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Episode 126 |
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Self-Reliance The high rise apartment shimmered in the new day
light. As the morning sun slowly
ascended the sky, the white tower reflected the optimistic light onto the
city. The broad windows of the
apartments glowed as if holy flames, while the gorgeous vista overlooked a
wide park. Through the balcony of one of the mid-level apartments,
the curtains flapped inward with the warm breeze. Through the opening, a spacious,
uncluttered apartment of minimalist design sat open. At the far wall, Assif sat at a computer
table, tapping his finger anxiously on the body of the mouse. Before him, on the screen, a chess game was
displayed. In the corner of the
window, the user pic shown of his opponent showed a buxom blonde woman. The animated pic winked from time to time,
accentuating her alluring smile. Assif stared at the screen for a long time before his
opponent moved his right knight over the pawns and into play. Assif sat back at the move, then grabbed
the notebook next to him. He flipped
through several handwritten pages. “Team still unaccounted for by all authorities,” he
read off the page, looking at the knight again. He thought for a moment, then flipped
through several more pages. He stared at
an entry, then flipped to another. “Has
contact been made?” he asked, moving his left Rook two steps forward,
following the path of his pawn. He sat back, sighing.
He glanced up at the light fixture overhead, staring at the tiny metal
dot on the side. He scrutinized the
mini-mic and went back to the screen.
His opponent hadn’t moved.
“Come on, Jin,” he whispered quietly, his arms crossed. He noticed another window on his screen had
changed. He minimized the chess game and maximized a game of
Go. He quickly scoured the screen,
finding the moved piece. He cursed
under his breath, going back to the notebook, searching through entries. “Stick to one game,” he complained. He glanced up at the mic again, angry. He sat up, focusing on the game. “No contact,” he read off the page. He looked at the Go game for a moment, then
went back to the chess. He flipped
through more pages. “Await further
orders,” he said, moving his piece. Almost instantly, his opponent moved the same piece the
same way in confirmation. Assif came down the steps of his apartment, dressed in
a gray suit and black shirt with no tie.
He looked immediately across the street at a blue sedan with two men
inside. He stared at them for a moment,
then turned and started walking. He stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to
change. He glanced over his shoulder
to find one of the men looking at some of the graffiti on the wall two
buildings down. He shook his head and
looked back at the light, rocking back and forth on his feet anxiously. He looked at the people waiting with him,
his attention falling to the mother standing next to him, holding her little
girl’s hand. The girl stared up at Assif with a smile. No more than six, Assif looked down at her,
perplexed by her interest. “<Are
you a terrorist?>” she asked innocently with a high voice. Her mother turned to her girl, then to Assif, looking
mortified. Assif just smiled, almost
laughing. “<No, I’m not,>” he
answered as the light turned green. “<I’m so sorry,>” the mother said earnestly. Assif smiled to her and shook his head. “<It’s really okay,>” he smiled
before starting across the street. The imam opened the door to his office, his glasses
dangling in front of his red sweater.
“<Assif?>” he asked in French, somewhat taken back. “<What are you doing here?>” “<I needed a place to think,>” he said, sliding
in between the imam and the door, slinking into his office. “<I needed to get out of my
apartment.>” “<It’s the middle of the day,>” the older man
said, shutting his door. “<Why
aren’t you working?>” Assif walked over to the imam’s desk and picked up a
yellow legal pad with Arabic written over the top of it. “<I’m on hiatus at the moment,>” he
complained as he wrote on the pad. He
handed it to the holy man with ‘my apartment is bugged’ written in Arabic on
it. The imam stared at the words for a moment and developed
an annoyed look. He took a pin from
his pocket and started to write as well.
“<Hiatus? Does this mean
you’ve been fired?>” he asked with a jovial attitude, though his face was
harsh. He held the pad to Assif. Written across it in French was ‘so is my
office!’ Assif lowered the pad and looked apologetically at the
imam. He tried to explain, but no
words came. The imam shook his head
sympathetically. “<Why don’t you go
pray?>” he suggested, gesturing Assif to the door. The large, domed room was mostly empty. In the morning light, the sun’s beams
descended down from the glass at the apex, creating a hallowed effect in the
middle of the room. Assif approached
reverently, barely glancing at the handful of other Muslims scattered about
the circular room. He chose a place in the middle of the room, halfway
between the center and the wall and bent down on his knees. He sat on his ankles and stared at the
light. He scratched his tiny chinstrap
beard in thought. As he pondered, a Muslim woman in a burka and face
shroud sat down just a few feet from him.
She bent reverently towards the eastern light and knelt down, touching
her forehead to the ground. Assif
looked at her, annoyed with her proximity, but said nothing. A long silence passed as he and the woman sat almost
together. Assif stared into the light
while she remained seated in prayer.
After a long moment, Assif looked down. “<Watching me like a hawk,>” he
whispered, “monitoring my phone calls and internet, tracking me constantly,
all so you can find the Responders’ headquarters is one thing.>” He turned to the woman. “<But tailing me to my place of worship
is simply too much.>” The woman
turned and pulled her face scarf down. It
was Alex. |
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