Shadowing Thunder: Beneath the Abaya in Saudi Arabia by Emile Raymond

Author:Emile Raymond
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: travel adventure fiction, islam and respect, love, jungian pschology, saudi arabia, cultural relativism, women empowerment, feminism, love and transformation

8. the kitten

“Meowwwwwwwwwww…”

Tiny legs propel it. Small pads on skinny paws. Bright sun, bright sun; already the sun is bright. A few weeds poke through the sand and gravel. Well-watered trees flourish. Modern cars in the parking lot. Fancy some of them, with two-tone paintwork: sedans, saloons, big V8 motors. Cleaned often by Filipinos. Second-hand some of the others. Faded, dented, scratched, unrepaired skin from bumps, crashes, knocks and bright sun, always bright sun dryyyyyying things, peeling away the skin, turning the surface to dusssssst, faded dust on white hot steel. Bubblesssss. Bubbles in the paint. Bubbles in the air, sweltering waves of heat raise bubbles of sweat, and it’s only half-six in the morning.

Half-six and bright sun. Dusty surfaces. Chirping birds and trees continually watered. Sun.

And a kitten.

“Meowwwwwwwwwww…”

It is wandering in delirious circles, crying for something. Probably its mother, someone to touch it, perhaps one of the kids waiting at the bus stop. It walks in circles, feverish circles at the feet of the children who stand with shoulders limp, eyes cast down, tears ready to form, and questions forming already.

“Mommy, can we help it?”

“Daddy, please?”

“Why?” The big one comes. Raife watches it form on their lips, in their hearts, on the surface of olive faces, over white shirts and small ties, little school bags and a long day ahead. “What happened to the kitty from this morning?”

“Meowwwwwwwwwww…”

Raife stands there watching the kitten, for some reason remembering the other day when he had woken up on the cornice sidewalk with two words in his mouth and two eyes staring down at him. “Help me!” is what bubbled forth from below, from what seemed like the origins, the very origins of his soul. It was as if the initial neuron in a horrified brain was, like the kitten, crying out for help, sending only one message in the end:

“Please, oh please, help me!”

Or was it the beginning?

“Meowwwwwwwwwww…”

It walks in large circles, uttering small cries for help, stumbling over small stones for Raife, boulders for tiny paws. Fur matted and dusty, little eyes wide and frightened. Little feet stumble, skinny legs wobble. A tiny voice in the bright sun crying, “Help me!” Dried out surfaces and parched pleassss.

“Meowwwwwwwwwww…”

“Help me!” from a vulnerable throat. A skeletal tail withering behind a malnourished body. A gray, dehydrated face emits little screams. Precious and dying, unwanted and crying, skinny and eyeing it, Raife wonders what to do.

“Meowwwwwwwwwww…”

“Raife, help me!”

“Meowwwwwwwwwww…”

“Blease help me, Raife!”

“Meowwwwwwwwwww…”

He stares at it, entranced by its helpless state, its tiny vulnerability, and remembers the three kittens he’d found in Lesotho, the three he and Maria nursed to life: weeks of 2 a.m. feedings, trips to the vet, cleaning up dirty messes. He remembers the puppies, ten of them. How he and Maria had tried to save them, but eight died in spite of vets and trips and messes and blankets cut into pieces. It was a moral battle, a struggle against evolution. All their efforts did nothing but drag out the dying process, extend the time of suffering.

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