Short Story: Rana

Rana

By J. M. Hughes

Fadi ducked back behind the scarred and crumbling wall, praying silently that the rebel patrol had not seen him. He carefully picked his way along the wall, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. Or, even more terrifying, the sound of one of the evil hunter-killer drones the fanatics had obtained from some foreign country to use in their brutal campaign. He no longer had a weapon, having run out of ammunition a week ago. Rather than carry the now-useless gun he had simply dropped it and continued to run.

At the end of the narrow alley he reached the corner of the old building, and after taking a cautious peek into a deserted courtyard, slipped around the corner. He had eluded them once again, but he knew he couldn’t do it forever. Sooner or later they would catch him, and they would kill him.

As he leaned against the wall and waited for his heart to settle down, Fadi thought again of his friend Jamal. Poor Jamal, his luck had run out a few days ago. They had become close friends ever since they had encountered one another as members of a band of fighters still loyal to the government, and the aching pain of losing him sat heavily on Fadi’s heart. While he rested and remembered, his gaze wandered across the courtyard in front of him. It was littered with broken glass and masonry, smashed furniture, and a smattering of abandoned and shattered children’s toys. This had once been a lively little part of the city, filled with the smells of cooking, the low and urgent conversations of men smoking and drinking coffee and tea, and the giggles and squeals of children playing. Now it was silent, save for the rustling of loose pieces of paper in the hot breeze and the far-off rumble and whine of vehicle engines. Occasionally the distant sounds of weapons fire could be heard, and the breeze smelled of smoke and decay. All in all, it was about as close to Hell as Fadi could imagine.

A movement caught his eye and drew his gaze to a window on the second floor of the building across the courtyard from where he huddled against the wall. The shutters were open, and it looked like the glass was now long gone. He peered at the dark hole, but saw nothing at first. Then a shape materialized out of the darkness. It was a face, a small, oval face like that of a young girl. At first Fadi thought he was seeing a ghost, but then the face came closer to the window and he could see that it was a girl, perhaps 10 or 11 years old. She was looking directly at him, her dark eyes expressionless, as if trying to decide if he was good or evil. Fadi gazed back in wonder, for he didn’t think it possible that anyone could still be living in this part of the city.

Then, to Fadi’s surprise, the girl pointed downwards toward a door hanging on by a single hinge, and motioned for him to come inside. For a moment he sat frozen, trying to decide if he should go in, and possibly walk into a trap, or if he should bolt back down the alley and take his chances in the streets. The girl continued to stare at him with the same emotionless expression while he struggled to make up his mind. She beckoned once again, then turned and vanished from the window.

Fadi rose to his feet and looked cautiously around the courtyard, peering into the shadowy alleyways that led away from it in several directions. There was no movement, and no sound except for the rattle of loose bits of wind-blown trash. At last he managed to build up enough courage to dart across the courtyard and duck into the doorway. The girl was standing in the hallway just inside, and Fadi came to an abrupt stop in front of her.

“This way,” she said, turning and heading for some stairs that led upwards into the building. Her voice was soft and almost musical. The hallway was dark, and the heat was stifling. Fadi followed her up the creaking stairs to a landing. The girl pushed a door open and motioned for him to enter. Fadi hesitated, not wanting to be the first to enter.

After a moment the girl shrugged and went in first. Fadi poked his head into the room and saw that it was a typical main room of a typical apartment, only very much in disarray. As he entered he peered back into the stairwell, and then pushed the door closed. It latched with a quiet click. The young girl stood in the middle of the room, watching him with a level gaze.

“What is your name?” the girl asked, looking directly into his face, much like his grandmother once did when he was little.

“Fadi,” he replied as he glanced nervously around the wreckage of the apartment. It could have been much worse; at least the walls were still intact.

“I’m Rana,” she said, and as an apparent afterthought she added: “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Fadi replied, suddenly aware of just how dry his mouth and throat had become.

“Have a seat,” Rana said as she motioned at the one sofa still left in the room, “I just made some.”

Fadi let his gaze wander around the room. Most of things one would expect to see were missing: Family pictures, tapestries, lamps. There was just one sofa, a chair, a filthy rug, and a framed photograph of a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties. The remains of a shattered table lay in a heap in a corner, and some loose pages from books and magazines littered the floor. After a moment the girl returned with two cups of tea.

“Why were you looking out the window?” Fadi asked, “You could have been seen. If they see you they’ll shoot you, or worse,” he added, suddenly feeling embarrassed at his abrupt question.

“I know,” she replied calmly with a small smile, “but no one was coming.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” she stated, looking at him with that disconcerting level gaze as she handed him the cup of tea.

“Oh, you have a crystal ball, perhaps?” Fadi said by way of attempting a small bit of sarcastic humor. Rana gave him a quick glance for his effort, and then stared at a point on one of the walls. After a moment Rana took a deep breath, and turned her face back to Fadi.

“I see things, glimpses of things. I sometimes see what will be and what could be, and sometimes what was,” she said quietly as she settled lightly onto the chair across from Fadi.

Rana suddenly looked much older than her apparent age, like an old woman behind a child’s face. Fadi sipped his tea politely, almost certain by now that she was insane, another causality of the ongoing brutality in the streets of the city. Just like himself, he thought with a start. Fadi decided not to press the issue, just in case the girl might do something, well, crazy. His father had always said that it was best to let crazy people have their own corner of the world to be crazy in. But, then, Fadi’s father had been a lot more tolerant and patient than most of the men Fadi had known during his childhood. A sudden wave of sadness swept over him as he remembered his father, and his friend Jamal. Both gone now. Only he, Fadi, was left.

The thick stillness of the room was broken only by the occasional faint sounds of armed conflict in the distance and the quiet slurping noises they made as they drank their tea. Even the air seemed to be thick and weighted down, and Fadi thought he could smell the lingering traces of what had once been a lively home. The wisp of garlic and sesame was now only a ghost in the warm, heavy air, mingled with the smell of burned things and the bitter taste of dust suspend in the air.

“How have you managed to survive here?” Fadi asked at last, making an obvious and clumsy attempt to push aside the heavy silence.

Rana looked up at him, her large dark eyes kindly but revealing nothing, not seeming to mind the abrupt question.

“By being quiet,” she replied softly, “And by knowing when not to look out of the window.”

Fadi considered this for a moment, then added, “But what about food and water?”

Rana’s face showed a brief hint of a smile before she replied.

“The other side of this building had a small market at street level. It was boarded up before the war started, with everything still inside,” she said, and after a brief pause she added, “It was my grandfather’s store.”

Fadi thought for a moment, and then jerked upright when the memory of the street came back to him. He and Jamal had been running past boarded up storefronts, two armored military vehicles in pursuit a few blocks behind them, the rebel fanatics inside intent on killing anything that moved. After darting across the street they had run into a narrow alley where the vehicles could not go, but they had to move fast, because the soldiers in the vehicles could easily follow them. Fadi remembered looking back toward the street, the narrow vertical opening of the alley framing what had obviously once been some kind of store or market. It was completely boarded up, deserted, with large holes in the surrounding walls there light artillery shells had impacted and heavy machine gun fire had left trails of smaller pockmarks in the plaster. It had struck Fadi as odd that there were no signs of damage on the shuttered storefront, but he didn’t have time then to ponder the little mystery. Now Fadi wondered if it might be the same store. He couldn’t recall exactly how he’d ended up in the courtyard. After Jamal had been shot by the long-range sniper bullet he didn’t remember much of anything expect running insanely, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to hide. He had left Jamal in a bleeding heap where he had fallen, already dead before he hit the ground. There was nothing Fadi could do for him any more. As the memory played out Fadi began to cry silently, the tears leaving wet trails down his face. He wiped them away with the back of his free hand, smearing the dust on his skin into a thin mud. The tea cup in his other hand threatened to end up on the floor as the he trembled.

Rana watched him quietly, her eyes locked on Fadi’s face. She leaned forward and gently placed her hand on Fadi’s to steady it before the teacup could end up in pieces on the floor. Fadi looked up at her, and saw that she, too, was crying silently. They sat and looked at each other for a moment, each wrapped in their own private cloaks of grief.

“I’m sorry,” Fadi managed after a moment, his voice hoarse.

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Rana replied softly, “I understand your pain.”

Rana gently withdrew her hand and Fadi finished his tea. He looked longingly into the now empty cup. It was excellent tea, and Fadi thanked her for it. Rana bowed her head slightly, and then stood and took the cup from him.

“It is getting dark, and there can be no lights after sunset,” she told him, “So it is best to try to sleep as soon as possible. You may sleep here, on the sofa.”

Fadi suddenly felt very tired, and the reddish glow coming through the window made him want to just lie quietly. Rana vanished into the back room, and then returned with a ragged blanket.

“You may not need this,” she said as she offered it to him, “But sometimes it does get cool at night. It can also serve as a pillow.”

“Thank you,” Fadi took the blanket and folded it carefully into a pillow-like shape. He pulled off his shoes and lay back on the sofa.

“Remember, do not look out the window,” Rana said, her voice full of concern.

“I won’t,” Fadi replied, “But why not close the shutters?”

“Because they have never been closed,” Rana looked at the open and glassless window, “Closing them now would be a signal that someone is here. There are other people hiding in the ruins.”

Fadi shuddered involuntarily as he realized that Rana was right. Others were holed up around the city, and some of them worked as snipers for the fanatics. One of them had killed Jamal. He wished that he still had a working gun.

As if sensing his anxiety, Rana moved closer to him and knelt on the floor beside him. She placed her small hand on his.

“We will be alright for tonight,” she said, “But tomorrow we will need to make our way out of the city early in the morning. I will make a good breakfast before we go.”

She gave Fadi a small smile and then rose and walked back towards the door to back rooms of the apartment.

“Goodnight,” Fadi said quietly, and was rewarded with another small smile before Rana vanished through the doorway.

Fadi watched the ruddy light slowly seep from the room. The shadows faded from grey to black, and somewhere in the distance Fadi thought he heard someone scream. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and tried to imagine that he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Sleep finally took him, and he dreamt fitfully, each dream spiked with disjointed, ghastly images and jolts of fear. Fadi didn’t know it, but at some point Rana came back into the room and settled into the chair across from him. She gazed steadily at the dark hole of the window, as if listening to something only she could hear. Fadi soon began to sleep more deeply, and the wretched dreams at last evaporated and left him in peace.

The next morning Fadi awoke with a start, the smell of toast and tea filling his nose. He blinked in the dim gray light of early morning, and saw Rana sitting in the chair, a teacup in her hand. She smiled at him and gestured at the platter set out on the floor between them. Fadi saw that it had slices of toast, two different kinds of preserves in small bowls with silver spoons, and there was a pot of hot tea sitting next to it. He suddenly felt famished.

He was working through his third slice of toast when he suddently stopped and looked at Rana.

“You are not eating?” he asked, then looked at the bread in his hand with a guilty expression, “I am sorry, I have already eaten too much.”

“Do not worry,” she replied, “I have already eaten. This is for you. But hurry, we must leave very soon.”

Fadi considered this for a moment and then finished the toast in his hand, took the last slice from the platter and slathered it with preserves.

“How do you know we need to leave?” he asked, trying to talk around a mouthful of bread and sweet fruit without being rude.

“I just know,” Rana replied with a slight shrug, “In a short while this will not be a safe place.”

Fadi finished the toast and was drinking the last of the tea when Rana stood up suddenly, her face a mask of urgent concern. Rana bent and quickly picked up the now-empty platter and the little bowls of fruit preserves.

“We must go now,” she stated firmly, “Take the blanket and follow me.”

Fadi scrambled to his feet and followed Rana as she went into the door to the back rooms. In the dim light Fadi could make out some broken furniture in the rooms, and what was left of the kitchen seemed to consist of a small stove and a box that looked like it served as an impromptu table. Fadi laid the blanket on the floor next the box. Rana lifted the box, set the platter under it, and then set it back down again. She kicked the blanket into a corner so that it looked like all the rest of the trash. She then turned and paused before a narrow door for a brief moment before opening it. She held it open and looked up at Fadi.

“Follow me,” she said, “But watch your step. Feel the way with your feet, and please don’t trip over me.” “Close the door after you,” she added, pointing at the door as she passed through.

“I will try not to fall,” was all Fadi could manage as he stepped into a dark stairwell. The door closed solidly and Fadi could hear a latch engage. The steps were narrow and he had to keep one hand on a wall as he felt for each step. Rana seemed to know the way, and was at the bottom before Fadi.

“Hurry!” Rana said in a frantic whisper, “We are almost too late!”

Fadi stepped out into a dark room filled with what looked like shelves and crates. Some light seeped in through cracks and holes in the front wall, and Fadi suddenly realized that they were in the old boarded-up shop.

“This way!” Rana whisped ugently as she gently tugged on Fadi’s sleeve, “Through here.”

Another narrow doorway led them into a passageway lined with bricks. Fadi suddenly bumped into Rana, who was standing in the dark in front of a door, listening intently. A small trickle of light seeped in around the door, turning Rana into a shadowy silhouette.

“Shhh!” she held up a finger, her ear close to the door.

“When I open the door, run directly across the street into the alley, and keep running until it turns to the right. Stop just around the corner and wait for me to catch up to you. Do you understand?”

Fadi nodded and then realized that Rana couldn’t see him in the darkness.

“Yes, I understand,” he replied quietly, “I am ready.”

“Good,” Rana listened again and then suddenly threw the door open.

“Go!” she said as she tugged at his arm, pulling Fadi out into the early morning light.

As she had said there was an alley entrance directly ahead, and Fadi sprinted for it. He had almost reached it when part of the wall ahead of him exploded in a spray of plaster dust and stone shards, followed quickly afterwards by the report of a large-calibre weapon. Fadi ducked his head, and stumbled momentarily. Then he caught his balance and plunged into the alley. He ran as hard as he could, expecting another shot to ring out at any moment, but the shot didn’t come. Instead he reached the corner Rana had described and whipped himself around it. He glanced to his right, but the alley seemed to end just ahead. He peeked back around the corner in the direction he had just come from, but saw nothing but the empty alley and ruined buildings.

Fadi suddenly felt a sense of panic. Where was Rana? Had she been killed, or worse, captured? He was about to turn back and look for her when he heard a small sound from the short end of the alley where he now stood.

“Fadi!” a soft voice called quietly.

He turned and there was Rana, standing by a door at the end of the alley. She gestured urgently for him to follow, and then ducked into the doorway. She was standing just inside as he stepped through, and he almost tripped on the door sill while trying to avoid running into her.

“Careful,” Rana said as she pulled the door closed quietly behind him.

“How did you do that?” Fadi asked, looking at Rana in disbelief.

“It’s an old city,” she shrugged, “and there are many hidden ways.”

Fadi looked around. They are standing in what looked like an automobile repair garage. There were no vehicles there now, but otherwise the room was in relatively good condition. Rana walked over to a shelf and lifted a dusty backpack.

“Here,” she says, holding it out to him, “I think we will need this. There are water bottles over there, please fill it with them,” she added, pointing at another shelf.

She took a backpack for herself, and when Fadi glanced at her he noticed that she was putting various items into it. Things like boxes of matches, tins of canned meats, some small cardboard boxes, and other items he couldn’t readily identify. Fadi concentrated on stuffing the plastic water bottles in the knapsack. He stopped just before it became too heavy to carry. Rana looked at the bulging knapsack.

“You need to remove several of the bottles,” she said casually, “or it will become too heavy to carry before you can drink it all.”

Fadi pondered this for a moment, and then pulled out four of the bottles and set them back on the shelf with the others. She was right, as usual, and he was now able to sling the bag over his shoulder comfortably. Then to Fadi’s surprise Rana offered him a pistol, a fancy foreign semi-automatic model, with a clip full of military-grade ammunition. Fadi stared at the gun for a moment and looked at Rana. She simply nodded and held it out to him insistently. Not knowing what to say, Fadi took the gun, inserted the clip, and pushed it into his pants behind his belt.

“Ready?” Rana asked as she slipped her slender arms through the straps of her own knapsack.

“Yes, I think so,” Fadi replied as he looked around the space once again while adjusting the pistol.

“What was this place?”

“It was an automobile repair garage, once,” Rana replied, “It was used as a supply depot by some government fighters for a while, but I think they were killed or captured.”

Fadi said nothing, but continued to peer around the room, imagining the people that once huddled here, trying to think of ways to fight back against the evil and despair that was sweeping their country as an ineffectual government stumbled and foreign powers simply stood by watching.

“Come,” Rana said gently, patting his arm, “We should go now.”

Fadi and Rana crept through the city, moving quietly through narrow alleyways, passing through bombed-out buildings, and at one point ducking into the burned-out shell of a bus as a drone buzzed by overhead, its thermal sensors blinded by the sun-heated metal of the ruined vehicle around them. They finally reached the outskirts of the city as the sun began to touch the horizon. Along the way they had only seen two other people, both in the distance, and both of them running as if pursued by something. Otherwise the landscape appeared to be devoid of human presence. They crouched down behind an overturned truck next to the partially shattered wall of a building, and drank some of the water they had brought with them.

“We must be careful,” Rana said as she looked around at the shells of ruined buildings and shattered vehicles. Curious, Fadi started to stand to peek over the top of the truck but Rana quickly grabbed his shirt and pulled him back down.

“No!” she said in a loud whisper, and then more quietly, “Don’t show yourself. Someone is watching. There are still people here. The fight has moved on, but some of the people have not.”

“How do you know this?” Fadi asked as he settled back down, his hand now on the butt of the pistol.

“I just do,” Rana replied quietly, “it’s just something I know.”

Fadi considered Rana’s profile as he listened intently for the sound of someone moving through the rubble. Again the thought occurred to him that she looked like an old woman trapped in a young girl’s body, and the overall effect was unsettling. In many ways she reminded him of his younger sister, a delightful bundle of energy with a ready smile and an infectious laugh. Fadi suddenly felt a deep longing to see his family once again, but he didn’t know if they were alive or dead.

“I need a bath, don’t I?” Rana asked, looking up at him with her small smile. Fadi started and looked away, slightly embarrassed to be caught staring.

“We both do,” he said in a neutral voice.

“We might as well wait here until it is dark,” Rana said as she peered at the sky, “It will be safer to move through this place after dark.”

“Alright, that makes sense,” Fadi said as he settled back against the wall next to the ruined truck. They sat in a narrow gap, the view blocked at either end by low piles of rubble, with the wrecked truck to provide a shield. Rana pulled out one of the tins of canned fish and opened it. She picked out some and then offered it to Fadi. He didn’t really care for sardines, but it was better than going hungry. He and Rana ate the sardines in silence as night fell around them. The silence became even more profound, and Fadi realized that he hadn’t heard any gunfire for the last several hours.

“Your mother, brother, and sister are alive,” Rana said abruptly, with no warning.

“What?” Fadi stared at her in shock, “Are you sure? Please don’t play with me,” he added, his voice cracking slightly.

“I am not playing with you,” Rana replied calmly, keeping her voice low, “I know it to be true. And I know you needed to hear it, did you not?”

“Yes, yes, I did,” Fadi responded, his emotions doing flip-flops and becoming hopelessly tangled, “But where are they? How can I find them?”

“They are in a refugee camp, about 50 kilometers to the North, just past the mountains.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Fadi demanded, “How do I know you are not just having some fun with me?”

“Why would I do that?” Rana turned to look Fadi in the eyes, a flash of anger on her face, “I have not lied to you so far, nor would I ever want to do that.”

Fadi regarded her for a moment, and then let his gaze drop.

“Forgive me, you are right. You have only helped, and I am being ungrateful.”

“Let it pass,” Rana replied gently as she laid her hand on his arm, “We have all lost so much in this craziness.”

“I lost my father, and my best friend,” Fadi replied, his voice low and heavy with sadness.

“What was your friend’s name?” Rana asked gently, her hand still resting gently on Fadi’s dust-covered arm.

“Jamal,” Fadi replied.

` Rana didn’t move, and didn’t take her gaze from Fadi’s face, but when he looked up at her it seemed like she was looking through him, past him, to somewhere only she could see. A slight smile flickered across her face.

“I imagine he was a very good friend,” she said gently as her gaze shifted back to the present and to Fadi, “I can hear it in your voice.”

“Yes, he was the best friend I’ve ever known,” Fadi replied, than dropped his eyes and added, “Like the older brother I never had.”

“It is getting dark,” Rana said as she looked at the sky, “we should go now.”

She looked back at Fadi, and gave him a smile in the dim light. Then she began to slip into the straps of her backpack. Fadi sighed and pulled on his own backpack. It was going to be a long walk.

The hours passed and city gave way to abandoned fields and then desert, littered with an occasional burned-out tank, a wrecked truck or car, or the wreckage of an aircraft of some sort. Just before midnight they stopped at an abandoned petrol station, now in ruins like most everything else.

“It is safe here,” Rana said as she looked around, “The camp is about 30 kilometers further on, just on the other side of the pass in the mountain there.”

Fadi peered at the place where she was pointing, and could just make out a dip in the black profile of the low mountains in the distance. There seemed to be a faint glow in the sky coming from behind the mountains. That could only mean electricity, lights, and people.

Rana suddenly slipped off her backpack and set it on the ground. She then gave Fadi a quick hug before stepping back.

“May you go in peace,” she said as she looked up at him.

“What?” Fadi said, confused, “Aren’t you coming, too?”

“No,” Rana replied, “I cannot. I must go back. I will be fine.”

“Wait, Rana, please come with me,” Fadi pleaded with her. Rana simply reached out, touched his hand, and then turned and slipped into the night. Fadi peered into the darkness, trying to see her, but it was as if she had simply vanished into the night air.

Fadi never saw Rana again. He made it a point to meet new refugees as they trickled into the camp, but Rana was never among them. Some them had stories, though, about how a young girl helped to lead them to safety, or helped them meet up with other people seeking to escape. From their descriptions Fadi knew it had to have been Rana, but it seemed that only he knew her name.

After a few months the tide of the war began to turn. New leadership in the government gave the military some incentive and some sense of pride. A few of the rich foreign nations that liked to meddle in the affairs of smaller countries, or just watch from the sidelines, at last decided to provide support in the form of food, weapons, and military advisors. Fadi joined a group being trained in urban guerrilla tactics. The training was much more difficult than what he went through with the loyalist resistance fighters. Soon afterwards Fadi found himself leading a small group on a mission to destroy a stockpile of ammunition that the fanatics had captured at the start of the conflict.

Almost a year went by, and the conflict was over at last. Most of the fanatics had either been killed or captured, but some managed to slip away into neighboring countries. Fadi finally rode back into the city in the rear of a battered military truck. He and the other men in the truck gazed at the destruction in silence as they rolled along. As they turned onto a street with mostly intact buildings Fadi suddenly recognized the old store with its boarded-up storefront. He leaned towards the driver’s open window and asked the woman driving the vehicle to stop the truck so he could get off.

The storefront was as Fadi remembered it. It still bore no signs of damage from the war, although the buildings to either side had not fared so well. Fadi could see no way to enter the building from the street, so he walked along it on side streets until he found the alleyway he had run through so long ago. The courtyard still looked much as it had them, and the door to the stairwell still hung on by a single hinge. Fadi entered and made his way up the stairs, listening carefully, his gun slung over his shoulder but ready if he should need it.

At the top of the stairs he tried the apartment door, and it was unlocked. He gently pushed it open and peered inside. It didn’t look like the same room that Fadi remembered, and for a moment he thought he might be in the wrong place. Then he saw the portrait of the woman still hanging on the wall, only now it was ajar. The sofa was gone, and it looked like the chair had joined the broken table in the pile of rubble in a far corner. There was no sign of Rana. Fadi entered and ran his gaze across the room, finally letting it settle on the portrait. He noticed that it seemed to look like an older version of Rana.

“Excuse me, may I help you?” A man’s voice asked. Fadi spun around, startled. It was a middle-aged man with a cane, standing in front of the door leading into the back of the apartment. He looked at Fadi with a curious expression.

“I was just looking for someone,” Fadi replied uncertainly.

“Who might that be, if I may ask?” the man said as he studied Fadi.

“A young girl who used to live here.”

“I see. Did she have a name?”

Fadi hesitated for a moment before he replied, “Yes, her name was Rana.”

The man suddenly looked ashen and started to teeter. Fadi moved to catch him but he steadied himself in time. Then he looked at Fadi with an expression of intense pain and sadness.

“Rana was my daughter,” he said in a cracking voice, “She was killed in an accident with my mother and father. She has been dead for almost five years.”

“I’m sorry,” Fadi offered, now feeling confused, “I didn’t know.”

“But how did you know about her?” the man looked intently at Fadi, “Are you trying to play games with me?”

“No, no!” Fadi exclaimed, holding his hands up, “I would not do that. I could never do that.”

“But how did you know about her?” the man demanded.

Fadi sighed, and thought for a second before he replied.

“She helped me escape from the city,” he answered at last, “And from what some of the other refugees said, she helped others as well.”

The man simply stared at Fadi for a moment and then took a deep breath and let his gaze drop.

“So, it is true,” he said at last, staring the floor, “I have heard of the girl who helped people out of the city, and the descriptions sounded like Rana, but no one knew her name, ” he looked back up at Fadi, “except for you.”

“You are special, somehow,” the man said, “You know her true name.”

He paused once again, and then seemed to make up his mind about something.

“My name is Youssif. That was my mother, ” he said, pointing at the portrait on the wall, “Come, let us sit comfortably. I have some flavored water to drink.” he added as he gestured towards the door that Rana had led Fadi through once before.

Downstairs in the old store Youssif and Fadi sat in rickety wooden chairs and sipped warm fruit-flavored water from bottles that Youssif had found on one of the shelves. Fadi learned that Youssif was the only surviving member of his family. His parents and Rana had died when their car was struck by a speeding truck, his wife had been killed when the fanatics initially launched their attempt to overthrow the government, and his younger brother was missing, presumed killed during the fighting.

“So, what is it that brought you back to this place?” Youssif asked, turning to look at Fadi.

Fadi thought for a moment before he replied.

“Perhaps because this is the one place where I found some peace after running from the fighting for months on end,” he said at last, “Even if it was for just a brief time.”

“Hmm,” Youssif rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I think I can understand that. Particularly if you really did meet Rana. She was a special girl.”

“I also like this store,” Fadi said as he looked around, “It has a feeling, of, well, a place of peace. It feels like it was once a happy place. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Youssif didn’t say anything, but simply looked intently at Fadi for a moment.

“Would you like to own it?” he asked.

“What? Me?”

“Yes, something about you tells me that you would make a good shopkeeper,” Youssif said in a confident tone, “and you seem to have a special connection to it. One that I no longer have.”

Fadi saw that Youssif was looking sadly at the floor.

“Too many memories here,” Youssif said quietly, “Too much pain, not enough joy.”

Fadi and Youssif worked out an arrangement that would allow Fadi to make payments on the store and the apartment building while still keeping some for himself. The government was offering monetary assistance to help with rebuilding, and Fadi took advantage of that to help repair most of the damage. He restocked the shelves with as much new merchandise as he could afford, repainted both inside and out, and even had a new sign made to hang on the front of the building. Fadi married young Hafa, whom he had met in the refugee camp. She had been staying with his mother, and helping one another deal with the tribulations of life in the camp and with Fadi’s younger brother and sister. He had been instantly smitten by her, so asking her to marry him just seemed like the right thing to do. Fadi had never once regretted it. His mother approved, which was good because she, and his brother and sister, also now lived in the apartment building with them.

Not long after Fadi declared the store open for business, Youssif stopped by to check on the progress. Fadi greeting him warmly when he stepped inside.

“Greetings, Youssif,” Fadi said with a smile, “How are you today?”

“Greetings to you, Fadi, I am well,” Youssif replied as he looked around.

“You have done a lot of work here,” he said, “I haven’t seen the store this clean and neat in many years.”

“Thank you. I didn’t do it alone, however. My wife helped me.”

“Ah, yes,” Youssif looked at Fadi, “And how is she?”

“Good, good,” Fadi replied with a large smile, “I think she enjoys being a shopkeeper’s wife.”

“And,” Fadi added in a low voice, “we are expecting a child!”

“Excellent!” Youssif said with a laugh and clapped Fadi on the shoulder, “Congratulations! May you have many children, and live a long and happy life.”

“Thank you,” Fadi said with a nod, “And what of you? Are things well with you?”

Youssif looked pensive for a moment, and then turned to face Fadi.

“I am leaving,” he said.

“Leaving?” Fadi replied with disbelief.

“Yes, I am moving out of the country. I no longer have roots here, and I need to find a quiet place to work and let my spirit heal,” he said in a sad voice.

“But, maybe I’ll get married, too” he added, his mood brightening a little.

“How will I contact you to make the payments?” Fadi asked.

“I will contact you once I have an address. In the meantime, just put the money aside for me,” Youssif smiled at him, “You can be like a bank for me while I get settled in a new home.”

Fadi considered this for a moment, and then looked back at Youssif.

“I will do that, and when you call or write, the money will be here waiting for you.”

“I know it will,” Youssif replied, “You are an honorable man, Fadi, and I think you will be successful.”

More years passed, Youssif eventually made contact and received the accumulated payments, and the loan was starting to look like it would be paid off soon enough for Fadi to appreciate being the sole owner before he got too old to care. Business was brisk and steady, and his daughter was growing up way too fast. Fadi’s memory of Rana never faded, though. He named his daughter Rana in her honor.

One day Fadi finally got around to cleaning out a corner of an old storage closet in the back of store. He hadn’t bothered before because he didn’t need the space, but now he did. As he pulled out some old boxes and carefully tried to wipe off the dust without getting it all over the store, he noticed that one box had a name written on it, and the name was Rana. He sat for a moment, holding the box, his hands trembling slightly, and then he opened the cover and looked inside.

Inside were old photographs, some papers that looked like school grade reports, and some pages covered with a child’s scribbles. He gingerly picked up one the photographs and looked at it, it’s image faded but still visible. In it a smiling young girl is standing with a man and a woman. Fadi recognizes the man: It’s Youssif. The woman must have been his wife, and the young girl is unmistakably Rana. There are more pictures, most of which feature Rana at various ages, from toddler to the preteen girl he remembered. The last picture is lying face-down, and as Fadi picked it up and turned it over, he saw that in it there was Youssif, Youssif’s wife, Rana, Youssif’s parents, and a teenage boy, probably the younger brother that Youssif would not talk about. The family resemblance was obvious. The boy was Jamal.

Memories suddenly came flooding back and Fadi sank to the floor as mental images of explosions, burning buildings and dead bodies assaulted him. He heard once again the sounds of gunfire, the whistle of incoming shells, the cries for help from the fallen, and the screams of the dying. Shaking, Fadi started to sob quietly, still holding the photograph.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a small, quiet voice said “It is alright now, all is as it should be.”

It was Rana’s voice. Fadi looked around wildly, but there was no one in the storeroom with him. Just the clutter of stacks of old magazines, dusty boxes, and old jars. Still sitting on the floor, Fadi suddenly had the sensation that there were others in the room with him. He could feel their smiles, and their love. But there was no one there. He pulled himself together, stood up, and stepped out of the storage closet, still holding the old photograph. Cleaning out the rest of it could wait for another day.

“Father?” a young girl asked in a worried voice as he stepped into the main room of the shop, “Are you alright?”

Fadi smiled at her, and then set the photograph down and knelt on one knee before her, his arms open. She threw herself into his embrace and hugged him tightly as only a child can do.

“Yes, Rana, I am fine,” Fadi replied with a smile, “Everything is alright. I have found what I was looking for.”

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Copyright 2015 John M. Hughes