“Look! Look!” her dying sister screamed, and pointed at Zain. Now Zain was afraid.
“Close your eyes,” Grandma Hayat said to her, “so that you can’t see him.”
The dying woman whispered feebly, her eyes shut, “I still see him clear as day, even with my eyes closed. I don’t want to close my eyes. He’s… he’s…”
Grandma Hayat broke in, saying, “Start reciting from the Qur’an. Say: ‘God is One.’ He’ll be easier on you that way.”
As I listened to the two women, I thought of my mother. She was laid out in a coffin, and I lay down beside her to wake her up. I wanted to meet Death and ask him to send her back to me.
The dying woman’s voice grew softer. “Look… Look… What is it? Please… What is it?” She didn’t say any of the traditional things that Zain had read about people saying when they’re pa
