The Minaret

“So, how are you?” I said after he figured out who the caller was.

“Terrible,” he said. “I tried to go to the dining room at lunchtime and just barely made it. Then I sat there and couldn’t eat; I could hardly sit up in the chair.”

“Did you fall?”

“No, you know me – I don’t fall.” (But C. had told me he had fallen moving from his motorized cart to the walker, near the dining room, the day before: there are different ways of defining a "fall.")

“I’m just getting weaker and weaker,” he said, and he and I both knew this time it was a matter-of-fact statement of reality, not the hyperbolic comments about “declining very rapidly” we’d been hearing for years now.

“I’m sorry,” I said. The phrase was becoming repetitive.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “This is just life! I know it. My mind is clear, I know what’s happening.”

“That doesn’t make it pleasant or easy.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “The worst thing is to be cut off completely from writing and reading. That has been my life, for all these years. And there is no one to talk to here. So I sit. Or lie on my bed and sleep. But if it has to be that way, I’m in the most comfortable situation possible…they take good care of me here…I’m in my chair in my room, my books are around me, I have my feet up on the heater…”

“Are you eating anything?” I asked.

“Not much. I had this mouth infection, which seems to have cleared up now with the medication they’ve been giving me – that had made a metallic taste in my mouth – but still, I just don’t feel like eating anything. Tomorrow I’m going to get something – I’d like some cauliflower to fry up and put between bread. That would taste good.” I felt a pain go through me; he couldn’t possibly cook for himself now, and I didn’t know if C. could or would do what he wanted, though I knew she would try. My instinct was to go there and take care of him; even if he didn’t eat he could smell the familiar foods. At the same time I knew he wouldn’t want that, or even allow it.

“Well,” my father-in-law said, picking up the conversation, “ You two are all right, you have plenty of work; D. has his – whatever you call it when you retire –“

 “Pension?”

 “Yes. And the grandchildren are all fairly settled. So everyone is more or less OK.”

 “Yes, we can all be grateful about that.”

 He was silent for a moment, and then spoke in a voice I’ve rarely heard, full of sorrow and longing: “What I need is a minaret from which I can call ‘Allahu Akbar!” He sang the call again: “Allahu Akbar!” The sound died away in the receiver, and then he said, sadly, “But he isn’t there.”

 We were all silent, but in a moment he added: “Maybe.”

 “Maybe,” I agreed. “Maybe if you call loudly enough.”

 “You should go out on your balcony and do it,” J. said.

 His father laughed loudly then; the idea appealed to him. “They’d kick me out of this place if I did that!”

“I doubt it!” J. said, and we all laughed together.

(above left, an old view of the minaret of Qayt Bey (15th c.) from the Ummayad mosque,  Damascus, Syria)

Comments

[Kaycie]

He is amazing, your father-in-law.

I'm sure you've thought of this, and I know he has hearing issues, but perhaps books on tape? I remember you said he listened to the radio. My great-grandmother used them after she was unable to read, even with her large, pole mounted magnifying glass. I think it comforted her.

[marja-leena]

So touching and tear-inducing, this and all of the series. Yes, he is amazing, and I too was going to suggest books on tape. Does he watch films on DVD? I'm curious, what does "Allahu Akbar” mean, is it a thank you, or a prayer?

[Jean]

(o)

[Jean]

(o)

[language hat]

"Allahu Akbar” means 'God is the greatest'; it's the beginning of the Muslim call to prayer, which is given in full here: http://www.suficenter.org/Practices/adhan.html

The second -a- is drawn out, and the "akbar" is short and staccato: "Al-LAAAAA-hu akbar!"

[Lucy]

(O)

[beth]

He won't do books on tape - we've tried many times, with many different types of players. Thanks for the suggestion - you'd think it would work, but it doesn't, unfortunately.

Yes, as LH has explained, "Allahu Akbar" begins the Muslim call to prayer, and is a ubiquitous sound in the middle east. When I picked up my husband and father-in-law from their trip to Damascus in 2000, all the way home, my father-in-law would pipe up from the back seat singing the call. He was so excited about it - and he sings it really well! Of course, he is not Muslim, but as he said once, in an unguarded moment, "If you speak Arabic, you are a Muslim!" - in other words, it's unavoidable; you are part of Islamic culture if you come from there. Teasing apart what aspects of family culture are Arab and which are actually Islamic (like a fear and disgust of dogs) has been one of the most difficult and fascinating aspects of the past decade's journey into this subject.

[elizabeth]

His kind & lively intelligence just shines through these posts--does he know you are sharing fragments of his story, and how glad all your readers are to be gifted with it? I love the thought of him calling the azan from his balcony.

And if books on tape are not an option, would podcasts of radio shows perhaps be?

"teasing apart what aspects of family culture are Arab and which are actually Islamic"--the blurring of those lines is one of the things I found most fascinating about being in Syria, especially in the Christian communities. And often it shades into actual syncretism: members of both communities praying at each other's saints and shrines, and sharing symbols and practices. I'm reminded that another one of the minarets of that same mosque is named after Jesus.

[RapidVPN.com]

good weblog...hope be successful always.