A tale of two cafes

Insight into the motivation of a suicide bomber

A tale of two cafés

 

I always look forward to this holy day

a day of rest from the long hours at the office

in the kitchen my wife and two girls are already busy

cleaning and preparing food for the day

my mother sits in the corner

watches the bustle contentedly

 

I take a corner of a honeyed sweet

kiss my wife, she smiles.

I tell the girls that we will visit the park.

‘can we go into the zoo, dad?’ they ask. ‘We’ll see.’

‘please?’ They plead,

and I nod, as I am putty in their hands!

‘I’m just going out to the .. ‘

‘The café,’ 

‘we know,’ my wife replies and laughs.

‘I’ll be back by …

‘eleven!’ the girls chorus - we all laugh!

 

with a broad smile of contentment

I zig zag down the narrow alley

deep in shade between the flat roofed houses

step out into the bustling main street

am momentarily blinded by the low sun

I cross the road,

dodge a heavily laden motor bike

a Toyota taxi full of children

walk past the hardware store,

the halal butchers, the video shop

 

I see my three friends in their usual café pavement seats

we all shake hands and I take my customary place

the owner comes out with my Turkish coffee

he knows just how I like it, strongly sugared

we smile, shake hands

ask each other about our wives

 

 

then the four of us chat about family life

we move on to more weighty matters

local affairs with its tangled webs of influence

the labyrinthine complexities of national politics

then, dominating every conversation

the progress of the insurrection

but now we converse in hushed voices

for the feared Mhukhabarat

like the rats, are everywhere

 

 

as we pause to light cigarettes

we become aware of an unusual sound

a steady whooshing becoming louder and louder

we look up to the right and are blinded by the sun

suddenly a large government helicopter bursts from the glare

we gasp as it hovers for a few seconds

high above the buildings opposite

with what looks like a barrel dangling below

 

it is released and slowly falls

as I watch  I feel like it is me that is falling

the barrel disappears into the buildings

a massive explosion, a ball of fire

a smothering cloud of smoke and dust

 

we sit stunned and deafened

thunderstruck by the last few moments

like automatons we stumble, deafened, towards the blast

 

picking our way forward with dread

the devastation becomes greater down the alley

that I had walked along carefree a mere hour before

we climb over rubble into an open area

where there had been a maze of buildings

a deep crater, the dust still settling

fire consumes everywhere

my house, wife, two girls and mother

many others, all completely obliterated!

 

 

Out of my mind I search for hours

my knees bloody, my fingers torn

bricks and rubble

scraps of  flesh, bone and blood

until I look down and see a finger in the dust

I see the ring with the blue heart stone

that I gave my daughter just a week ago

 

after all the tears have been wrenched from my heart

I take out my knife and unflinching

cut the pinkie from my left hand

I lay it beside my daughter’s

 

From this moment

my old life is finished

 

 

 

Three years later …..

 

Easter Sunday

the promise of  new life!

a bright, crisp spring morning

the café is bustling

families with children,

old friends, young lovers

 

I take a seat by the café door

on a morning like this

it is good to be alive

the pretty young waitress brings my order

‘double expresso and croissant?’

I reach out my hand to take the plate

she sees the missing pinkie on my left hand

her face clouds for an instant

this always makes me think of my daughter!

but then her smile returns, ‘enjoy!’

 

she sees me reaching into my pocket.

‘Oh no!’ she laughs,

‘I’ll bring the bill after.’

 

 

each moment in life

is a crossroads at which

we can choose our path.

 

that smile was almost enough     but I have already stepped over the edge of the precipice    I look into her trusting eyes see a moment                  of startled incomprehension       as I shout                                 ‘Allah Akbar!’                            time seems to stop                              in an instant of stunned silence and incomprehension I finger the switch now              in the pocket of my bulky jacket          I close my eyes                           feel the low spring sun warming my face a momentary dazzle of              blinding red and yellow all consuming blast and fire       rip the final chapters        from our book of life                          for others, less lucky,      they are rewritten                         in blood and pain

little does she know that I sway on the edge of a precipice as I look into her trusting eyes I force myself to close mine as I finger the switch in the pocket of my bulky jacket.   just as the often rehearsed words ‘Allah Akbar!’ form in my mind my fingers feel something else which sends a shock wave through my resolve   the girl sees the turmoil in my face time seems to stop, then I say, ‘something for you,’ and reach out to place it in her hand thinking it is a tip she looks but finds in her palm the ring with the blue heart stone   I smile at her, ‘it was my daughters - treasure it!’ She gives me a puzzled look I rise and walk slowly into the early spring sunshine

Reviews

[Kathy Van Kurin]

'A tale of two cafes'
alanwgraham,
Well chosen title lends to the meaning within this piece of yours. Right away I wondered how much of our own lives could go two different ways; to a pleasant or a tragic ending. I can only imagine that there has to be doubt in the back of a person's mind when faced with the presence of death and bloodshed as part of their very belief system . I suppose for all humanity there is no guarantee of what a day holds. This poem gave a feel of treat our days as precious.
Kathy

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Kathy. I can see that you've got what I was trying to achieve with this. In extreme circumstances who knows what we might do and for those trying to understand the action asking the question 'why' is vital. On a personal level i entered this for an international writing comp and was short listed. Without some external validation you're never quite sure whether your work is any good. Thanks for digging this out Kathy and your kind comments.
Hope you are well.
Alan

[barleygirl]

Very long & complex creation to simulate how things might be in the midst of many war-torn areas of our planet these days. You've been quite brave to include so many details to paint a scenario that in many ways, we can never really know how it really happens. But your version is told powerfully and has the net effect of being believable. The dual ending is an interesting idea, altho I found the blue heart ring version a little hard to believe, since it didn't correspond exactly to the telling of the earlier event. But it's all possible, so while suspending my critical eye for a moment, this could all conceivably be the way it might look and feel. I'm just afraid we (on the outside) are all just guessing & grasping for meaning, when it comes to this topic. You've presented your best guess on how such things develop.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks. My motivation for attempting this is to guess at one possible motivation for carrying out acts such as a suicide bombing. I strongly believe that the only way out of this nightmare .is to ask the question why?
Of course there see will be many motivations but we have to assume that they are people with the same emotions as ourselves. I agree that the matter of the blue ring and the cut off little finger is unlikely but I felt they would be a useful dramatic device to link the two parts. I do really value your comments as they are honest and constructive.
Take care!
Alan

[barleygirl]

I felt the cut-off finger believable . . . but at that point, there was no mention of recapturing the blue heart ring -- that's why it seems like a little jolt to see the ring popping up later on in the story. But it's not a big deal.

[alanwgraham]

Got it! Thanks.
Al

[Bloggergirl29]

I love The way you left it up to the reader and the story line is gold

[Lee Bakes]

This is really something! Now, the two timelines at the end those seem to want to be the main game here, and yet, somehow there is so much more! there is in this poem, a piece of a family, a slice of a city and a chunk of urban camaraderie. I think that without these the alternate thinking becomes paper thin. It is so essential to build a world and make people relate to it, only then will people understand the heart wrenching sorrow of losing it, and in essence, maybe that is also a possible implication of this poem? That family, felt familiar, that city, those people bantering at the café, they all felt familiar, heck, even the extra sugar in the Turkish coffee sounded familiar! People need more of this writing :) Thanks so much for the bittersweet shot first thing in the morning! really really made my day!

[alanwgraham]

Great! Thanks. I agree - we really need to understand what is going on today and ask the question - why? I know that there every suicide bomber will have a different story leading to that fatefull moment.
Thanks again. Alan

[DeerInHeadlights]

I like the alternative ending.. having an option of something good.. because this subject is really heavy..

this is a very touching poem.. very different from what you find in most writings here..

[alanwgraham]

Thanks 'deer'. I do get quite emotional writing stuff like this.
Alan

[Woody]

I remember reading this before and clearly recall the effect it had on me. same as today, in fact, still there's no review of mine. starnge! so either you deleted my review, alan or I'm getting old.
this is a wonderful write. very up to date. well crafted with a brilliant double ending. loved it.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Woody for your positive comments. I can tell you that i felt quite emotional writing this story. I look forward to looking at your own work. Cheers, Alan

[ANTO]

I read books like this in school - "at the end of the chapters it would be printed - If you chose to go into the Tavern turn to page X - If you walked back to the village turn to page Y"
How many times has this been played out for real I wonder. My friend was a seasoned freedom fighter who blew his head off as he attacked the British Army in Ireland and I always wonder did he hold onto the grenade that second longer to save a person in the vicinity (the grenade could have been tampered with also by MI5).

The division of the story - like Life's delta of opportunities here could have been tacky - almost 'Sliding Doors' tacky but you made it poignant and dignified. An excellent piece Alan.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Anto for taking the time to review this. I read the first version of this at my creative writing class'. They asked me to read it again and I thought an alternative ending would waken them up - it did! Then it morphed into the choice of endings - i was a bit wary about how to do this but i'm glad it worked for you. Thanks again. Alan