Where is Manar?
Book One: The Twin Star
Chapter 2: The Emptiness That Follows
—
"—and a security official from the Ministry of Interior reported that this is the tenth case this month. Security forces are doing everything in their power to resolve the matter. We are following these cases with the utmost diligence."
The news anchor's voice was the usual background music to our lunch. "Tenth case this month... mysterious death... strange mark at the base of the neck... authorities investigating." My father turned up the volume slightly, as if making it louder would somehow make the news less mysterious.
"Be careful when you go out. Things are strange these days. These deaths—no one knows what causes them," my father said, watching the TV.
"Don't worry, Dad. I go my way, I come back my way. Always alert," I replied, continuing to eat.
Lately, a strange phenomenon had spread: people dying suddenly, for no clear reason. But what made it weirder? The bodies weren't like normal corpses. There was a mark—a brand—burned into the skin at the base of the neck. A circle, carved with precision, split by a straight line like a broken scale. Not random burning. There was something to it—an occult symmetry, deliberate and cold, like the signature of something whose language we hadn't yet learned.
Some guessed it was a weird religious group. Others said satanic rituals. But no one actually knew the real cause. And as was painfully obvious, the country was in a terrible state, suffering from incompetence beyond description.
Of course they wouldn't find anything. Our most skilled investigator couldn't find a cow in a barn. Add to that the daily disappearances and murders—almost comical at this point—which helped criminals escape punishment. The only victim? The poor citizen, as always.
—
"Kamel, is Alaa's school registration complete?" my mother asked my father while feeding Manar a small piece of orange.
"Registration's done. He starts tomorrow. I ran into a teacher there—recognized him immediately. Sami, you know who? Your friend Ayman, from the next street over."
"Ayman... I forgot he moved to Al-Kifah school. He told me about two weeks ago, but I wasn't really paying attention. Anyway, I'll talk to him, ask him to keep an eye on Alaa at school. Put your minds at ease."
Hahahaha — Alaa, I'm going to scare you to the bone! You hit me, you little cow?! I thought to myself.
"Alaa, I heard Ayman's a strict teacher. Loves punishing mischievous kids. He always used to tell me about it. I think I'll mention how 'active' you are."
I turned to Alaa and dropped this little bomb. The apple he was eating fell from his hand the moment he heard me. Fear had apparently paralyzed his tiny brain.
As we all know, kids fear only two things: teachers and doctors. Both are extremely dangerous entities in a child's world.
"Sami, I swear if you keep scaring Alaa, I'll smash your head right now!"
My mother's icy voice and terrifying stare snapped me out of my small victory trance.
"Come on, Mom, don't make a mountain out of a molehill. All I said was—"
// DING DONG DING DONG
The doorbell cut me off. I glanced at the small monitor near the exit. I'd set up a camera system so we'd know who was knocking—things were dangerous these days, and everyone was doing the same.
"It's Maytham's father. Sami, I think he's asking for you," my father said, recognizing the guest.
"Got it." I got up from my seat, passed by the stairs, and walked down the hallway—past the meter-and-a-half fish tank with some ornamental fish, past the bathroom door—until I reached the courtyard entrance.
I opened the door, slipped on my sandals. To my right, the wooden door of the guest room. Ahead, the outer gate.
I opened the gate.
Ammo Layth stood there. (Ammo — Iraqi Arabic for "Uncle," used as a term of respect for older men.) The last three days looked like they'd squeezed whatever patience he had left out of him. His face was withered, dry—like land that hadn't seen rain in ages.
"Hello, Ammo. How are you?" I extended my hand.
"Hello, Sami. Thank God, still in good health," he said, shaking my hand.
"Thank God... may you always be well. Would you like to join us for lunch? I'd be happy to have you." When I shook his hand, it was cold. Empty of any life. The coldness of a man who'd spent his nights chasing smoke, dragging behind him the disappointment of a father exhausted by his son's twisted paths.
"Thank you, my boy, but your aunt is waiting for me at home. I can't be late." He refused politely. He really did seem late. That brick-headed fool Maytham must have done something again to leave him so drained.
"Of course, Ammo. How can I help?"
"Sami, do you know where Maytham is? He hasn't been home in a week. Two days ago, he turned off his phone. You're the only one he still talks to." He spoke with clear exhaustion.
"Yes, Ammo. He said he found a new job that requires a lot of traveling. Don't worry, I'll try to reach him." I pulled that one straight out of my pocket — I had no idea where Maytham actually was. But I didn't want to worry him more.
The man said goodbye and left with heavy steps. I watched him go and thought: "You've really exhausted your father, you idiot. You bastard." I was tired of telling him to leave that pathetic group — but his head was as hard as a shoe.
—
> VROOM VROOOOM
A car engine snarled from the alley to my left, tearing into our street at full speed, dust exploding behind it.
"HEY YOU! Ugly mug! Slow down!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
No idea who that was. The neighborhood had changed so much lately. New faces. People you didn't know, who didn't know you. The street carried a tension we'd never felt before.
The car shot off like a metal monster trying to outrun its sins, leaving behind a choking cloud of dust that invaded our lungs uninvited. I offered him my customary greeting with my fingers, but he drove on as if he owned the street and everyone in it.
He glanced at me with arrogance, stomped on the accelerator, made the engine roar, and kept going — returning the same greeting. The universal kind.
Dust spread through the street like low clouds, and the kid disappeared around the right alley before I could get a single curse in.
If he'd bought that car with honest sweat, he wouldn't treat it like garbage.
"Damn you, you pathetic piece of work. I bet your wife's paying off your debts right now." I turned to go back inside — then heard a door open from the house across the street.
"Sami, you know who that son of a single mother was?" A man in his thirties, short hair, some muscle, holding a stick.
"No idea. But I'm pretty sure his father is Stephen Hawking," I said, with genuine sympathy.
"Who?" He looked confused.
"Never mind... just a physicist who loved children a little too much."
"Tsk... couldn't catch him anyway. See you later." He went back inside.
"Sure, Hadi. Later." I went in and closed the gate, waving my hand to clear the dust.
—
"Mona, could you pass me the teapot, please?"
"Of course, dear."
I heard my parents talking as I walked in.
"No need to get up, Mom. I'll get it." My father and tea — an endless love story.
"Dad, Ammo Layth sends his regards," I said, handing him the tray with the teapot, cups, and sugar bowl.
"And peace be upon him. Is Maytham still causing trouble?" my father asked.
"Dad, you know the situation. No need to say it."
"I saw Hind yesterday. She looked just as worn out as her husband. Maytham has really exhausted them. I'll smash his head when I see him," my mother said, her eyes carrying a familiar anger.
My mother is terrifying, believe me. She raised both me and Maytham — he stayed at our house more than his own. I really don't want to remember her punishments.
Just imagine: I'm twenty-seven now, and she still uses kitchen utensils to hit me. Doesn't matter if they're metal or not.
Man... I've never seen Maytham afraid of anything. Except facing my mother. Then he becomes a passionate advocate for peaceful dialogue. Anyway.
"Thank God." I finished eating and got up to help Mom carry the empty dishes. While she was busy washing, Alaa escaped to the guest room with my father — he knew I was waiting for a chance to catch him alone.
"My cupcake, come here." I picked Manar up from her chair and carried her to the guest room. The guest room had two doors: one from outside, one from the kitchen.
"Thami, Thuda bought a chicken and wouldn't let me wide it!" Manar said in her broken speech after I picked her up. Her eyes, like little galaxies, and her face, like a small bunny, carried an injustice that demanded resolution.
"What, my cupcake? Toqa bought a bike and wouldn't let you ride it?" I said, dodging the attacks of the "snakes" on her head so I could kiss her cheek.
"Mm-hmm!" She nodded hard, making the "snakes" — her wild curly hair — dance above her head, silently confirming that Toqa's crime against her was unforgivable.
"Alright, my cupcake. I'll buy you the most beautiful bike in the market. Prettier than Hadi's daughter's."
— End of Chapter 2 —