Andaleeb (V)

             The soldiers, distracted, don’t notice Andaleeb fast approaching them. But now, when she is only a few steps away from them, she suddenly turns around and starts to run away. And there are no borders to her tears, and the tears swell and fill her throat in panic. Even the dull pain in her stomach has become too much for her to bear, and her weak, elastic legs force her to stop at the end of the street, far away from all of them. There is an empty bus stop in front of her. She slumps down on the bench as she recoils in fear like a newborn released into the wild. Her handbag drops into the gutter in the mud.

             The bus must have left only a few minutes ago, she thinks. That’s why there is no one at the bus stop. No one. Not a soul. Only God and her. The sun can’t reach the small bench where she is lying. The lump moves into her throat, and the last tears of anguish drop from her eyes and trickle slowly down her face. No one. There is nobody.

            Time ticks on, but not behind her closed eyes. Seconds. Minutes, perhaps. She isn’t aware of time. Inside her mind, she is completely alone, sitting in a dark, cold and empty corner… Then, all of a sudden, she feels the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder. The hand of a young boy with a concerned smile. With tender blue eyes he asks her what’s wrong. Is she feeling sick? Does she need anything? And then, she opens her eyes. Slowly, and terrifyingly, she looks up at him in utter horror.   She has just pressed the detonator button.

               At four o’clock that afternoon, the country’s television channels had started to broadcast the first news about the terrorist attack. Scenes of agony and panic, confusion, ambulances and soldiers clearing the area. Bits of flesh and blood all over the place – pieces that are yet to be identified.

              “It was a mass suicide bombing”, says the commentator. “A bus had stopped moments before, only a few metres away from the bus stop, filled with university students. Initial estimations surmise about sixty people to be dead. The terrorist had meticulously planned everything until the last second – there is no doubt about that...”

              Andaleeb’s father, hearing about the grieving from all corners of his neighbourhood, switched on his old TV set.    And in that instant, every bird in the street flew away - far away - although the old man missed only one bird, the one who was inside his heart.

              It wasn’t until sunrise the next day, when a mob of policemen and soldiers knocked on his door.

- Hello Grampa. Are all the members of your family home?

- No, sir. I’ve been waiting for Andaleeb, my eldest daughter, who didn’t come home last night.

              “But even still, the news came as a shock to me”, he talks to my foreign ears. “Although I knew perfectly well that the wings of my little bird were soaring far, far away from home - flying to that place where songs are never interrupted by doubt”.

              In memory of all those who have died, were killed and their minds abducted.