Short Story
AN INNER ODYSSEY
‘A
Bill Bennette, Sherborne Scribblers
bdullah! Please come and have your breakfast at once,’ Mother called from the next room in the tiny cottage we shared in Kabul. She has been so stressed since my father and elder brother were killed in a horrific explosion, which demolished our lovely family home that had served many generations. It was only two months ago, and I have not been sleeping well, imagining – in a recurring nightmare of great clarity – the devastation and shock of what had happened. I still felt guilty for leaving the house to help Mum instead of staying to help Dad. I could only imagine what nightmares my poor mother Amara suffered. We had gone to our local market to collect the meat, fruit and vegetables for the celebrations of my parent’s silver wedding anniversary and needed masses of everything for the spectacular lunch Mum would cook. Whatever she made, it was always the best anyone had ever tasted. Dad and Tariq had been arranging the large garden balcony, where the table for twenty people would have been. Most of the street was destroyed by a huge bomb planted in an oil tanker outside the German Embassy. It was assumed by the authorities to have been carried out by the Taliban or Isis. Having dressed hurriedly, I went into the kitchen – which was our only other room. We shared a bedroom that had two narrow beds, which we were grateful to have. Dad’s cousin Fatima had invited us to stay in this tiny space behind her house, when we had been left penniless. Mum was in a hurry to leave to get to one of the big houses in a good residential area, where she had found employment for the first time in her life and was practically in tears. She was trying so hard to be sure I was cared for before leaving to arrive at work at 6.30am. She was head cook and prepared breakfast for the family and stayed on all day to make lunch and an evening meal, as well as baking tasty cakes and biscuits for tea. I hugged her, as I said, ‘I am only 14 years old but can look after myself Mama and promise to take care of you as soon as possible, so you won’t have to go out to work.’ I cannot remember whose eyes had the most tears at that moment. I vowed, there and then, that I would follow my dream to own the best restaurant in the city and have Mum in charge of all the cooks, who would work to her instructions. I had no doubt whatsoever that we would always be full, with people enjoying her scrumptious food. A few days later, Mum asked me if I would help her as a waiter at the big house. The family were having a party and she had been asked if she could find someone to supplement the serving staff. I had been trained by my father how to wait a table and to make sure that no one lacked anything. I had to be aware so that their cups were always filled with fresh sweet
126 | Sherborne Times | May 2021
