twenty eight

It was still darkness outside; some hours past the hour of five. The air was cool and the stars still shun brightly in the mid sky. The city was most quite except with buzzle of a moving vehicle in the far end of the area. Suddenly, a call came from the Muslim prayer house 'Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar'. Mrs. Zack woke up.

   That morning was fresh and calm. It was a bright clear day with visibility so clear that everything was seen in a reliable detail. The sun rose so early without a cloud across its face, shown to the earth and spikes of dawn light penetrating through every available opening. The air and space was clear, free and quite. On that time of the morning, when the wind spews in cold guts and when everyone hurries about their businesses, it was thrilling to see all manner of persons walking busily to meet up with vital appointments and engagements. A few school pupils late to school ran down the street in hazy and panic. The whole streets were crowding with people and traffic - a thing which was at a virtual stand still. In this part of the world rush-hour traffic is called the go-slow. The traffic was crawling along slowly. Quite a greater number of cars that clog the roads, bringing traffic almost to a standstill. Men finding their ways to offices and children to schools. In the distance, she heard the sound of the city, motorcycles and tricycles sounds, car horns and sounds, loud noises of either street hawkers or engine in a company.  It was normal in every lively society who observes the rules of common civility. In the outside world a continual rumbling and roaring of cars and motorcycles.

Mrs. Zack looked up on the wall and it was again the statue of Mr. Zack. Tears ran down her cheeks, with the available handker. Mr. She rubbed her eyes and the tears clean of yesterday. She could live by these tears as long as the image stares at her. The light of former days showed up his fine features and build shoulders, his square strong chin and the sweetness of his humorous mouth. He won the adoration of every person with whom he came into contact not only because of his handsome appearance but because he had all the qualities needed in a man. He was a man to be with any day, any time.

         Fresh tears ran down her cheeks and made runnel down her make up the second times as she watched her wedding pictures on the wall and how elegantly she dressed on that day. Always there gazing at her steadily, all night. She could sometimes walk near him, enough to see him, as if alive, to torch him or say a word, at least to him, the only thing he still see about him, his soft smile and pose, a very handsome figure and countenance, swarthy, lean, tall with a quick alert and black look.  It was a Monday morning, and soon it was nine o'clock. The sun though still mild to the body had reached its apex, increasing gradually in strength, but not too hard to the skin for one to complain. She sat back on his bed and reflected again on her wedding day. It was a day and event that as it came by, gave her a practical air.  The day she could never forget in a hurry. Though time sped off as if it was many years back, but it was just to her few years back. All these years, she wept all day and in the secrecy of darkness for her dear husband.