A Bombing Enigma

by Angelika Lansdale

  Cynara put the diary down utterly appalled. How could a priest do that? It was absolutely horrific and frightening. To begin with, his mum fell terminally ill and died after a lot of pain and agony. Then, he was almost attacked in the place that should have been his sanctuary, by the man who should have supported him. What a betrayal. Cynara had heard of molestation cases at churches but this was the first time she actually read a victim’s account. She stood up and walked around her cottage feeling unsettled. After making herself a cup of tea, she sat down and picked up the diary again.

  June 22nd, 2001

  The priest came for a house visit early in the morning. It was supposedly to check up on his devout church member’s family. What a load of shit! Old man was awake and sober but did not see through the farce. I just stood quietly while he made small talk. He asked for water and dad went to get it from the kitchen. He immediately looked at me and told me he forgave me for my sins. He said he knew I was a faggot and would tell the entire community if I did not keep my mouth shut. So I should think of my family and not shame them, keep it my secret. I stood there listening to him in disbelief. I could not meet his eyes, just looked down shamefully. The gall of the man! Dad came back with the water. The priest drank it, blessed us, and left.

  I never want to see him again. The incident and his visit have been replaying on my mind. I cannot stop thinking about it. I am so ashamed. His brazenness stumped me. Why did I not call his bluff? Has he done this to others? How many has he raped and damned? The fucker!

  June 25th, 2001

  I have just stayed home the last two days. Whenever I think of Father Wilson, I get so frustrated. Why didn’t I kill the fucker? I feel so guilty that I did not confront him. Is it very cowardly of me? I just do not have the balls to talk about this publicly. It is making me miserable. The Church and its God have given me this guilt and this misery. I hate them, truly hate them.

  Cynara looked up from the diary really moved by Jimmy’s anguish. He had been a kid and to face something like this on his own just after losing a mum must have been wretched.

  June 28th, 2001

  I hate the Church and all the people who work there in the name of God. I had gone to seek help because of mum’s beliefs. Her convictions were misplaced. It is all a farce, bloody lies. How can a priest preach to his congregation to lead an honest life when he himself is the epitome of dishonesty? He preaches to not commit any sin and is a sinner himself. Mum was taken from me and then I had to face the Devil. I have vowed to myself to never set foot in a church again.

  July 2nd, 2001

  I hate my life. Dad has been going to work drunk and lost his job today. When will it end? How will it end? I have lost all faith in God, in the church, in dad, everyone. They have all failed me. Dad is drinking himself to death.

  Chapter 16

  July 31st, 2001

  We moved to Bradford this week. Dad sobered up a bit after getting fired, but not enough. He was unable to find any other work. We sold our house. All the money went to pay the loan dad had taken for mum’s treatment. We moved in with my grandparents and Aunt Bess. My life was already hell and the nightmare continues. I hate living here. I miss mum, miss the home we had, miss the life we had before her illness. Even though I never had real friends, life was good, my mum and me, and the old man. He was always there in the background, never any trouble. Now it is all lost to me. All lost!

  Aug 10th, 2001

  Aunt Bess is a dictator. My grandparents are scared of her. They let her do what she wants and just submit quietly to all her wishes. She is happy we moved in. There are more of us to dominate. Dad and Aunt Bess are opposites. He is quiet and must have been a good-looking man in his younger days. Aunt Bess is a loud, overbearing, unattractive woman without any friends. She never married. I doubt she ever had any lovers. And that probably embittered and soured her. Aunt Bess hates me and I hate her. I hate living in this house. She is always nagging me, sneering at me, or mocking me. It is cruel. None of them stops her. Dad is always too drunk. Grandpa mostly keeps to his room. Grandma is too timid and has never been able to stand up to her. I just try to stay out of her path, as it is always WAR!

  Aug 20th, 2001

  I have enrolled at a local school and want to take my A levels. I also got a job at a fast food restaurant and work there every day, for a few hours in the evenings. Hopefully, this lets me earn enough to eat my meals outside the house. I want to spend as little time as possible in this shit hole. School starts in September.

  Sep 9th, 2001

  Aunt Bess feels unhappy about my staying away from the house. She is unable to yield her power over me when I am not here. She complains and complains to dad about my being out all the time and not eating meals at home and not helping with chores and the list goes on and on. She is pathetic. The old man has not said anything to me. He just hears her out and does not respond. That is at least a blessing. If he also starts to nag, I will not be able to tolerate it.

  Oct 19th, 2001

  School is going okay. I am still working at the restaurant. It keeps me very busy and I am earning good money. The manager likes me. Things have not changed much at home. Aunt Bess still pesters me. I just stay out most of the day. Dad seems to have loved my mum so much that he is not able to recover from her death. I hated this about him those first few months, but now I am immune to it. He is not going to survive too much longer, if he continues to drink at this rate. It sounds heartless of me, but I just have no more emotions left.

  Feb 1st, 2002

  Nothing has changed. Aunt Bess has taken it upon herself to show us what hell is. We live in hell. She is just a pathetic miserable woman and wants all of us to share that same misery. The bitch.

  March 3rd, 2002

  Things came to a head tonight. Aunt Bess finally broke through my calm tolerance. I got home after work and was tired. I still needed to finish some homework. I went into the kitchen to make some coffee and the bitch was waiting. Dad was slumped on the kitchen table over his bottle. Grandma was sitting next to him knitting. Aunt Bess started shouting and raving like someone obsessed. It was all about me using the house like a free hotel, my dad living there for free, eating there for free. We ungrateful bastards were living off her money. Actually, it is all my grandpa’s, but Aunt Bess of course is now controlling it.

  After listening to her abuse for a while, I just lost control. I grabbed her by the shoulders and raised my hand to smack her evil face. But grandma exclaimed in alarm and shouted for me to stop. It brought me back to my senses. I ran to my room and locked the door expecting Aunt Bess to storm in. Luckily nobody has come. I am still fuming and trying to calm down.

  March 4th, 2002

  It is early morning. I did not sleep at all and just kept pacing up and down my room. I have come to a decision and am leaving the house. Dad is never going to help me. Last night he just sat there staring blankly, probably too intoxicated to follow what was happening. I have to now help myself and this is my only choice.

  March 11th, 2002

  I moved out yesterday. My manager at the fast food joint recommended me at a bakery and I got a full time job there. The baker has also rented me a small room with a tiny bath above the shop. I will be eighteen soon and feel as if I have been an adult for a long time. I tried to make the old man come with me but he refused. So I am on my own now.

  April 15th, 2002

  I have officially quit school. It was just not possible with working at the bakery. I did not have any other options.

  Cynara paused in her reading. Jimmy was on his own and not even eighteen yet. What a harsh choice! He must have been so lonely. She also lost her parents around the same age and remembered how shattering it had been. Fortunately, Charles had always been there. He had protected her whereas Jimmy had to literally fend for himself.

  Moreover, he quit school. If he had completed his education and gone on to university, his life could have taken a different turn. He might even be alive today.

/>   May 30th, 2002

  Life is tough but I am happy. It is better being on my own. I am doing well at the bakery and earning enough to manage. I do not have any friends but then do not need any. The library keeps me company. I have started reading a lot. The old man is still the same. I have met him a few times.

  Sep 15th, 2002

  Dad died yesterday. He drank himself to death in little over a year since mum’s passing. I never realized his love for her until after her death. He never recovered from her passing. I just hope that she knew how much he loved her. The funeral was today. For once Aunt Bess had nothing to say to me. In fact, we did not speak to each other at all. Grandma is ill and bedridden. She did not attend. Grandpa was there and looked stricken with grief. It is tough to bury your child. It was a sad day. I am feeling very upset. It is hard to understand why. Dad and I hardly met at all these past six months. So why am I feeling so hollow? I should have made more of an effort to see him. It is too late now. He is gone.

  Dec 10th, 2002

  Grandma died two days ago. She had a heart attack early in the morning and was already dead by the time the ambulance arrived. She was buried next to dad. Aunt Bess cried at the service. I was quite surprised. I did not know she was capable of real tears. Poor grandpa. He has to live with her all by himself now.

  Jan 3rd, 2003

  I got a call from Aunt Bess this afternoon. Grandpa passed away due to a massive stroke. The funeral is tomorrow. This seems to be a time of deaths in the family.

  Jan 5th, 2003

  After the ceremony yesterday, Aunt Bess asked me to move back to the house. I was too stunned to say anything for a few seconds. Finally, after gathering my wits, I declined the invitation politely and left.

  April 10th, 2003

  Aunt Bess died this morning. She had a stroke last week and did not recover. It was probably brought on by severe depression. It is ironic. She made everyone’s lives miserable and then died alone in misery.

  June 5th, 2003

  Aunt Bess had taken loans from the bank against the house the last couple of years. She was living off the borrowed money. The bank took over the house and auctioned it. I just met with the lawyer today and learnt the debt has all been paid. 20,000 pounds is remaining. As I am next of kin, I am getting that money. It is so unexpected. What will I do with it? A 19 year old with 20,000 pounds.

  March 1st, 2004

  A lot has happened in the last nine months. I quit my job at the bakery. With the money, I rented a proper apartment, bought some furniture, and set it up. I toyed with the idea of completing my education. Instead, I joined a professional chauffeur company and trained with them for three months. They hired me at the end of my training. I am a chauffeur now.

  March 31st, 2005

  I am twenty-one today. Happy Birthday to me. Life has been steady for the last year or so. I like working as a chauffeur. The job does not require me to communicate with the clients I drive around. I just have to be courteous and very discreet. The company’s clientele is quite varied and it is interesting to observe them, rich executives, their wives, their lovers, sometimes even their poorer relatives. Some of the women are quite chatty and end up confiding in me. I guess I have always been that harmless chap!

  Dec 31st, 2006

  It is time to open the bottle and celebrate. The countdown has begun on TV for 2007. I was hired as a personal chauffeur by one of the clients who frequently used my company’s services. After thinking about it for a few days, I accepted the position in September. The family is decent and treats me well. My work hours are regular with minimal night driving. I am happy but sometimes feel an emptiness in my heart. I wish I had someone to share my bottle with. I still miss mum. We had always celebrated New Year’s Eve with a lot of cheer.

  April 5th, 2007

  Today I met an Arab called Abaan Khalid Fakhri.

  Chapter 17

  Cynara looked up briefly from the diary. The investigators were going to be ecstatic. The diary probably held all the answers to Jimmy’s suicide.

  My boss sent me to a butcher shop to get some halal meat as they are expecting some Muslim colleagues for dinner tomorrow. There I met Abaan. He owns the shop. I ordered what I needed and paid and left the shop. Just then a group of four skinheads walked up to the shop entrance and called out to Abaan. They started hurling racial slurs at him and told him to step out and fight. They were very insulting. Abaan boldly came out and faced them empty handed. They all held some sort of a weapon, a crowbar, a bat, a chain, and a small knife.

  The shop was at the end of a not too busy street. It was late afternoon. There was no one around at the time. My first instinct was to run to my car and drive away. Then I decided that it was not fair, one against four armed white supremacist punks. I put down my bag, stood with Abaan, and told the four punks to think before doing anything stupid. They just laughed at me and closed in on us. It was some fight. Abaan knows martial arts and had a sock full of coins in his pocket. He single handedly beat them up pretty good. I was hardly any help, but did not leave his side. The punks ran away after a few minutes. They apparently had come before as well but today Abaan was prepared.

  After they disappeared down the street, Abaan thanked me profusely for coming to his assistance, not that I had done much. But I guess it gave him the needed confidence to face them, knowing he was not alone. He and I both have only a few minor cuts and bruises. A lucky escape!

  He took me inside his shop and brought out a first aid box from the back. We both cleaned our respective cuts. He insisted I have a cup of coffee with him. He made a fresh pot and we both drank and talked. I learnt a lot about him. He is from Iraq and moved here with his sister, who lives in London. I told him a little bit about myself.

  We both have something in common, we had to leave our homes and our comfort zones and start a new life. He is a little older than me, already twenty-six. We exchanged phone numbers and then I left. My first impression is that I like him. This is the most I have talked in a long time. I hope we meet again soon.

  April 7th, 2007

  Abaan called in the morning to enquire after my injuries. I assured him that I am fine. He invited me to dinner at a Middle Eastern restaurant close to his shop. I had a free evening today and accepted the invitation. We met there. The food was exotic and I thoroughly enjoyed his company. He was easy to talk to and we discussed everything from religion and politics to music and movies. We sat chatting until they closed down for the night without realizing how many hours we had spent. I feel so happy. I have found a friend.

  Dec 30th, 2007

  My life is going very well. Abaan and I have become very close. We meet frequently. I can really communicate with him. He knows practically everything about me other than the incident with Father Wilson. One of these days, I will tell him about it. His friendship has filled the hole in my heart.

  Cynara was amazed by Jimmy’s choice of words, filled the hole in my heart. He had felt that close to Abaan? What an unlikely pair, a lonely British boy, and an Arab. Had the Arab also felt the same? Cynara turned to the next entry in the diary.

  March 31st, 2008

  Today is my birthday. Abaan treated me to a tasty Arabian meal. After eating, I told him all about my near rape at the hands of the priest. Abaan was shocked by the depravity of a supposedly holy man. He wants to attack the priest and demand retribution. I have somehow managed to convince him otherwise. Avenging the priest is not worth the risk of getting caught and being condemned as a criminal. It is difficult for Abaan to let go as he strongly believes in ‘an eye for an eye’. Therefore, to him it is very simple to seek revenge. It feels good to finally have someone in my life who cares about my pain. Abaan is the first person I have confessed to and it is heartening to see his reaction. He wants justice for me. I feel I can finally bury the hatchet, as the saying goes, and put it behind me.

  May 31st, 2010

  Hello Diary. I had forgotten about you and then found you in the drawer while looking
for some photos. The last few years of my life have been extraordinary. My friendship with Abaan has deepened. He has become my mentor. I have learnt so much from him about Muslims, their religion, their culture, their customs and their dreams. He has given me books to read. The more I read the more I like Islam. It seems to be a very true and idealistic religion with simple fundamentals, unlike Christianity with all its lies and political agendas. The Muslim people are just trying to survive in this world of hatred and impurity.

  Abaan writes beautiful poetry in Arabic that he sometimes translates in English for me. His memories of Iraq are always tinged with a lot of nostalgia. He talks about its beauty. He and his family fled after the US forces attacked their country. It is tragic how they had to escape from their own home, leaving everything behind.

  Abaan has a few close Iraqi friends who have also sought refuge in England. He introduced me to them and invited me a few times to have dinner with them at his apartment. They do not speak good English so communication is difficult. I am not able to connect with any of them and they are also wary of me. It is hard for them to accept a white non-Muslim in their midst.