Chapter 3
Carl jingled. Every bump in the road he would jingle from head to toe. At first glance Hazel thought that he might just be a human Christmas tree, but to her surprise, "They're luck charms. I've got this thing, you know with bad luck." He explained when she got into the rickety old bus. For the first hour of the trip she couldn't stop jumping each time he chimed. After awhile it just became white noise like the tires on the road, the wind hitting the bus, and the words coming out of the strange man's mouth.
He wouldn't stop talking, on and on and on. Hazel wasn't sure how so many words could be in one person. And not just words, he wildly moved about the front of the bus as he intricately described inanely simple things, "You see!" he shoved a finger in Hazel's face. "That's why they made Sugar Corn. People were putting sugar on their Cereal Corn already anyway!"
Not knowing the very best response Hazel just shyly nodded. When he turned around to think of the next subject he would expound on, Hazel nabbed the opportunity and hid under her seat. Slowly she crawled, hand, knee, hand, knee to the back of the bus. The strange man didn't even pause to notice she wasn't there anymore. Instead he began explaining the inconsistencies between the gospel of Mark and Catch-22. Ingrid feigned interest and Mark spent most of his time drawing invisible pictures on the window with his finger.
In the corner Hazel stretched across the seat resting her head against the window and her left foot dangerously close to the emergency latch. Before she got too comfortable she spied a purse strap dangling in front of her. She peeked over the seat next to her. The man still didn't know where she hid. "You see Major Major is clearly intended to be an allegory for Peter, but he falls short because his name doesn't start with a P," Hazel shook her head and mouthed a confused 'What?' before snatching the purse from the rack above her. In one surprisingly smooth movement. 'Wait a second…' her hands knew the purse before her eyes caught on. That familiar pastel plaid. All those unused zippers and pockets. Inside a faded manuscript hid desperately hoping no one would ever find it. Black scribbles and scratches reworking each page. Where did this come from? How did it get there? Better not ask, the man upfront would probably say he jacked it from a kindergartner because they made a nonsensical Kafka reference. It still smelled like home. Some how, by some miracle, she managed to find something to help ground her in that strange place. Something to hold onto. Something to… 'Wait a second,' she squinted through the window opposite her. Those hills, that grassland, the dotted clouds. How many times did she drive through this place, crammed in the back seat with her brother and sister? She hugged the purse to her heart while home passed by. Memories of days spent staring up at the sky while storms built up. The sweet scent of wet grass and ionized air filled her lungs. Mindlessly the white noise of the road, the lolling of the hills, the mindless chatter of the odd man, all melded for one second before her head nuzzled down to her chest. Peacefully Hazel slipped into a dream.
…
The sunlight lazily filtered through the warm curtains. In the cream colored kitchen Raha sipped from an emerald coffee cup. Was it morning or was it evening? It didn't matter, either way the light warmed her heart. The light brightened everything in her quiet kitchen. The tiled counter, wood flooring, and aged chairs glowed, almost hummed, with light.
The only piece that nearly felt out of place was the black turn dial phone firmly held to the wall. No matter where she looked, her eyes always drew themselves back to the phone. Back to the black shine. It taunted her, it jarred her. How did such a dark thing deserve to be in her peace, in her warm kitchen? It sucked in light, greedily keeping it all. She didn't trust it. But… But surely it served a purpose. Why else would the owner have put it there? After carefully planning such a lovely living space surely they had a reason for leaving that dark splotch. She tapped her foot turning all of her attention on the phone. Turning all her questions on the phone. Where would some one find such an old phone these days? Who would sell it? Did they still offer landlines?
In her concentration she accidentally turned her coffee cup ever so slightly. Sensing a wonderful opportunity for mischief the coffee and creamer came streaming down on her arm.
Before she could scream the black phone frighteningly started ringing. The bell sounded so loudly Raha feared it might send the receiver crashing to the floor. In a split second she leapt across the room snagging the receiver and leaving a streak of coffee across the linoleum as she went. "Salaam alaykum!" the moment the greeting left her lips she second guessed herself. Did she sound too eager to answer the phone? Did the person on the other end of the line think she was crazy? Did she pronounce the Arabic wrong, again? Oh lord, first impressions are the only impressions and all of that. But what if it was a relative? What a pickle! With a quick breath she pushed the pain shooting through her arm to the back of her mind. Conversations took focus.
"Alaykum a-salaam, may I speak to Raha al-Nur please?" his voice didn't carry any judgement in it. Did he really not think that she sounded over zealous? Did she manage an okay greeting? All must be well with the conversation then! She breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm calling on behalf of the owner of the house for Raha al-Nur. Is this a bad time? Should I call back in a bit?"
"Oh no, sorry," Raha giggled. "Sorry no need to call back later. I'm Raha al-Nur. Did I do something wrong? Is this about the lawn gnome? I'm pretty sure the lawn gnome is a legitimate decoration according to the contract. Are the neighbors complaining again? I've been trying to keep the music down, I promise!"
"No you're standing is fine, miss. That's not it at all," he pleasantly chuckled. She could almost hear his smile through the phone. "I'm calling because the owner of the house would like to ask a favor of you."
Nervous Raha straightened her posture. "Of course! I can do anything insh'Alah!" she nodded like he could see her. For a split second it hit her that the phrase owner of the house was a touch odd, but who was she to question it. The owner let her stay for free in a such a lovely place, one quick favor wouldn't be too much of a burden.
"Great! Now sister, do you have your tesbe?"
Raha frantically looked around the kitchen. Where would she have put it? Did she leave it in the bedroom? No it would be more likely that she left it in the living room. "I'll be back in a second."
"Sure thing sister, I've got all the time in the world."
She lightly placed the receiver on the tiled counter and sprinted down the hall. First she checked the top of the bookcase. Didn't she usually hide it there after prayer? No, not this time. Where else did she leave it? The seat cushions? Hanging on a lamp? The floor? Maybe she dropped it before going to the kitchen and accidentally kicked it under the couch or something.
She dropped to the floor, lifted the fabric flap hiding the dust bunny kingdom, and shot her right hand in. Blindly she searched until she heard the familiar tap of wood beads on a wood floor. No matter how far she reached though she couldn't get her hand on the tesbe. Where did it go? Wanting to cry she pulled her hand out from under the couch and brought it up to her face wanting to quickly wipe away the frustrated tears, but… "When did?" thick round tears slipped down her cheeks one by one as she tried to put together what she saw. When did she put on the tesbe? Was she wearing it the whole time? Did she just forget to take it off after Fajr? No, that didn't seem right. Something was biting at her.
Before she could delve too far into the problem a distant electric voice began calling to her. She rushed back to the phone, panting from the sudden excitement, "Okay I found them. Guess you could say I had them handy." She laughed not fully realizing that the man on the other end of the line didn't find her pun funny at all.
"Good sister," he cleared his throat. "Now do you see those jars next to the floor mat?"
Raha cocked up an eyebrow. When she looked up a cluster of large clay jars lined her counter. "Funny, I don't remember those. Okay, ya' I see them," she quickly glanced at the back door. It didn't look like some one came in that way, but how would
she know?
"Splendid! Now the owner of the house would like you to sit down on the floor mat, take one of the jars, and start chanting your tesbe over it."
"I'm sorry… but what?" Raha froze in confusion. How would she chant over the jugs? Would she hug a jar with her legs and hold the tesbe over it? Would she kneel in front of one and chant away? Couldn't the owner give her more specific directions? She gnawed on her thumbnail trying to work through the problem.
"What do you mean what? I thought that you wanted to do anything for the owner of the house!"
Raha bit her lower lip. "Okay. I can do it. Do you want me to hang up while I'm chanting?" she shifted her weight to the other foot and wondered about what in the world could possibly be the use of chanting over jars.
"It's fine sister. I can stay on the line while you chant," it sounded like he settled himself deeper into his chair.
Raha awkwardly shuffled along and sat down on the floor mat. Praying with the rest of the tekke made her nervous enough, but something about praying with the unknown man listening made her even more nervous. She lifted one of the of the clay jars from the counter. It felt heavier than she expected and she almost lost it while the water sloshed back and forth. "What do you want me to chant?" she ran through the list of different chants she knew, but couldn't think of a single one that seemed appropriate for clay jars full of water.
She could hear the man softly hum while he thought about it. He tapped his finger. "What about La ilaha ilallah? It works pretty well for just about everything."
Was it the best prayer? What if she offered the wrong one? Wouldn't the owner of the house be mad? But then why was she told by the man on the phone to chant it? Then it snuck up on her. Sunlight peeking through the window at just the right angle to calmly warm her face, and the soft breeze filled her with peace. In that moment she found clarity. This chant would work very nicely. It suited the moment. "That sounds perfect!" without even double guessing how enthused she might have sounded she began chanting.
The first jar passed and she moved on to the second, then the third. When she started the fourth some questions came back to her mind. What exactly did this accomplish? Why chant over jars of water? Where did they come from? "What am I doing?"
The man stirred. "I'm sorry, what?"
Raha stopped chanting, "What am I doing? I just… it's just… I don't understand. What's the point of chanting over this water? I'm glad to do it and all, it just seems… pointless." Raha let out a little sigh and then straightened up worrying that the man might be mad at her for the questions.
"Why should the owner of the house have to explain anything to you?" a little pause while the man tapped his fingers. "Nah, I'm just pulling your leg. The owner of the house would just like you to make some Juma wine. You know, so that we can share it with the people of the world."
"Juma wine? But I don't drink! Well… I don't drink anymore. Isn't wine haram anyway?" feeling fooled Raha nearly began to cry.
"Alhamdulillah! Don't worry about it sister!" she could hear him happily chuckle. "The owner of the house says that you can drink this stuff. It's good."
…
Hazel jerked awake instantly holding a hand to her mouth. She found a hint of drool but managed to hide it before anyone noticed. "Juma wine?" she whispered to herself. What a weird dream. But then again they've all been weird lately. Almost as odd as the words coming from the odd man upfront. Something about clouds, rain, and the state of modern philosophy. What time was it? She guessed it looked noon-ish. Noon-ish, the time passed over her for a second lingering at the front of her mind. Why did that feel important? It's not like she had anything to do… "Oh jeez!" she half stood in her seat and yelled forward, "Does anyone have any water!?"
The odd man obviously a bit thrown off by her sudden question fumbled around in his bag. "Is this enough?" he waved a half full water bottle.
Hazel smiled from ear to ear, "Yes that will do perfectly! Just one more thing. Is East still that direction?" She pointed her thumb over her shoulder.
Carl jingled.