NIGHT GATHERING

Habib Dabajeh

Whether I was dreaming or awake was a mystery that eluded me, a haze enveloping my mind as I stood on Morross Street. The air around me was thick with a palpable sense of sorrow; I was still in deep mourning, my heart heavy with the weight of loss. It felt like my entire world was crumbling, piece by fragile piece, leaving only an echo of what once was. In a daze, I wandered down the street, the haunting whispers of windswept trees creating a melody that contrasted with the turmoil within me. Yet even in this moment of wandering, I sensed a presence lurking nearby, something or someone shadowing my every step. As I glanced at the distant house, a fleeting movement caught my eye—a dark silhouette of a man was making his way slowly up the driveway, heading toward the garage with measured caution. A chill raced through me, quickening my heartbeat as an unshakeable feeling of foreboding washed over me. The house loomed before me, illuminated by a strange glow from the porch lights, but inside, it felt dark and empty, a shell of its former self. The white-pawed Persian lounged gracefully in its favorite spot, as it did every night. With keen eyes, it gazed longingly at the door, fully aware that soon its beloved human would arrive bearing treats. This routine had become a cherished ritual, and the Persian had grown accustomed to the generous offerings of its companion.

From my position, I noticed an elderly woman approaching. Her face was achingly familiar, though I couldn’t quite place her. She walked determinedly toward the side door and began knocking, but the silence that followed felt like a ghostly reminder of the void that had taken occupancy within the house. Our eyes locked for a brief moment, and she offered me a gentle smile that radiated kindness; it was a smile filled with unspoken understanding. A face from my distant childhood flickered in my memory, a visage I had almost forgotten, yet it stirred something deep within me. It was a face taken from me by the cruel and mischievous whims of time and circumstance, a heartwarming presence that vanished too soon. Now, as I stood in the shadows of that eerie night, she appeared before me with a smile that radiated warmth and comfort, dispelling the chill that clung to the air. Her eyes sparkled with a gentle light, reminiscent of the laughter we once shared, and for a moment, everything felt right again, as if the darkness around me could not touch the solace she brought. Slowly, she turned and made her way toward the backyard, the shadows lingering around her.

Just as I tried to make sense of this surreal tableau, another woman emerged from the night, moving quickly toward the house. She turned to me with a smile that glistened with unshed tears. The warmth of her gaze hinted at a shared history, yet her features were an enigma to me. I felt a connection—an invisible thread linking us—though I couldn’t decipher its source. Throughout my life, I had never encountered or seen this blood acquaintance, yet she seemed to possess an innate understanding of me as if our ancestral lineage had woven a silent thread connecting us across time and distance. It was as if, despite the absence of physical meetings, the echoes of our shared heritage resonated within them, allowing them to know my essence in ways I could not have anticipated. Suddenly, a voice called from the backyard, breaking the moment. She hurried off to join the other figures gathering there.

Heart racing, I crept up the driveway, my mind swirling with thoughts of the two women and a brother who seemed to be circling the property, drawn by an invisible force. As I approached the back lawn, the sounds of soft laughter and light-hearted murmurs floated through the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of blossoms. There, beneath the pear tree, stood a vision that struck me like an unexpected wave: a family of three, a brother and his two sisters, engaged in cheerful conversation. The pear tree above them was adorned with over seventy-plus sad pears that gleamed in the moonlight and wailed and mourned in unison for loss and separation. Mesmerized, I paused, rooted to the spot. I stood there as if under a spell, witnessing this enchanting gathering of souls. The energy between us was palpable, yet no words were exchanged. I found myself unable to utter even a single syllable; my tongue felt bound, and my feet felt immovable as if the very earth beneath me had decided to keep me at a distance. Then, the brother rose to his feet, gazing over the once-vibrant garden that now lay eerily silent. A garden once brimming with life, where towering tomato plants stretched toward the sun, and cucumbers sprawled across the ground like the dreams we had nurtured in those carefree days.

He walked deliberately to the spot where the plum and peach trees had stood proud and flourishing—trees that were now memories etched into the soil. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he began to water the parched earth, as if his sorrow could resurrect those lost fruits, and bring those trees back to their glory again. At that moment, as the weight of reality pressed down upon me, I felt as if my own heart was cracking open. A heavy hush enveloped the garden, punctuated only by the faint murmurs of the sisters gathered nearby. I stood silently, watching him as he gazed out over the once vibrant blooms and lush greenery, his expression distant and contemplative. The weight of the moment settled over me, and I felt a deep sigh escape my lips. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly turned to face me. His eyes carried an unfathomable depth, revealing unspoken thoughts and emotions. despite the sadness lingering between us, he managed to muster a forced smile. It was the kind of smile that tried to mask the pain, yet somehow seemed to acknowledge it. He nodded his head slightly looking at me, a gesture meant to reassure a saddened heart that everything will soon be ok. Suddenly, I find myself awakened and I realize with a crushing clarity that nothing would ever be whole again.