Everything is gone so God sends him a memory.
Breaths shallow, eyes unfocused, he lets the ringing in his ears drown out the shouts and sirens, and grasps the gift like a lifeline. The memory plays in his mind: the first time his akhee taught him how to perform wudu.
Sleeves rolled up, he wrings his hands and tries not to wince as he runs them over his arms, making sure he reaches the hook of his elbow. He ignores the grime that coats the hair on his forearms, the black dirt under his fingernails, and the splatters of caked blood. He feels a desperate urge to feel clean, to feel pure, to feel steady. Clouds of dust occupy what was once vibrant and alive and the ground shakes every few moments; though an aftermath of the last or a warning of what is to come, he no longer keeps track.
He runs his hands over his mouth, his nose, his face, his ears. He doesn’t know if his plea is enough to cleanse him of the words his lips have uttered, the screams his ears have heard, and the horrors he has seen.
His palms circle over his head, and he tries to imagine a cool stream of fresh water running across the back of his neck, instead of the suffocating fug that grips his throat and the stickiness that clings to his fingertips.
He looks at his blistered and raw feet. His right ankle has begun to swell and several toenails are gone though he does not remember how. It looks like it should hurt but his body feels too foreign to him. He runs his hands over them and focuses his gaze on the pile of rubble ahead of him instead.
His akhee had taught him that wudu, the act of washing his hands, face and feet, was to cleanse him of all he had witnessed and done, to purify himself before submission to the Creator.
And while he is no longer sure he believes it, he needs to hope that it is true.
Even if there is no water.
Because while water could wipe the blood, sweat, and dirt away, the ringing of screams of suffering, the smell of rotted flesh, the dust left from lives once lived: there isn’t enough water in the world, a river pure enough, to cleanse him of that.
Allahu Akbar!
God is Great. He hears the chant and closes his eyes. It is a call to prayer, to action, to do the one thing that is possibly the only reason he is still alive. He clings to his faith, even if he had never done right by it before. Where there is no mercy, he needs His Mercy. Where there was no saving, he needs His Redemption. But where there is no hope, he is lost.
Allahu Akbar!
God is Great. His eyes catch a cherry red t-shirt caught between the rocks, a picture of your favourite superhero on the front. He stumbles and before he knows it, before he can stop it, he fights to not buckle to his knees and bile rises to his throat. Rooted in spot, his legs feel leaden as the images force themselves into his mind’s eye. Your toothy grin, the curve of your cheek and the way your head would turn when he entered a room, repeatedly chanting, ‘Baba, Baba, Baba!’ until he picked you up and swung you around. The tight grip of your whole hand around his one finger. The exact way you would laugh, a mixture of giggles and snorts, is a sound he desperately tries to conjure but hangs on the periphery of his memory, just out of reach.
The memories appear in sharp flashes and they are not the act of a Merciful Lord, but rather the pleas of a broken and tired soul that taunts the abyss and begs for surrender. So desperately he wants to give in and remain in your remembrance.
Allahu Akbar!
The call jolts him. He cannot keep Him waiting.
He must adopt the character traits he named you after. He must rely on The Creation rather than a creation of his fantasy. He prays he can finally be the man that you, with your tight hugs and bright eyes, saw in him. Even if he’s not pure and will never be clean again.
His steps gain purpose, every stride an act of worship, and he joins the others. Raising his hands, he makes a supplication.
God is Great.
He sinks to his knees and he clutches the rubble. With all the strength and hope that remains, he does the one thing, the only reason he remains in this moment.
He begins to dig.