Let me breathe

It was on this fateful day that i started realising that things will never be the same at home again. Kabir was ten minutes late for the for the afternoon prayer (Zuhr) for the forth time in a row and it did not get down well with father. Having just arrived from the Mosque a few minutes walk from home, I was about going into the kitchen to prepare for dinner with mum when father came storming into the living room. He placed his rosary on a side stool and then proceeded to the dining room, I just knew that he was going to get angry. I had noticed his countenance at the mosque, he kept looking towards the door anticipating Kabir's arrival he always likes it when things are done in order, with mother and I at the back in the women's section he and Kabir side by side while the prayer is performed and after prayer we would sit for precisely an hour to say the du'a that he has written especially for us. The Imam will always praise father during the Friday sermon, going on and on about how he never forgets to pay his Zakat and not to talk of the numerous Sadaqat that he performs in the entire family's name. I always seem to wonder how father is able to keep a cool face even when his praise is being sang in front of he whole congregation, how I wish I could be as holy as my father, if only I could grow up to be like him, my facial expression doesn't usually matter because I always have a barqa on just like mum, with my face covered nobody us able to see the arrogant look I have on my face while the imam talks. He called out to Kabir to come downstairs immediately we got home, out of anger he threw the glass jar that was just within his reach across the table, I was so startled by the gesture that I moved backwards out of pure reflex. Mum whispered to me to stay as quiet as I could I did not want a transfer of aggression me and obviously I obeyed. Kabir strolled gallantly down the stairs with the sort of aura of a Prince, he was walking as though he did not know that he is the reason behind the sudden outburst. "Kabir, this is the fourth time that you came late for prayer this week," father shouted as loud as his vocal box could allow. Kabir looked father right in the eye something that has never occurred since I was born, he clearly knows that father says it is wrong to look your parents in the eyes, we are to look at our feet and address them. "I told you that I will be busy preparing for a class project" his voice sounded almost as loud as father's although I think it was the shock I was feeling that made is sound that way. Mother immediately came to the rescue and shouted "Don't look your father in the eyes when you address him and speak with more...." . A loud slap landed on her face immediately, "you are to blame for this you don't teach them enough manners and now they are talking to me disrespectfully". Kabir tried to talk but mother waved her hand in dismissal, more blows followed after that and as I watched the scene tears roll down my face unconsciously, I know that it is wrong to cry because father is only trying to instill faith in mum but, it still hurts when I have to watch and I can't help it. Kabir bangs his hand on the dining table and storms off, I follow suite and rush to my room. Even after shutting my door to keep the loud thuds away I can still hear them although faint as they were the mere thought of imagining the effects on mum drove me nuts. I looked around my peach coloured room and my eyes fall on my open wardrobe consisting mainly of abaya's and barqa's of various colours. I walk across the room to my shoe and bag rack to grab my school bag. I proceeded to the study table and sit, I open my bag and start cross checking my assignment, even though I had done the cross checking twice over the weekend but, I just had to do something to keep the noise away to while away time. I am supposed to be downstairs but I can't bear to look mum in the eyes at least not while she is in such a vulnerable state and my help is not really needed in the kitchen anyways Mariam is there to help. I have to admit that I blamed Kabir for what happened, why did he have to be stubborn? He is well aware that the time for Solat is not one that father jokes with, I wish I could scream into his face and blame him but, of what use is that anyways. I was expecting him to come in to ask about my homework as he always does every Sunday after Zuhr but, I knew he wasn't coming he was too angry for that. Just when I was returning my bag to where it belongs the door swung open and in acme Kabir. He looked calmer than he was before. "Mum, said it's time for lunch". That is all he said and he turned to leave. I stood up immediately and followed close enough behind him. Father was sitting at his usual position on his favourite Queen Anne's chair. We all sat at the table and started to eat after saying the short du'a before a meal, like nothing happened previously. Father cleared his throat and then began " Zaytuna, how have you prepared for school?" I was kind of shocked at this question, he never asks me about preparation in fact he never asks me anything, mum's gentle nudging knocked me to reality "f-f-fine father Al hamdulillah" I know he likes it when we thank Allah for everything we do, he nodded is head in affirmation and continues to eat his food. I raise my head to look at home only to be startled with the size of the bruises. After lunch we said our du'a and father left to his room probably to do some office work. I went into the kitchen with mum and silently watched as she did the dishes. I started, "Sorry" she stopped what she was doing and looked at me with a forced smile on her face "For what? You should never apologise for something you did not do. It is not your fault, not your father's and definitely not your brother's, it is Allah's will." I made to object but she shut me a look that said otherwise. "I am going to have a baby" she said, as she rubbed her tummy. I was indeed glad, after mum had a still birth two years ago she has been suffering miscarriages, as I looked at her with the most sincerity I could summon I silently promised myself to remember this foetus in my prayers. I really wanted to tell her how I was that she was pregnant but, I didn't I just smiled at her. I guess she understood my smile because she smiled back and patted my shoulder, I knew she was scared so was I.