“My parents wanted me to be a doctor too,” he said.
“But you chose journalism as a major. Why didn’t you tell them?” she asked.
“How many mothers pride themselves on saying, my son the journalist? Besides, no lives were saved by a journalist,” Deni said.
“On the contrary, a good journalist can expose injustices and atrocities,” said Dr. Sodhi.
“Unless you believe people get what they deserve; some deserve the injustice and in that case reporting is just sensationalism,” replied Deni. He looked at Dr. Sodhi with a new perspective. She too had her purposes, her struggles that many would not understand. “For so long I tried to be a part of this world, but always felt a stranger, like an alien visitor watching and studying mankind.”
“It must have been hard to feel separated,” she said.
Deni nodded. “I tried my best to belong.”
“From what I heard from family and friends, you were successful,” replied Dr. Sodhi.
“Was I?”
“Deni, all of us, no matter our nationality, race or religion, had at one time or another felt separated. Everyone, Deni, feels disconnected from time to time. The best way to regain that connection with others is love, when you lose sight of love, you lose your connections to people and you feel separated. Trying to belong is not love, it is a physical act. You’re not loving; you’re faking and thus creating a great gap between you and others. I bet there were times in your life when you experienced love, whether it be with family, a friend or girlfriend, you didn’t feel so isolated. You didn’t have to try so hard.”
Feeling ashamed, Deni rocked on his chair. He didn’t say anything to Dr. Sodhi.
“Why did you feel you needed to try when it appears that many accepted you as you were?” she asked.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here now would I?” he replied.
Dr. Sodhi knew she was beginning to lose him again. She could get so far and then he would shut down. Reclining back in her chair, she stared down at the papers in his file. Somewhere in his record, interviews with family and friends and even her notes, the answer was there. She just needed to find the key to unlock the secret he was holding.
“I don’t see the purpose of all this prying. Why help when we’re all doomed?” Deni finally said.
“Who’s doomed, Deni? Who is we?” she asked.
Deni didn’t realize he used the word, we. Was it a Freudian slip? he thought. “I don’t know—me, you, all the prisoners in here, all of humanity.”
“The consciousness of we is what makes for a better world. The ease of any suffering, no matter a man’s circumstances, breathes light into this world. Easing your suffering can literally change this world. YOU are not an ill-fitting piece; you are very much connected to this world regardless of where you lie. Think of it like a bad electrical wire. One bad wire can break the whole circuit, but when all wires are aligned and positively connected, everything functions properly. It is no different with people,” she said.
Deni smiled and it was a genuine smile. Her words rang true to him and gave him some small sense of purpose despite his confinement.
“This isn’t over,” she reminded. “You and I still have a lot of work to do.”
“What else is there?” he asked.
“What you’re not divulging,” she said.
Deni nodded. He didn’t know the reasons for his isolation. He could tell her all the obvious ones: nationality, class and religion, but not one of them kept him from having friends. All his friends did accept him regardless. He could no longer stand behind the superficial walls he built. By now, even he wanted to find out what was really going on within.
Solitude was suggested to be the answer for anyone trying to find answers to their problems. It was really hard to do when there was so much noise; everyone else’s noise. He listened to friends commiserate failed relationships and other hardships; he watched and read the news seeing all the crap going on in the world. There was just so much spinning and spinning that it was hard to grasp one particular concept to think it through to its end.
Deni sat on his bed and glanced at the Quran. Are my answers in there? Is this my Jihad to combat the enemy inside? He couldn’t think sitting down, so he got up and walked around the room. “Once I free myself from my eternal demon, then no matter what, I will be free,” he said.
He pressed his back against the steel door, slid down and sat on the floor. His mind swirled through his past—the violence in Chechnya, the family history in Volgograd, the move to the United States, school, college and everything in between, and all the people that had come and gone. He closed his eyes.
Seven-year-old Deni peered out his American Uncle Boris’s living room window in an upscale suburb of Wilmington, Delaware. It was dark now, but from the little he could see, it was a vast difference from the farm in Volgograd. There were no tree lines, meadows and even wolves; there were streetlights, big houses, well-manicured lawns, and expensive cars. To Deni, it was as if the plane landed on a different planet.
With his face pressed against the glass window, he wondered why his parents bought them here. What is so great about this place and when can I go home? The immaculate nature of America unnerved him and he was only seven. Everyone seemed friendly—his aunt and uncle, his cousins, but there was something lacking; something he didn’t understand.
“What are you looking at?” asked Mikail from the pull-out-couch.
“I’m just looking,” responded Deni.
Mikail laughed. “You’re not going to see anything in the darkness.”
Deni turned away from the window. “I can see lots of things.” He jumped on the pull-out-couch alongside Mikail. “It’s very different here; they have lots of fancy stuff.”
“Yeah, ain’t it great?” Mikail played with the remote control of the large screen television. Flipping through channels, Mikail landed on a sexually explicit movie and then turned the volume way down. He grinned and reclined back on the bed. He noticed Deni staring at the television. “You’re not going to tell ma and pop are you?”
Deni numbly shook his head. He watched the television having no idea what it was, only that he was strangely pulled in. He was shocked and thought of his own small body compared to the man on the screen. “Do we have to watch this?”
Mikail stretched back on the sofa bed. “Yeah. You may learn something.”
Staring at the television, Deni tried to understand what it was he was supposed to learn and why.
Deni opened his eyes and swung his head back, hitting the steel door of his cell. “Ouch!” he exclaimed and then wondered why his mind traveled back to that incident. They only thing he could really recall was feeling uncomfortable and confused, but other than that, he was safe with his brother, Mik, so no harm could really come to him. How could I feel comfortable and safe at the same time? he thought.
It wasn’t the movie that had Deni so uncomfortable and confused, it was this new place. He didn’t know why they had to leave the farm in Volgograd. He loved it there, lounging in the tall grass, watching the wolves at a distance, hunting with his brother and father. Here in this new place, there were all sorts of rules, all sorts of crazy stimuli.
Deni didn’t remember much of his older cousin Victoria; he only met her a few times at family functions, but then the families never got together much after they moved to the United States. He recalled her tall, reddish brown hair, slender build and that she was a royal pain in the ass. The ten-year age gap between them didn’t help as she tried to control his every move whenever he was around her. He was seven and wanted nothing else than to be left alone.
Uncle Boris offered to buy new clothes for the newly arrived Daudov family. They all looked like a bunch of 1980s throw back vagabonds from the old country, and were a complete embarrassment for Uncle Boris’s stylish broods.
In the boy’s section of The Gap, Victoria tried to size up shirts on Deni. “This would look so cute on you,” she said.
Uncle Boris laughed. “You better get used to it son. There is always going to be a woman who wants to shop for you.”
“I can’t remember the last time I bought a shirt,” joked Bashir.
“Women, when they get their claws in you, they want you to look the way they want you to,” said Uncle Boris.
“Dad, you’re not helping,” said Victoria.
“Sweetheart, you’re not helping. This boy’s not impressed with anything you’re showing him,’ said Uncle Boris with a loud laugh.
“Pop, I wanna go home,” Deni said to Bashir in Russian.
“After we’re done shopping,” Bashir replied in Russian.
“I want to go home to the farm. I don’t like it here,” he responded in Russian and then held his weight on the clothing rack, nearly toppling it over. “People are strange here. I don’t like it. Why did we have to come here?”
Bashir lifted Deni from the rack to keep it from toppling over. He knelt before Deni and said in Russian, “Because it’s a good place, a very good place; it’s just different. You will like it; I promise.” Bashir hugged and kissed Deni on the cheek.
Uncle Boris kneeled next to Deni. “I’ll make you a deal. If you stop hanging on the bars and let your cousin pick you out some clothes, I’ll buy you a big dinner with dessert.”
Deni tugged at the shirt he had on. “I like my shirt.”
“Son, you can keep your shirt, but don’t you want a new one? You can have both shirts,” said Bashir.
Deni looked at the one in Victoria’s hand. “That one,” he said just to get the ordeal over with.
Bashir nodded to Victoria and Uncle Boris. As Uncle Boris paid for the Daudov’s new clothing, Bashir walked Deni outside to the hallway of a very large, crowded mall. Together they sat on the bench, watching the Americans walk past and the rest of their family inside the store.
The only time Deni saw so many people at one time was at train stations and the airports. The difference was these people were not carrying luggage; it didn’t look like they were going anywhere. “Where are all these people going?”
“They’re shopping,” replied Bashir.
“For what?” asked Deni.
“Clothes and stuff,” said Bashir.
“Why? Don’t they have enough?” questioned Deni.
Bashir chuckled and then messed with Deni’s hair. “Obviously not.”
Within a few minutes, Uncle Boris and the entire clan emerged from The Gap. “Okay, how about some cheesecake!” he exclaimed.
The restaurant was equally as crowded. His legs grew tired for standing and his mind was beginning to ache with boredom. There was really no one for Deni to talk to, so he just hung on Bashir’s arm constantly trying to get his attention. Deni was getting too heavy to be lifted, so Bashir held Deni’s head close to his hip to keep him from getting out of sorts. Deni glanced up at Bashir. “Why do we have to stand in line? Isn’t there enough food?” he asked.
Uncle Boris laughed out loud.
Deni didn’t understand how his question could be funny.
“We stand in line because the food is very good here,” replied Uncle Boris.
“No other place has good food?” responded Deni.
Uncle Boris glanced at Bashir and Kamiila. “A smart little one, isn’t he?”
“He’s tired,” defended Kamiila.
The families were eventually seated at a table. Although Deni preferred to sit next to Bashir, he was stuck between his overbearing cousin and his mother. A large colorful menu was placed before Deni. He paged through all the pictures of food he didn’t recognize. So many choices, he was mesmerized by all the pictures of foods, desserts and cocktails. He pointed to a picture of a Mai Tai.
“No, you can’t have that; that’s for adults,” said Victoria, but Deni couldn’t really understand her English. Victoria paged through the menu for Deni and showed him a picture of a cheeseburger. “How does that look?”
Deni had no idea what it was, but nodded his head affirmative.
Kamiila took the menu from Deni and gave Victoria a look to leave her son alone. “Honey, you can never eat all that. It’s bigger than you are.”
“Oh Kamiila, let the boy have his burger. What he doesn’t eat, I’m sure someone else will eat the rest,” replied Uncle Boris.
Kamiila handed her and Deni’s menu to Bashir. “Fine. What do I know about raising my own children?”
Deni slid down the seat between his mother and Victoria. It didn’t matter, he was going get something to eat sometime; he hoped. If America had so much food, why am I starving?
Later that evening, Kamiila folded a basket of her family’s washed clothes and packed them in her suitcase. She was in no mood to see anyone, or even talk to her husband. She was inches away from getting her children on the next flight back to Russia.
Deni entered the room, jumped on the guest bed and stared up at his mother. She sat down next to him, placing her hand on his belly. She didn’t have any words, she knew her son was as lost as she was and was seeking refuge in the safest room in the house.
“We’re leaving tomorrow to find a house of our own and it will just be us again,” she finally said to him. “You’ll get to go to school and you’ll meet many friends your own age. How does that sound?”
“Will they like me?” Deni asked.
Kamiila brushed back his hair. “What’s not to like? You’re a sweet boy. Everyone will love you. They will love you just like I love you.” She could see the doubt in Deni’s eyes and wished she had a crystal ball to assure him. She wished she could look into the future and know without a doubt that everything would be okay, but she couldn’t. Leaning over him, she kissed his forehead. “Whatever happens in your life, I want you to know your mother loves you. That is the one thing you will never need to doubt.”
With his head pressed against the steel door, Deni stared blankly at his cell. “My freedom was lost a long time ago and I have been living in prison ever since,” he said.
He stood up and walked around his small space. “Do they know? Do Americans know their own captivity? Why do Americans wait at restaurants for food? Refugees of war stand in food lines, not the supposed richest country on earth. People walking around the mazes of malls like laboratory rats being tested by some scientist. No doubt it’s all monitored by those above to gain more influence and power. It is capitalistic porn is what it is—a big corporate dick shoving it into the vagina of the masses.”
Deni heard the lock to his cell door open. What could it be now? The guard opened the door for him to line up with all the other prisoners. It was his hour of daylight and it couldn’t have come at worse time. Shit, I wonder who’s gonna try to fuck me now.
The weather was horrendous. It had to be over one hundred degrees and heavy humidity hung in the air. Sweat drenched Deni’s scrubs. He walked to the far end of the outside cage, clenched his fingers around the wire, and looked out to the free world. Have I ever been free? Perhaps this is the freest I have even been?
He turned around and saw the prison guard standing safely by the door. Deni had to laugh and laughed harder when he felt a few raindrops plop on his head. Thunder roared in the sky and the rain began to pour; it was glorious.
Chapter 19
Consciousness versus conscience, Deni thought as he was just about to drift into unconsciousness. Sleep was almost upon him, but his mind was still very active. His conscious thoughts swirled into a dreamlike state.
Confined to this small space, it was easy for his mind to escape him. The outside world and all his so-called ideals now seemed surreal like an obscure foreign film. His peripheral senses heightened. He could feel the hair on his arms stand on end, every nerve twitched and his heart beat. He could even feel inhuman entities surround him—angels, demons, and the ghosts of prisoners past.
Sensing something watching him, he lifted the fabric of his pants covering his eyes to see. He g
lanced around his cell and saw nothing. Maybe it was that dark angel that visited me in the hospital? he thought. “Where did you go?” he muttered, but there was no response.
Finally, he was able to force sleep but was woken by his breakfast being slid through the door. It was a good one. Deni sat on his bed and slowly savored his breakfast—runny eggs, limp bacon, dry toast, and orange juice which rejuvenated his body and mind.
After breakfast he did twenty push-ups and fifty sit-ups. He would have done more, but he heard the door to his cell unlock. Deni bounced to his feet and held out his wrist for the guard. “Jesus, peace be upon him,” he said to the big blond guard.
The guard cuffed Deni’s wrist and then shackled his ankles. “I see solitude hasn’t ruined your sense of humor.”
“It’s all I have,” said Deni.
“That’s more than the people you and your brother killed,” replied the guard.
“Allegedly killed. I haven’t yet been convicted,” said Deni.
The guard tugged on Deni’s cuffs. “Semantics.”
This guard hurried Deni through the hallway. He obviously does not have much of a sense of humor, thought Deni. Once they reached Dr. Sodhi’s office, the guard pushed Deni into the chair. Deni shrugged the guard away. As the guard left, Dr. Sodhi entered.
“I think I can change my plea to insanity,” said Deni promptly.
Dr. Sodhi dropped her file on the table. “Why?”
“Because I’m talking to myself,” replied.
“Are you answering yourself?” she asked, taking a seat.
Deni laughed. “No, that’s crazy.” He paused and then asked, “What is my diagnosis?”
“Well,” said Dr. Sodhi as she crossed her legs under the table. “I think you suffer with anxiety and depression.”
“I’m too laid back to be anxious,” replied Deni, reclining in his chair.
The Insurrectionist Page 19
