NEVERFOUND LAND

CHAPTER 4

The hospital was distinct. The floor was slate gray and the walls dove. The ceiling was made from polystyrene squares laid on a grid-like frame. The light was too bright for my eyes. Above every door I passed was a large plastic sign—dark with white lettering and no fancy fonts, just bold—and green curtains.

I carried my mother to the reception. They immediately called for a stretcher and admitted my mother for observation. I wasn't allowed to go inside with her so I asked for the doctor who was checking my mother while tapping on the reception desk out of nervousness, making knocking sounds without realizing they were too loud. The nurse grasped my hand impatiently and spoke, "Wait outside room no. 24." I gave her a nod, followed by an apologetic look.

While going to meet the doctor, my phone rang. It was an Egyptian number. I punched the answer button and Pete spoke, "Soli, are you okay?"

I replied, "I think so."

He exclaimed, "We are coming soon. Bye!"

I took a chair outside the check-up room with no name plate, only its number. The strong smell of disinfectant was bothering me, making me feel nauseated. In fifteen minutes, a nurse came out calling my name but with wrong pronunciation, "Suleiman, Suleiman." I didn't respond at first. What if it was someone else, I thought. Then she said, "Suleiman Darren Clarke." I raised my hand and she gave me a nod to come in. I mumbled as I passed her, "Miss, it's Solomon."

"Oh, the doctor wrote it that way." She showed me the list, where next to my name was written family.

When I opened the door to walk in, my heart exploded fireworks after seeing the doctor's face. He looked up at me while running a hand over his black beard, and gave a toothy grin. He wore a doctor's coat over his white Arab gown. His black eyes sparkled with joy. He stood up from his chair and opened his arms like he knew that a hug was very much needed. I walked forward and circled my arms around him. Because of my height, he only reached to my chest. He patted my back, his loose metallic watch clinking against my back. "Suleiman! You finally found your way."

A black tear rolled out of my eye. Sheikh Ibrahim wiped it off my face and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb inquiringly, then he cleaned his hand using sanitizer. I didn't know I would meet him like this, here.

"Sit down," he said, pointing toward the chair, "I was just studying your case. I mean your mother's. She's had an acute stress reaction. You must have an idea that it was intentional?"

"Intentional?"

"Your black tear, her black vein. Sorry, but you're talking to an odd man. I'm a cardiologist who also believes in spirituality equally," he went on, his face turning stern. "The bad genies are after you. They left a mark on your mother's hand: a black vein." He then held my wrist and showed me where the mark was, while pointing near my cephalic vein. "Before we go ahead, just tell me about yourself. Do you know why they are after you?"

I looked up at the ceiling for a while, then at his intense face, again up at the ceiling, then at his clean heart. It was pulling me toward him, to believe in him. I had to at least trust someone to get me there. Anything would be helpful right now.

I replied, "During my study trip, I was kidnapped by a fortune teller. He kept asking me who the genie is. I had no answers, but his questions raised the curiosity in me. I started feeling as if my life was a lie; that there was something about me and my dreams. I came home to ask my parents for the truth. My father finally told me that I was the son of a genie, Khalil, and told me a little about their love story. But he was more worried about my stomach grumbling with hunger, so he went out to get eggs. That's when they got a chance to abduct him. My life became an unsolved puzzle since then."