burning joint in Shaz’s hand‚ with the promise of more judging by the potent smell of Skunk coming from his jacket pocket.

  The only problem was that I just wasn’t in the mood. Telling Khala was a huge step‚ but there was a long way to go.

  ‘When’s your curfew?’ Shaz asked.

  I rolled my eyes‚ knowing Shaz‚ he was going to run with the ball and chain joke all night.

  ‘I’m staying the night here‚’ I shrugged. ‘I bought a change of clothes for work tomorrow. Probably get home after that.’

  ‘Hang on. Wait a fucking minute.’ His tone incredulous. ‘Not only did Steph give you permission to –’

  ‘She didn’t give me permission‚ Shaz‚’ I said.

  ‘Not only did Steph give you permission‚’ Shaz said‚ sticking by his guns. ‘She also said you can disappear for the whole night?’

  ‘Yes‚’ I said‚ knowing that it would stop him trying to wind me up. I didn’t tell him that Stephanie didn’t want me stumbling back late and waking Jack up. ‘That’s not all. I told Khala.’

  ‘No way! Never thought you’d go through with it. All good?’

  ‘All good‚’ I said.

  ‘Finally manned up.’ He clinked my untouched glass.

  ‘Cheers‚’ I picked it up and threw it back‚ savouring the burn‚ hoping that it might jolt me out of my mood.

  Shaz filled the air with chatter as he told me how much he was going to embarrass me when he gave the best man’s speech at my wedding. I smiled and nodded but I just wasn’t there. I took a long pull and held it in‚ slouching down into the sofa and closing my eyes‚ letting the smoke swim slowly inside me. I mentally pictured delivering Javid a quick painless death‚ and wondered if‚ in those last moments‚ would he see in my eyes that my hand was being forced.

  ‘Cute‚’ Shaz declared‚ knocking me out of my thoughts. I opened my eyes. The television was set to Sky News and a photo of a pretty young Asian woman was on screen. She had an easy smile‚ as though her smile would carry her comfortably through life. A second photo appeared beside the first‚ it showed another woman in a hospital bed. One eye barely open‚ the other forced closed‚ a frown that looked unnatural. Her face carrying the fresh scars of a horrific facial injury. ‘Fuck! Is that…?’

  ‘It’s the same girl‚’ I said‚ sitting up.

  A reporter was standing outside University Hospital Lewisham. I turned up the volume.

  ‘What should have been a memorable day for Fiza Akram‚ as she set out to celebrate her 18th birthday‚ quickly turned into an unimaginable horror. Driving in her car‚ a present from her parents to commemorate the milestone‚ she came to a stop at the traffic lights. A moped carrying two men pulled up next to her and one of the men threw a liquid substance‚ assumed to be acid‚ through her open car window. Akram suffered severe burns to the body and neck‚ but none quite as evident as that on the face of this aspiring young model. Early reports suggest that she may be blinded in her right eye. The attackers have not yet been identified.’

  The reporter placed a finger in his ear‚ listening to whatever was being said to him through his ear piece. He nodded gravely as he took in the information.

  ‘Change the channel. It’s like groundhog day‚’ Shaz said‚ pouring two neat tequila shots.

  ‘Let it be for a minute.’

  The reporter composed himself and continued. ‘This is yet to be confirmed‚ but reports are coming in of two further acid attacks. A young couple sitting on a bench in Greenwich Park‚ and a separate attack through a car window on the junction of Arlow Street. The victim‚ an as-yet unidentified elderly man‚ is believed to have suffered a fatal heart attack as he waited at the scene for medics to arrive. Both locations are within a two-mile radius of the earlier attack on Fiza Akram‚ and witnesses are believed to have seen a moped carrying two men. There is no indica –’

  ‘Shaz‚’ I yelled‚ as he changed the channel. ‘Leave it on!’

  ‘The fuck‚ Imy?’ he groaned. ‘This is depressing the hell out of me.’

  ‘Please… Just leave it on.’

  Shaz hesitated for a moment before changing it back to the news. ‘This was supposed to be a celebration‚’ he muttered.

  ‘It is‚’ I said. ‘It will be. Let me just watch this for a moment.’

  ‘Supposed to be the end of an era‚’ Shaz huffed.

  I ignored him. If I’m honest it frustrated me that he could so easily brush off an attack on our people. I had to watch it‚ I had to let it wash over me. It was exactly attacks like this that could turn a good man into one filled with hatred‚ fuelling fantasies of revenge. It was a circle so vicious that the word vicious seemed too soft to describe it.

  I sat watching in silence‚ allowing it easily to stress me out. I scratched the back of my head‚ then I felt something under my eye‚ so I scratched there. Then under my chin.

  ‘Don’t let it get to you‚ man‚’ Shaz said‚ as he lined a Rizla with weed.

  With effort I forced my hands onto my lap. Even then my hands were balled up into fists. Shaz’s presence and his nonchalant throwaway comments made me uneasy.

  ‘It’s the world we live in‚’ Shaz continued. He licked the sheet and wrapped a tight joint and waved it in front of my face. ‘This’ll make everything better… You seen my lighter?’ He stood up and patted the pockets of his jeans before moving across the room to the front door where his jacket was hanging on the handle‚ and rooted through the pockets.

  The news cut to the commercials. I sat back and focused on the clock above the television. The second hand had just started its descent‚ a minute away from eight o’clock. I watched it glide smoothly‚ and tried to relax my breathing. I wanted to shift myself back into the night. Smoke that joint‚ drink that drink. But I was so angry‚ more so with my friend than the attacks that had taken place. I couldn’t understand how a Muslim‚ no matter how unobservant‚ could have such an indifferent attitude.

  The second hand quickly reached the halfway mark‚ my anger melting into disappointment. Trying to convince myself that we’re not all wired the same way. That Shaz hadn’t been touched by tragedy as I had. I could see him from the corner of my eye‚ victoriously holding up his lighter. I stayed focused on the clock.

  We’d sat here‚ in this very spot‚ on countless occasions‚ talking for hours about the unimportant. Laughing so loudly that tears would often fill my eyes as my neighbours pounded the wall. It was a simple joy that at one point in my life I had never dared to dream I would experience.

  The second hand had completed its journey. I took one last deep breath‚ poured myself a generous shot of tequila and necked it quickly.

  ‘She was so beautiful‚’ Shaz said‚ as the commercials finished and the victim’s face flashed back on the screen. He was still standing by the front door‚ examining the joint‚ straightening out the creases.

  ‘She still is.’

  ‘With respect‚’ Shaz said‚ tearing the top of the joint. ‘She ain’t. Her face is fucked up‚ her life is ruined… You know who’s to blame for this? Fucking… What’s that group called? Mudarris something. And the guy who runs it. The Teacher.’

  ‘Shaz… ’

  ‘I’m so fucking bored of switching on the TV and seeing yet another attack. Paris‚ Brussels‚ Manchester‚ fucking London. It was only a matter of time before some equally fucked up white boys took revenge.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘And I suppose you do‚’ Shaz said‚ lighting up the joint.

  ‘I do‚’
I said‚ quietly.

  ‘You don’t know squat‚ Imy. Take my advice‚ keep your head down and get on with it. It’s not your war.’

  ‘They’re my people.’

  ‘Yeah‚ well…’ he said‚ and I wish to God he had left it at that. Through a cloud of smoke‚ I heard him say‚ ‘Easy to say from the comfort of your sofa. Tell me‚ Imy‚ if they really are your people‚ what the fuck are you going to do about it?’

  I was on my feet and in his face. He took a step back‚ catching his heel against the front door. He smiled nervously‚ unsure‚ a smile new to me. I should have mirrored it‚ smiled back and let it go. But his words‚ still raw – What the fuck you going to do about it?

  After so many years‚ that rage that I had buried inside‚ finally spilled out. I grabbed Shaz by his throat so hard his head whipped back and connected against the door.

  ‘I’ll kill them‚ you hear me? I’ll kill every last one of them‚’ I screamed in his face. ‘They touched my mother. They murdered my father. Do you hear me? I’ll find them‚ I’ll rape them‚ I’ll rip them apart limb by limb and then I’ll burn them alive. That’s what I’m going to do about it.’

  I felt his leg trembling against mine. The cloud of smoke dissipated‚ his eyes were wide‚ terrified. I couldn’t work out how we had got there. I couldn’t remember what I had just said or done. I moved my hand away from his throat and cupped his face gently. I placed my forehead gently against his.

  ‘I’m sorry‚’ I said. It was never going to be enough. That small word‚ always on the tip of my tongue‚ knowing that I would forever be saying sorry to those who I have loved.

  I took a step back as tears formed but did not escape from his eyes. I could see the bruising already appearing around his neck. I took my place on the sofa‚ certain he would never again join me. My face in my hands as I rubbed the temples with my fingertips. I could hear the rustling of Shaz picking up his jacket. I didn’t have it in me to meet his eyes. I only removed my hands from my face when I heard the front door open and close again.

  I stared at the door for a long time‚ unable to believe what had just taken place. Unable to believe that I had gripped the neck of my friend with such force that his head had whipped back so hard that it had left a smear of blood on the door.

  50

  Jay

  I had to go and open the door! I thought he was a friend from school‚ there to pay his respects. The fuck was I supposed to know that I was letting this boy walk into hostile territory. I didn’t know their relationship‚ but it was obvious that he and Naaim shared some dark history. Whatever he had said or done to Naaim would have had to be pretty extreme to warrant a reaction like that.

  Tahir and Zafar‚ oblivious to what had taken place‚ were in high spirits‚ and they greeted me warmly as they walked into the house.

  ‘Salaam‚ Brother.’ Tahir smiled. ‘How are you? How’s Naaim?’

  I made a face‚ it didn’t go noticed.

  ‘What?’ Zafar asked. ‘What now?’

  I opened my mouth to speak‚ not knowing how to explain what had just taken place‚ when a smiling‚ smug Ira walked into the hallway.

  ‘Tahir‚ Zafar‚’ she said‚ louder than necessary‚ probably to inform Naaim that it was friends who had arrived‚ rather than somebody else to smack. ‘Great timing. I was just about to put the kettle on. Oh‚ and Tahir‚ I’ve got those sturdier biscuits for you.’ She laughed.

  ‘Everything alright‚ Sister?’ Tahir asked.

  ‘Yeah‚ what happened‚ Ira?’ Zafar asked.

  ‘Nothing happened‚’ she replied. I caught her eye. She lowered her voice. ‘Naaim had an unwelcome visitor. Things got a little heated. He’s gone now.’ She shrugged. How dare she use a shrug so inappropriately?

  ‘A little heated‚ how?’ Zafar said.

  And then it came to me. It took a moment‚ but‚ fuck‚ did it come to me.

  ‘Layla?’ I whispered.

  ‘Layla!’ Zafar exclaimed‚ making my whisper redundant.

  ‘Keep your voice down‚ Zafar.’ Ira shot him a look. ‘Nobody mentions this‚ okay.’

  ‘Was he on that bus?’ I asked.

  ‘Not now‚ Jay.’ Ira held up a hand.

  ‘Was who on the bus?’ Zafar said‚ clearly lost and better off staying that way.

  ‘Ira.’ I locked eyes with her. ‘Was he on that bus?’

  ‘Yeah‚’ she whispered. ‘He’s the one who filmed it and posted it all over the fucking internet. He’s lucky he only got a smack in the face.’

  Tahir took a step back‚ as though trying to remove himself from this situation. He was older than us. A family man. A religious man. He had set up the community centre as a way of separating us from violence and violent thoughts. Confident that dialogue would resolve all. I could now see that confidence waning.

  ‘You and I are going to have words later‚’ Zafar said to Ira.

  ‘Alright‚ later‚ yeah. Just keep your mouth shut for the time being. His mother’s just died! Come on‚ get inside. He’ll be wondering what we’re doing in the hallway all this time. I’ll put the kettle on. And remember‚ not a word.’

  Ira ushered us into the living room as she headed for the kitchen. Naaim was still sat on the sofa‚ the Rubik’s Cube remained tightly in his hand‚ the remote control in the other. Zafar awkwardly patted him on the shoulder as a way of greeting‚ whereas Tahir completely avoided eye contact‚ mumbling Salaam under his breath and finding somewhere to sit.

  Naaim’s eyes were raw red‚ but it wasn’t from crying. He looked at each of us‚ as if daring us to ask him why he had a blood-splattered kid’s toy in his hand. I sat down and looked towards the television. Naaim switched it on.

  That day‚ the television was not going to provide any solace.

  Quietly we watched the news report of the attacks that had taken place that evening. But they weren’t the type of attack that normally made the news‚ and it wasn’t the type of coverage that we were used to.

  ‘McVitie’s Chocolate Digestives‚’ Ira announced‚ as she walked in balancing a tray loaded with tea and biscuits. ‘Especially for you‚ Tahir. You’ll have no problems dunking these bis… Has this just happened?’ Her attention was on the news.

  ‘Yeah‚’ I said. ‘This evening.’

  ‘Where?’ She sat down next to Naaim and crossed her arms‚ as though to stop herself from exploding.

  ‘A couple of places. A few. Around Greenwich‚’ Zafar said.

  ‘Which is it‚ Zafar? A couple‚ or a few?’ Ira said‚ sharply.

  ‘Three locations‚ Sister‚’ Tahir said. ‘Three separate acid attacks.’

  We continued to watch in silence. I’ve seen too much‚ been through too much‚ to not know exactly how the whole fucking thing was going to play out in the media. The coverage was sketchy‚ pertinent details were yet to be established‚ apparently. The report moved in a predictable loop‚ starting with an image of Fiza Akram‚ a young Asian girl who’d been scarred beyond recognition. A young couple in Greenwich park‚ no names‚ no photos‚ and an old man who suffered from a fatal heart attack as he waited for an ambulance. Little was mentioned about the attackers.

  ‘Can you believe this shit?’ Ira was always going to be the first to react. ‘I’ll tell you what‚ yeah. How about I report! How about I’ll tell you who the attackers were. They were white. I’ll tell you who the victims were; they were Muslim. I’ll tell you what just happened. A terrorist attack is what just fucking happened!’

  ‘Sister‚’ Tahir said. ‘We can’t assume anything.’

  ‘Do not‚ Tahir‚’ Ira spat and held out a finger.

  Tahir bristled at being abruptly spoken to by somebody who was young enough to be his daughter. He was from a generation where respect towards elders is expected. He turned his attention back to the news‚ the glare from the television highlighting his flushed face.

  ‘You wanna walk around with your eyes closed‚ be my
guest‚ yeah. But not me. I see everything.’ Ira was far from finished‚ on her feet now‚ gesturing at the television. ‘If this happened the other way round‚ the journalists would be clamouring over each other‚ foaming at the mouth‚ wanting to be the first to say it was yet again Muslims responsible‚ that it was yet again another terrorist attack. Fucking media fucking whores. Are they going to tell us what colour these attackers were? Are you going to tell us what religion they were? Are they going to say it was a terrorist attack?!’

  Every contrived word from the reporter was being drowned out by every truth flying from Ira’s mouth. She was furious. It was understandable and uncontrollable. Tahir never had a chance of calming her down. I didn’t either.

  ‘Retaliation‚’ I said‚ quietly. ‘That’s how it’ll be portrayed. Retaliation. Revenge attack. Insinuation clear. We started it. It’s the world we live in. There’ll be more attacks. It’s inevitable. From them. From us. I don’t know. But there’ll be more.’

  ‘At least we’ll have a little respite from those illiterate keyboard warriors‚’ Zafar remarked. ‘The sideways glances at the supermarket‚ muttering snide remarks under their breath. Right? Now they’ll have to take a good look at themselves. This shows‚ it illustrates perfectly‚ that the actions of a few idiots does not represent a race or a religion.’

  Zafar was right. Then he said something so wrong. ‘I’m kinda glad it happened this way.’

  ‘Are you joking‚ Zafar?’ Ira said. She had reclaimed her place next to Naaim on the sofa after animatedly attacking the TV‚ her outburst over – another on its way.

  ‘No‚’ Zafar said. ‘Shit‚ Ira. Hear me out; you’ve had your say.’

  ‘Go on then‚’ Ira crossed her arms. ‘We’re listening.’

  All eyes turned to Zafar‚ who looked like he wished he’d never opened his mouth.

  ‘Just‚ you know… That… You know‚ looking at the bigger picture… I’m just saying… I’m glad we weren’t the ones to attack. Now it’s happened to us‚ maybe the… the… view on Muslims will change.’