An Open Book

A short story by Tariq Shadid

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Abu Zaid kicked the sand from his shoes as he entered the small building he had grown accustomed to calling home since a good twenty years. It was about five meters deep, four meters wide, and some three meters high, and it had housed him and his wife for the past twenty years. His youngest son, Fawzi, had built it for them in order to be able to create space in the old ramshackle building for when he had his fifth child, and Abu Zaid and his wife had moved into the square building with thin concrete walls, that gave the two of them just enough space to be able to spend the cold winter season behind closed doors. This was all what could be afforded, and this was the solution all had thought was best.

Abu Zaid left his shoes at the door, and closed it behind him. Then he opened the only other door in the little house, which opened onto a small bathroom, the size of a closet, and permormed the wudu , the Islamic ritual washing that is performed before prayer. When he finished, he came out of the room, and without using his old and withered eyes, his hands found the prayer rug in the corner of the room, and spread it on the floor in the direction of the Qiblah. He then prayed the four sessions of noon prayer, and stayed kneeled for a while, his head bent, and his eyes fixed on his hands opened in front of him like the pages of a book.