Midnight Prayers...a short story by Hilath

“I guess I’ll have to manage with water then.” He drank a mouthful, and wiped his mouth with the back of his palm.

He looked quizzically at Ilham.

“I gave up,” Ilham replied to Mohamed’s unasked question. “Months ago,” he added, as an afterthought.

“So that explains,” Mohamed said.

“What do you mean?” Ilham frowned.

Mohamed didn’t answer. He was like that sometimes.

He quietly made his way over to the mattress Ilham had prepared for him.

Mohamed would be bunking with Ilham for tonight.

Ilham rolled over to a side and observed him. “I’m really sorry.”

Mohamed said nothing.

Ilham rolled over towards the corner, and switched off the light.

“Goodnight.” He didn’t turn to look back at Mohamed.

It was dark, anyway.

***

It was 3:00am. Dead of the night.

Ilham made his way slowly towards the mosque. Sleep made his footsteps heavy, and it was almost the only sound on the lifeless street at this ungodly hour.

Ilham had not offered his Isha prayers and somehow he had to do it now, otherwise he was sure he would doze off and not wake up later to do this duty.

He hugged himself in an attempt to keep the chill out; the cold wind settled dew on the cool leaves of the shadowy branches overhanging from the trees, brushing his cheeks then and now, adding to his unearthly discomfort.

Everything was a blur; he had left his specs back at home. There was no need for it. But it only accentuated the haunting gloominess of early morning on the pitch black street.

He entered the desolate mosque, turned on the tap; the water running on his hands was cold, and he gave an involuntary shudder. He forced himself to run some of it over his still half-closed eyes and washed his feet.

The door was ajar and it opened effortlessly. He made his way to the front and started the prayer.

He had to make an effort to stay awake, but within a few minutes had managed to complete the prayer. Immediately, he got up and made his way towards the exit.

“Ilham.”

He wasn’t sure he heard his name being called.

He squinted and saw a figure sitting at the back, the Holy Book in his lap.

Ilham slowly made his way towards the stranger; without his glasses, the person sitting in the corner was a blur, too.

Ilham squatted beside him.

The stranger was smiling.

He took a good look at him. Somehow the face was familiar but he couldn’t quite nail his finger on that face.

“How are you doing?”

Ilham would have recognized that voice anywhere.

“Mohamed.” He broke into a smile. “What are you doing here? At this hour?”

Mohamed had lost weight, Ilham could see that. He had thinned since Ilham last met him… months ago.

“You didn’t ask me how I am,” Mohamed said, a slight hint of dejection his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Ilham said hurriedly. “It’s totally unexpected… meeting you like this. What are you doing here at this time of night?”

Mohamed had never been religious. Ilham didn’t remember the last time Mohamed had stepped into a mosque. Something was surely amiss.

“I was late tonight. My folks locked up the house. I guess I am stuck here until morning.” Mohamed looked expectantly at Ilham.

Ilham looked at the Holy Book on Mohamed’s lap; he was not sure whether Mohamed had actually even opened it. He was right after all – nothing had changed. Mohamed was still the same.

Mohamed put back the book on the small cupboard beside him.

Ilham sat thinking for about a minute. “Alright. You can sleep over at my place.”

Ilham was not sure he had made the right decision. But that was always the way things worked around Mohamed; you finally gave in.

A hint of a smile formed on Mohamed’s face. “I do appreciate it. I just came back from the resort.”

So, Mohamed worked in a resort now, did he? But Ilham did not voice his thoughts.

Mohamed got up. He offered his hand to Ilham.

Ilham didn’t take it.

The walk back to Ilham’s place was quiet.

***

Ilham lay awake. The luminous hands on his alarm clock said 4:30am. He had lain awake for one and a half hours.

The exhaust fan near the ceiling turned and turned, its busy humming adding to Ilham’s irritation. On other nights, it left him alone, but tonight it bothered him. A lot.

For the hundredth time maybe, he touched the keys he had pushed under his mattress, and felt reassured. There were certain things you could not trust around Mohamed. And there was no reason to believe that Mohamed had changed after all these months.

There were too many questions. Where had Mohamed been all this time? Working at a resort, as he claimed?

“I bet you’re thinking where I’ve been all this time.”

Mohamed’s voice almost jerked Ilham to his feet.

Ilham composed himself. He rolled over and turned towards Mohamed. “You’re not asleep?”

He couldn’t see Mohamed. The room was full of shadows.

A moment passed.

“You aren’t asleep either.” Mohamed’s voice came inches from Ilham’s face. Ilham shuddered. He had no idea how Mohamed had stealthily moved so close.

Mohamed moved back and switched on the night lamp. He settled beside Ilham.

“Are you still into those stuff?” Ilham couldn’t rid himself of the curiosity that had been building up in him since meeting Mohamed at the mosque.

“No. I gave that up a long time ago.” Mohamed gave a meaningful look to Ilham. “I can see that you have given up on a lot of things, too.” His voice had an accusatory tone to it.

Ilham did not reply for a moment.

“I guess I outgrew them,” Ilham said finally. “I wanted to think straight. I couldn’t stand that hazy world of fantasy.”

“Fantasy!” Mohamed chuckled. Almost mocking. “What makes you think your life is now real?”

Ilham had no answer to that.

“So, are you going back to the… resort?” Ilham asked after a moment. Somehow he still felt concerned for his friend, though this friend had ceased to become one a long time ago.

Everything was changed...for them, at least.

“No.” Mohamed did not elaborate.

“What are you going to do now?” Ilham pressed, knowing well the answer was not forthcoming.

Mohamed turned towards Ilham. There was some cruel pleasure to be gained from what he was going to say next.

“I’ve got a job… in Male.” He let it sink in for Ilham.

Ilham didn’t say anything. He would not give Mohamed the satisfaction of an answer. He could almost detect a smirk on Mohamed’s face.

Mohamed switched off the light. “Let’s go back to sleep. It will be morning soon.”

***

Ilham couldn’t sleep. He kept watching the hands on the clock. 4:45… 5:00… 5:15… 5:30…5:45… 6:00…

His eyelids finally grew heavy. He started to doze off.

“I gotta go.” A voice whispered near his ear.

The lights came on.

Ilham sat up heavily on his mattress.

Mohamed was already putting on his shirt. He went into the toilet, and came out a few minutes later, water running down his face, some of it wetting the front of his shirt.

Ilham felt uneasy. “So, I’ll be seeing you around…” A statement, not a question.

He never wanted to see Mohamed ever again. But that couldn’t be helped. It’s a small world after all. Especially Male.’

He could never fathom Mohamed, and that always made him uneasy. Mohamed was mysterious, the devil that Ilham never knew.

Mohamed combed back his tousled hair.

He unlocked the door and looked back at Ilham.

Ilham still sat on his mattress, unwilling to move.

Mohamed’s eyes wandered around the room.

“Goodbye.” His eyes settled on Ilham. “I mean it this time.”

(This short story was published in Haveeru Daily, Maldives leading daily newspaper, on 17 Jan 2003)

FEEDBACK

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@ "Amazing. I agree that this is Hilath's best work so far. (I'm gonna keep a printout of this... for inspiration) This takes a place in my list of personal favourite top five short stories."--Ali Riyaz, Maldives, 3 Feb 2003

@ "I have to agree with Ali Rasheed about the notion of ambiguity and the ‘fuzziness’. I have always liked poems and stories that don’t not give clear answers or provide definite conclusions. The fact that the reader finds it hard to fully categorise the emotions (be it fear, friendship, love, trust, mistrust) makes the relationship even more worthy of examination. Personally, it made me back track and try a little bit harder to see if I can understand the two characters a bit more.(It was only after I finished reading that I understood that Hilath probably didn’t want a clear snapshot.) I have always liked Hilath’s works, especially his short stories. And I have to say though a bit short and have only two characters, this one
is my favourite so far. Hilath, don’t you dare stop writing short
stories!"--Mariyam Nadhrath, Australia, 31 Jan 2003

@ "Midnight Prayers is an intelligent and thought-provoking portrayal of estrangement. Features a great deal of ambiguity and much food for thought as well. Offers no answers but works well with the coarse mood, tension and suggested historical background of the characters. Unlike Girl in the Shadow, which is guilty of meandering around, Midnight Prayers remains compact and focused. Hilath’s finest story to date."--Sharif Ali, Maldives, 27 Jan 2003

@ "Not to rubbish earlier efforts, but there is a high level of artistic maturity in this latest work by Hilath. In the eerie pre-dawn hours, time stands still, and nothing is what it seems. The writer creates a suitably fuzzy---it is appropriate that the Ilham character leaves his specs at home---and unnatural atmosphere, in which to resurrect seemingly extinguished human desires and cravings. Conventional boundaries, both physical (night and day) and spiritual (good and evil) are blurred and anything could happen. Like 'Faust', German expressionist cinema, and other highbrow art and literature, this story challenges our positions, and invites multiple interpretations, without giving in to any of them. But that doesn't mean we can't connect with Ilham as he
tries desperately to quit the 'bad' habit, dump the lover, or 'outgrow' the friend."--Ali Rasheed, Maldives, 25 Jan 2003

@ "Okay, maybe subtleties like these are lost on me but I didn't get what happened. Clearly it was interesting to read and the friction between the two characters is very well defined but by the end of the story I was like, erm... what happened? Left me with a lot of questions and vague hints to the answers. If this was the author's intention then he has succeeded."--Hursheed, Maldives, 24 Jan 2003