A Knock on My Heart

Berberi sat in her dimly lit clay house. The AK-47 of her father hung on the left wall, and below it hung two similar scimitars of golden handles, and green sheaths embedded with emeralds. Her mother of freckled and wrinkled face sewed small triangular mirrors on her purple dress. She wrote a poem for her murdered father. She was only two when she lost him; it's been twenty years since. Her face shined more than the sunlight coming from the upper window. Her hands were smoother than the verses of any poem ever written. Her black waterfall flowed down to her hip. Someone knocked on the door. They both looked at each other, and Berberi got up. She opened the door, and a wounded man dripped in sky-blue pants and a coat fell into her arms.

She applied water mixed with herbs to the wound at the left side of his forehead, and he sighed.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I should be the one to be sorry,” he said in his heavy voice. “I saw your home, and…”

“It’s quite alright.”

His eyes drifted toward the scimitar. “Who does that belong to?” he pointed at the upper scimitar.

“My Uncle,” said Berberi, “He once killed a lion with it.”

“And that one?” He nodded at the one below it.

“My Grandfather. He once killed a nephew with it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he was disrespecting him.”

“I…ah… don’t think that crime is severe enough to kill one.”

She snickered. “Are you new here?”

He looked into her eyes, and kept looking until she said, “What?”

He looked down, and said, “You have…umm… a nice voice.”

She too looked down. “Thanks.”

She dipped the cloth in the cure and applied it to the back of his hand.

"There were some land disputes,” he said. “I was returning to my home in Punjab when I lost my way and ended here."

"You don't look Punjabi?"

"My family is originally from here."

"Oh.”

“I’m Bebagar by the way,” he said.

“Berberi.”

Bebagar stayed with her for a week, so that his wounds may heal. The first day of the next week, Berberi opened her door, a large round pitcher on her head. She looked down where a river grinned at the pointy grey rocks around it. The sun glared at her, but the clouds frowned at him and covered its rays. Sparrows chirped, though the caws of crows interrupted them. Stones pinched her feet, but red tulips ruffled them. She lowered the pitch into the stone-cold water. Her face reflected in the clear water. Bebagar's thick eyebrows, small nose, round face, bright skin, big ears, large sparkling eyes, and small pink lips reflected in the water beside her face.

"Bebagar," she turned round and adjusted her purple veil with embedded mirrors. He stared at her for a second. "I'm sure you get this a lot, but you're beautiful, Berberi, truly."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

She snickered. "Thank you. But what are you doing here?"

"I'm going back. Thought to say goodbye."

Her face turned pale. "You're leaving?"

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Oh, yes, please. I—I mean—"

He smiled more, and Beberi punched his left arm. "What was that for?" He rubbed his arm.

"Was this just to tease me?"

"What? No. I really do have to leave."

"But your wounds aren't healed yet?"

"I can stay for a day or two? But only if you want it."

"Well, if you don't, you have to wiggle your way back to me— I mean here. So, it's your choice."

"I will stay," he said as they walked to her home.

"When your wounds are healed, I'll show you the way myself."

"Wouldn't it be better if someone else left with me?"

"Who?"

"I don't know. Some kind, caring, loving, honest." He glanced at her. "A bit angry."

"Well, I'm sure he'll—"

"She."

Begari's eyes widened, and silence locked them. Only the thud of their walk, the chirps of hens, crows and eagles, the melody of the river and the whistles of the air broke it.

“Maybe you can come back for… her,” she said.

“Surely.”

"How did you got wounded anyway?"

"I encountered some burglars."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, they stole my watch, and my money. Then they beat me up. Probably to ensure that I gave all that I had to them. But I escaped."

"Burglars? In our territory?"

"Your territory?"

"These mountains belong to my family. Who were they? Can you describe them?"

"There was this one… tall, scary, muscular, a bit dark, round face, but he did have a great moustache." He smiled and looked at her. "There was another one. I think he was his son. Tall and dark like him. And then there was this one, younger, maybe fourteen… looked scared.” She stared at him with bulging eyes and an open mouth.

"What?"

"You lied to me."

"What? No, never."

"Well, my uncle wouldn't beat up an innocent man," she glared at him, and he backed up.

“Your Uncle?”

" Either you're lying or you are hiding something. Who are you, Bebagar? Who was your father?"

"Usman."

She backed up. Her face turned cold as the air around them. Her eyes froze, and she clutched. "You should leave."

"Why? What did I do?"

"Leave before I kill you myself."

"What did I do?"

"Your father killed my father." Her voice echoed through the empty mountains.

He stepped forward. "I… didn't know. I'm sorry. But I ensure you I had no hand in it."

“Leave!”

She got back home. Her uncle's scimitar was missing.

"Was Uncle here?" She asked her mother sitting beside the opposite wall.

"Yes, his eldest son saw Bebagar and told him. Berberi, I have to tell you—"

"I know. It's good…he'll get what he deserves."

"I am just glad he didn't kill us."

"Kill us?"

"He has his father’s complexions. I recognized him the first time I saw him. Your father killed his Uncle. I thought he was here to take revenge."

"Why did my father…?"

"The war between our families stretches long in the past."

"But why?"

"We don't even remember now. I think it was on some Well or something."

She grabbed her grandfather’s scimitar and tightened it around her hip.

She sat down in silence, staring at the hollow space between the rifle and the scimitar. The dawned, and the hollowness in her heart grew more than the hollowness on the

"Where are you going?" Her mother asked.

She opened the door and ran.

The dark void of the barrel glared at him. A storm of fire erupted, and a bullet shot out, but Begari hit her cousin with her rifle's buttock. The bullet ricocheted on the rock, and her cousin fell. She fired into the sky, and his uncle and cousin hid behind a rock. She rained bullets on the rock until her younger cousin cried and ran away. Her Uncle’s face turned red, and he came out.

“Uncle! No!” She hid Bebagar behind her. She shook her head, and her veil came down. “Uncle, please.”

“He killed your father.”

“His father did. It was not his fault.”

“He must pay for what his father did.”

“He knows nothing about it.”

“See, they kill us, and they don’t even show no remorse.”

“I’m sorry for my father’s crimes,” said Bebagar. “I never saw him smile, and he died when I was only six. I never wanted any of it. I’m sorry.”

His Uncle stood there in silence for a minute and then said. “He… manipulate us with his words. That's what his family always did. Now, get out of my way.”

She took out her Grandfather’s scimitar. “No.”

“He has deluded you.”

“Do you have no trust in me?”

Her Uncle frowned, and then his face turned to that of a beggar, but she stood her ground.

He relaxed and turned around. “I swear to Allah, you put me in the worse of tests.” He slapped his son, and he woke up. He picked him up, and they walked away.

They both sighed and faced each other. “You came back for me?” said Bebagar. She touched his face with both of her hands, grinned and nodded. “Will… you leave with me?”

Tears came out. “Yes.”