To his surprise
by Alexei Perry Cox
Ibrahim was extremely lucky. The explosion killed everybody on the bus, the driver, the passengers, everybody except him. His good fortune must have been due to the fact that he was standing by the rear door intending to get off in a few minutes’ time, and the bomb (if it was a bomb, rather than something else, something even more improbable) was at the front of the bus. Just at the moment Ibrahim was thinking about the spirit of competition, there was a sound too loud to be heard, a blinding blaze of light, and the bus evidently toppled over. Ibrahim saw green and orange ellipses, felt a stinging pain in his eyes, and fell but did not lose consciousness; instead he submitted to an instinctive craving for survival, his hands found an escape hatch that appeared to have opened specially for him and which flung itself into his arms. Ibrahim still had little idea what had happened as he crawled out, but when there was a second explosion behind him (the fire had reached the fuel tank), he saw with extraordinary clarity that he was blind. Most likely slivers of glass had cut his eyes a moment after the explosion, although he wouldn’t have argued if told that his blindness was simply a symptom of concussion; he wasn’t clear about the effect of the blast. I may just be in shock, he told himself, and when I get over it my sight will come back. It wasn’t long however, before he realized that this wasn’t going to happen. He tried to find out if anybody else had survived, although he was all but certain they were dead; he called out three or four times but there was no response. It was cold. It occurred to Ibrahim that he shouldn’t stay there. He should get away. The town limit was about two kilometers away, but without visual clues, walking there wouldn’t be easy. The simplest thing would be to keep to the road, but when he crawled out of the burning bus Ibrahim had no idea which side of the road it was laying on. I just need to walk, Ibrahim thought, and either I’ll reach the town or a village along the road in the other direction. The main thing was to move, because otherwise he might die. Ibrahim had no idea what he might die of, but suddenly thought of blood poisoning and decided that that was what he had to worry about. He tried to stand up, swayed, lost his balance, and sat down; he tried again, got up, took one step and then another. Apart from his eyes the rest of him was in one piece. I’ve got to go, he said out loud to himself. He liked the sound of that and repeated it, as if responding to applause from an imaginary audience which had taken its seats in twilit bushes he could no longer see. He walked for half an hour or so in total silence until he found he was exhausted. He sat down in the middle of the road in the hope of getting a lift from a passing car, but no car passed, there was only a desert tawny owl looking for prey hooting in the darkness. Not surprising, Ibrahim thought, you won’t get a lot of passing cars at two in the morning on a weekday in the middle of the countryside. Now there were two tawny owls, they’d discovered each other and started arguing. Ibrahim wondered if owls ate human flesh. He knew crows did, but owls didn’t seem to have much in common with crows, and besides, they only came out at night. It got colder. Suddenly he heard a vehicle approaching. It stopped, a door slammed, and the driver crossed to Ibrahim, grunted, and gave him a hefty kick that sent him rolling into a ditch, then the driver got back in the car and drove off. Ibrahim dragged himself back onto the road and staggered on without knowing which direction he was going in. He walked for a long time, a very long time. On several occasions he collapsed helplessly on the asphalt before resolving again to go on. To his surprise the pain in his eyes was not unbearable, but neither could it be ignored. Ibrahim reckoned it would be daybreak soon and, even if he was walking in the wrong direction, a passing car would stop sooner or later not to taunt an injured man but to help him. The thought came to him that news about the explosion on the bus must already have reached the forces of law and order, they would certainly be searching for survivors, and he would shortly be found. For some reason, however, he could hear no cars, only small animals squeaking or whimpering in the grass by the side of the road. Ibrahim now realized and felt an inner calm. Like getting your second wind, he thought. The freshness of the morning, if, of course, it was already morning, seemed paradoxically in harmony with the stinging sensation in his sightless eyes, which, predictably, showed no sign of stopping. He heard a cock crow far away, so it was morning and there must be a village nearby. He felt no joy, only emptiness, of which there was so much that Ibrahim overflowed with it and lost consciousness without even noticing. He didn’t notice waking up either, only why—a wet hand touched his forehead. What’s happened to you, a thin voice asked, seeming neither surprised nor scared. Where am I, Ibrahim asked, or didn’t so much ask as just say. Here. Ibrahim tried to get up but realized he no longer had the strength, and in any case the hay under his back was very comfortable. Lie there, the voice laughed, I’ll bring you some milk. The person ran off. Ibrahim heard it clearly, the person was soon back. Drink it. The cold milk was just what Ibrahim wanted. You need a bandage, you’re covered in blood. What’s your name? What’s yours? Ibrahim, said Ibrahim, for some reason very proud that his memory had so clearly registered that he was indeed Ibrahim and not anybody else, and then, a moment or two later, he realized he had been thinking aloud and had exultantly shouted out his name and been behaving like a lunatic, a complete lunatic. You think I’m a lunatic, don’t you? I’m Yamar, the voice said, laughing again. No, do you hear what I’m saying, Ibrahim was embarrassed at his loud, unrestrained self-naming. It hurts, that’s why I’m a bit strange. It’s okay. Everything's fine. The voice called Yamar suddenly put arms around Ibrahim, hugged him, and laughed again. How old are you, Ibrahim asked. Teta went off to town yesterday, and then something like this happens. Something like what? You should answer when a grown-up asks you a question. Ibrahim’s voice didn’t sound menacing, it wasn’t, you couldn’t have found a hint of schoolmasterishness in it. There was some gauze, I’ll see if I can find it. Yamar ran off again. The child’s grandmother went off to town yesterday, Ibrahim thought, and then something like this happens. What does the child mean, something like this? He began picturing all kinds of horrors, perhaps even an alien invasion, but not really, lazily, the way he might think back over the latest episode of some low-budget soap opera in bed, just to get bored and fall asleep. Hold your head up, Ibrahim hadn’t noticed the child coming back, I’ll bandage it for you, oh, I forgot the iodine. Have you got iodine? Well, maybe just herbal disinfectant, I’ll go and look—and ran off again, and very soon, unnaturally soon somehow, was back and lavished a stinging liquid on Ibrahim’s eyes. Ibrahim swore, but why, he immediately wondered, something stinging on something stinging should have been like a double negative. Do you know what two minuses make? he asked Yamar. Wallaw, of course I do, offended by this doubting, and began wrapping a bandage round Ibrahim’s head, but without saying it made a plus. What are you doing here? Well, I took a bus to do some stargazing. Why couldn’t you do it in the town, aren’t there any stars there? Ibrahim thought for a moment. Well, how can I explain. You see them there, of course, but there’s a lot of light around, even at night, streetlights, light from windows, that sort of thing, and quite near here there’s a mound with open fields all around it, no trees, no houses, you can see to the horizon in every direction, it’s a good place for looking. What do you want to look at the stars for? The child’s question might have seemed stupid but Ibrahim didn’t think so, quite the opposite. He thought for another moment. You see, I’ve got a telescope, at least I did before the explosion. Do you listen to the radio? Ibrahim asked, suddenly anxious, your Teta’s got a television? Yamar stroked Ibrahim’s head: How is it, sore? No. It was sore but Ibrahim preferred to pretend it was just the iodine stinging and not him demonstrating manly stoicism. What do you need a telescope for? It’s a hobby, something I enjoy doing. I like looking through the telescope, on Saturdays I go into the countryside and look at the stars all night, it makes you feel very peaceful. I’ve discovered a planet, he added proudly. You did! I did. Really? Yes, really. Yamar pressed up against him once more and kissed him on the forehead. It’s only a little one, of course, five kilometers across, just a large rock in space, but I was the first, so that’s why they called it Ibrahim. You know what? Yamar said, there’s something going on out there, it was on the television, and then you turned up. Space invaders? No, the child’s voice was very serious, a war. I think. Yamar kissed Ibrahim hard and started pulling his pants off. What are you doing, stop it, it’s okay, it’s okay. When they woke, Yamar said, You lie here in the barn—Ibrahim was pleased, he had been sure it was a barn—because Teta may have come back, if she didn’t get hurt like you, or something worse. The child ran off. Ibrahim decided to think about the stars. The information about a war didn’t upset him, he felt like someone who’s fallen on the field of battle and could now afford to let his thoughts be detached and unworldly, dealing with astronomical magnitudes, but his reflections on astronomy immediately ran off in the wrong direction and Ibrahim unintentionally found himself picturing an armada of space invaders, the armada rather than the space invaders themselves, because now he was thinking even big individual aliens seemed insignificant compared to a whole galactic flotilla. Teta’s done for, Yamar said, coming into the barn, want some kofta before they get here? Before who get here? You know, them. What do you mean them? The enemies. Come on, tell me what you heard. Well, they said it was a war. You know, Ibrahim struggled to lift his back from the hay, I was just thinking and realized there’s something behind all this. What? The war, the explosions, your grandmother not being back yet, me lying here. Why? I think, Ibrahim said, getting into his stride, it’s not just a war, it’s a special kind of war. Why? Nothing is ever that simple. Let me change your bandage. Wait will you, there’s time for that later. Ibrahim was carried away by the image of global cataclysm and talking with his mouth full of meat: It’s a takeover, you see, a takeover from space, it’s a very simple plan, nobody will believe it’s happening until they’re here as large as life, taking over everything, and it’s only then people will start coming to their senses, but by then it will be too late. He swallowed the last of the kefta. I think they’ve grabbed everything already, I mean, all the major urban centers, they’ve taken everything into their control. The child burst out laughing and leaped on top of Ibrahim. Hey, take it easy. Helping Ibrahim to dress, Yamar kept saying, you’re weird, you’re really weird, what do you mean aliens, it’s enemies, what are you going on about, there’s nobody in space, I heard it on the television, maybe it’s the Russians. But, and this he thought just to himself, aliens would make me feel more heroic, so let’s stick with that, and anyway who cares, I’m blind anyway, if they kill me I won’t see it. Yamar, are you afraid of dying? What, yes, of course. Me too, only I don’t care anymore. He started crying, in spite of the bandage, in spite of his hurt eyes, and it only struck him an hour later or maybe more that crying must mean his eyes were still where they should be, just not working, so there was hope, although, of course, he was no ophthalmologist, he didn’t know the first thing about these things, and he doubted aliens would have field hospitals for treating earthlings. Yamar pulled his bandage off, licked his tears away, and then the aliens came and took him by the arms and legs and carried him off and put him down somewhere, Ibrahim was a bit surprised they just laid him down, very carefully really, and didn’t throw him like food for their extraterrestrial dogs, and then drove away with him, because the place they had taken him was a vehicle, it smelled of fuel, it bumped over the unevenness in the asphalt and then Ibrahim started crying again and wanted to know where the child was, Yamar, where are you? I love you, don’t you know, I love you. Take it easy, the voice was unexpectedly human, be brave. They were Russian, Ibrahim thought, feeling humiliated because if they had been aliens there was nothing to be embarrassed about but if they were Russian it was a different matter altogether, they were like us, not cosmic. What, have you conquered us? Ibrahim wailed. This guy’s not right in the head, the voice said. In shock from the pain, said another. No problem, we’ll take him to the district hospital, they’ll sort it out. You bastards, Ibrahim wept, you bastards, usurpers, rats. The child had hidden from the orderlies behind the barn until the ambulance disappeared around the bend and now ran home. Teta, what’s a telescope? You should be given a good beating, that’s what. No, it’s true. Well, I’m sure I don’t know. Teta, is there going to be a war? You’ll get your answer sooner than you think. Teta! Go tend the goats. Teta, who’s stronger, us or the Russians? Us, of course, what do you think, and if you’re going to be bad I’ll tell your Baba and when he comes back he’ll give you a good beating. Teta! But seeing the expression on Teta’s face, Yamar fled from the hut and headed, needless to say, not for the goat field but to the barn where, hidden under the hay, was that thing that looked like he didn’t know what.
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Alexei Perry Cox is a word experimenter and social engager with word experimentation. She is the author of the novel To Garden: To Grave (forthcoming 2023), the poetry collections PLACE (Noemi Press 2022), and Under Her (Insomniac Press 2015) and three chapbooks, Finding Places to Make Places (Vallum 2019), Re:Evolution (Gap Riot Press 2020), and Night 3 | اليوم الرابع (Centre for Expanded Poetics 2021). Her work has been featured in journals such as Denver Quarterly, Arc Poetry Magazine, and Rusted Radishes.