The End: Death of Spirit

DRIVING down Government Avenue has never seemed so malodours to Adel Nasir. A sense of depriving anticipation filled his mind as he made his way through the slow moving cars, jumping from one lane to the other in automatic motion.

The sun, hiding behind purple clouds, was sinking into the far sea with dramatic pace, as if it were aware of the sarcasm in the situation. The sky took on a different shade of blue, more of a light maroon colour with a splash of orange. The air was still and breathless and filled with shivering coldness.

Signs of the coming winter are encrypted in the atmosphere.

As he approached the scene-sirens screaming and flashing, crowds packed along the sidewalk trying to get a peep-an indefinite soul-biting feeling rushed through his cold body.

There it was! The tall National Bank of Bahrain building standing glorious, stretching from the ground high above, demanding respect from the on-lookers and passers-by. He had to park his car at one of the congested lanes and walk briskly towards the congregation.

The body lay still underneath a bloodied white sheet. Adel noticed the blood forming almost a perfect circle around the head. It was a large puddle that reached all the way to the edge of the pavement.

Adel, hesitantly came closer, pushing and shoving through the monomaniac crowds, raising his head up slowly to look at the endlessly tall structure. It used to seem of regular height as the eye got used to seeing it everyday, but now that he thinks of someone throwing himself from the top of it; it seemed more tall and grand than ever.

He comes even closer. Someone, a police officer, tries to stop him and yells something at him. Adel ignores him. Some man in a dark suit beside the body waves off the officer.

Being a detective with the CID for more than fifteen years now, he has never imagined himself in this situation. He has never thought that he would be so scared of looking at a dead body. He was frightened of the thought that he had pushed someone over the edge and pressured him until he committed suicide, all in the name of duty. All in the name of catching some worthless thug!

Would he have done it? Would he have thrown himself to end his misery? Would the reason be Adel Nasir? Would this be the end?

He bent his knees and leaned down. That man in the dark suit, who was no other than Adel’s long time partner, Jaber El-Hamar, patted his friend over the shoulder and turned back, resuming his direction of officers to keep off the spectators away.

They have never seen such a thing before. You would rarely hear about someone killing themselves in this town, let alone throw them selves of the top of this infamous twenty-five-story building, let alone to see it with their own eyes.

The streets were crowded and infested with businessmen in navy-dark suits with shiny-leathered briefcases in their hands and heavy workers in dirty-yellow overalls, as they all made their way out of their work cages for the day. Just when they thought another dull day was done, something as exciting-to them-as this happens.

But this was not exciting at all at least for one person. That person was still setting on his knees beside the dead body of a Caucasian male, age twenty-seven, height almost six feet-fits the profile-according to the despatch call on the radio, who was still at that moment, a potential suicide. Now, he’s nothing but a cracked up, smashed, bloodied body.

Adel reached out his hand to pull up the reddened sheet. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath at the sight he saw.

Although there was a moment of denial, a wee moment of hope that he was mistaken and this is not the body of one Fazhil Mahdi. But it was. And for Adel, that marked the death of his own spirit.

Fazhil was a man who was drowning; a man who has given up hope on everything; a man who grew numb of the things around him. And who was getting into more and more debts. He owed a lot of people. He needed money, and he needed it fast, to get out of his dilemma. He was desperate. When Adel met him, Fazhil was at the point where he’d do anything to get out of it. He always believed that he might, just might, through some grand miracle, get another chance. Probably even try and start all over. Begin a new life, somewhere away from here where he no longer had friends and family, and get a proper job. Maybe even get lucky and find a good woman to love and marry. A woman who would not stab him in the back when he least expected.

It was about three months ago, on a surprisingly humid August night, when a messed-up man, with torn jeans and dirty shirt, walked into the New York Coffee-a little shop down that same street where he now lay dead-and sat lonesome at a little table in the back, with a broken look on his bearded face.

Normally, Adel would never pay attention to anyone during his coffee time. He would not let any intrusions disturb the sole enjoyment of sipping a hot cup of pure and rich coffee, and indulging in its smell, reading a mystery book, delving into its plotlines and clues, trying to solve the crime before the end of the story. He would sit on his favourite table, just beside the window wall, his back facing the rest of the shop, so he can see life moving in a slow pace ahead of him, watching old, frail men begging for money and food, messenger boys lazily heading to their destinations, men in executive suits hurrying to their next meeting. That part of Manama was always the liveliest and busiest.

But that day he surprised himself for a little moment when he stared at that seemingly luckless man. There was something about him and the way he looked. Not his cloths, not his appearance. But the way he moved, the way his eyes were astray, the way he talked. Adel could not remember if he had seen him before. He told himself that he surely had not.

The next day, Adel came as usual just to find that same man sitting on his spot. For a long moment the detective stood at the cafe door as if were looking at a crime scene. He looked around for sweet Lauren, the young blonde Filipino waitress who’s always protected his table from intruders. That day she was not there. So, reluctantly, and after hesitating to leave the place, he headed to the table, greeted the man-wearing the same clothes-pulled a chair and sat with him.

The two men left the cafe that day about an hour later, having had a nice and long chit-chat as if they were dear friends. They remained so for two months. Meeting each other at the cafe and talking about things, discussing mainly Fazhil’s problems and the tough situation he got himself into.

Fazhil Mahdi worked as an executive salesman with this big computer company, making good money. He’s been there for the past four years and was soon enough-even though he knew he could never ask for a better job-sick and tired of its superfluous repetitive activity. People here are grateful for any job they’d get their hands on, others would probably envy him for it, yet there he was moaning and unhappy about it. The self-applied pressure magnified with his sloppiness. Money, suddenly, started slipping away, not lasting a second in his hand. His money did not waste on vice, after all he did not drink, or smoke. He did not spend his money on the trifling pleasures of life like most young men his age would do. He’s just been so unfortunate, so damned, that he would regret not following those senseless manly desires. Going out chasing women down Seef Mall, clubbing the night away, drinking down their sorrows, he did not do any of that.

Fazhil simply felt easy in talking to his new friend about his agonies and miseries and disappointments in life. He told him everything. About his money problem, his fallen marriage, his family that abandoned him, the friends who had turned their backs on him. This young man, Adel realised, seemed to have suffered more than enough for his age, and from what he could see, this young man did not deserve all of it. He was simply misguided, lost, and foolish. More naïve than many people in this world.

Things started two years ago when Fazhil found himself doing well at his job and earning some decent money and despite the financial pressure of aiding his parents and younger brother and sisters, he figured it was time to get himself a brand new car. After all that is what young men like Fazhil are meant to do in Bahrain. That was what the first bank loan for.

One year later, he fell in love with this girl working in the same building as he. Her name was Sameera. The bottom line of this affair was that she turned out to be a cheap slapper!

The relationship was everything Fazhil had hoped for. They were so happy, only downer was Sameera’s obsession with the luxurious lifestyle; something he never was keen on. There were the many nights at the big time night-clubs and four-course meals at fancy restaurants; the endless, arduous shopping trips to jewellery stores and designer shops. And on top of that, there were the flirtations with strangers and sweet-talking over the phone with the “girl-friend”! With all that, instead of him realising the mistake in this relationship, Fazhil went on and committed the most ambiguous mistake of marrying Sameera the classy-slut, out of sheer insecurity and sense of obligation. After all, that was what young men like Fazhil, with a decent job and a new car and a pretty girlfriend, are meant to do.

Being her sluttish self, Sameera demanded a huge wedding where every one she ever knew would be invited to and that this wedding would be held at the most expensive and luxurious of hotels. Above all, she insisted on a honeymoon in the Caribbean, an entire month.

For all of that poor-naïve Fazhil had to take a second loan and get another mortgage from a different bank all to please his wife-to-be. At that time, problems with his family started to intensify and deteriorate.

Two months after their dream wedding, Sameera left him. She simply walked out the door and vanished.

“I’m getting a divorce,” she told him one summer night, showing her self out of their newly-furnished Juffair apartment. Not only that broke his heart, but it was the beginning of his great fall. Things started to get worse and worse by the day since then.

He had to sell his car and rely on his feet, move out of the comfortness of his big apartment to a tiny dingy one down town in the heart of the tight, filthy allies of Manama, and stop wearing smart Zara suites and replace them with Geant shirts and jeans.

He had also asked his company to get him a little down payment. They did after much begging and ass-kissing. His family abandoned him when he was in need, when he sought support from his friends they shut him out. All this brought him to the state he’s been when Adel met him.

Adel was touched by it and has felt sorry for the poor kid. He is young and still has a future, but it will be a rough ride for sure, he knew.

Six weeks before the start of Ramadan, Adel decided to do something about it. He could help this young man stand on his feet again, in a twisted way. It was a very difficult choice that the detective had to make. He thought there would be no harm in it as long as Fazhil didn’t know what was going on.

Adel was working on a tough case; drugs on the island were on the rise. He has been trying to nail down one of the toughest, well-known suppliers in Isa Town, a sneaking, smart man he wanted to lay his hands on so bad that he would do anything to make it happen. He was known only as Zelf, for his famous cubby sideburns and he was the main coke distributor in town. He’s been pumping powder into youngerters viens constantly without a break for several years. He had ways, devious ways to get around. His network was unbreakable.

But he had one weakness that Adel has just recently learnt about. Aside from his drug dealings, he is also a loan shark.

The same thought has been dancing around his head for over a month now. He wanted a bait to capture that outlaw and stop him from infesting the houses and streets with his poisons. This fine land is no place for such poisons. He had truly believed in his country and its people and was ready to do whatever’s nessecary to protect all that mattered to him. Besides, the Minister himself had urged him to bring an end to the recent drug gangs sweeping the nation, crawling its abandoned, neglected allies, nesting in the lonely, filthy corners, infecting the calmness and tranquillity of this peaceful community, spreading like cancer. He had told him that he counted on him, he must not fail him.

It was a ridicules thought at first, outrageous even. How could he ever do such a thing to his friend? How could he betray the trust between them? How could he use the weakness of his friend for his own personal gain? But no, he said to himself, that is not personal gain. If he pulled it through, he would be saving the whole country, its entire people. He would be doing everybody good, even, somehow, Fazhil. And the fact that Fazhil Mahdi did not have a clue on what and who exactly Adel Nasir was, made it the more appealing.

The idea was to get Fazhil inside. Adel learnt through an informer that Zelf does these favours for men; young men in particular, even sometimes teenagers and kids. He would give them what they want. No strings attached, or at least that is what he leads them to believe. In return they make a run for him. If Fazhil could get to him, perhaps he could get a link, get some visible dirt on him, enough to bring him down, catch him in the act.

What encouraged Adel further to do it was when Fazhil disappeared for four days. He skipped work and stayed home doing nothing but thinking and waiting. Perhaps for his salvation. Perhaps for a poisonous snake to come and bite at his heart to death!

“Where the hell are you Fazhil?” screamed his Asian boss over the phone on the third day of absence.

“I’m home,” came the answer form a sleepy hollowed voice.

“And what the hell you are doing there, if I may ask?” Mr. Boss’s voice grew louder.

“I’m sleeping.” For the next minute or so, all Fazhil could hear was threats and cussing. “So you better report to me ASAP, you hear me?”

Fazhil hung up and threw the phone in the trash.

It was almost mid-day when Adel paid his dear friend a visit. There were no usual greetings and hello’s when the two met. The detective almost looked like he was looking out for some sort of clues or evidence at Fazhil’s small, stinky one-room apartment, inspecting every wall and every corner, making out mental notes of things around, more out of habit than anything.

Finally, Adel – CID detectvei of fifteen years - found something he could start off with. He picked the phone out of the trash bin.

“Been trying to call you all morning,” he said, waving the phone at Fazhil, who shrugged at this.

Fazhil could barely reply: “Bad day.”

“Been having a lot of those you seem?” said Adel, more of a statement than a question. Fazhil didn’t answer.

They both sat on the cranky bed on the corner of the tiny apartment. Fazhil had a towel over his head, wearing only his white underwear. His hair was another complete mess. His beard was growing into a bush. His eyes were red and swollen from mental exhaustion.

Adel wasn’t even sure if the ancient-looking bed could take the weight of both of them. He, Adel, was a man with fair built. For a forty-five year old, it was not that bad to have such a body, although he has been gaining some extra fat into his belly. It’s all that rice, he’d tell you.

He was almost bald. He had a problem with his hair, it kept falling. So he would always trim it so tiny, one would be able to see the skin of his head through it. It was neither white, nor black; just a darkish shade of grey. He rarely wore a thobe, in fact Fazhil cannot recall when he last saw him in one. It made him look older.

“Listen to me Fazhil,” he said before stopping a second to examine his own words. He was reluctant to say the next words. But he did, he had to: “I am your friend. I want to help you. I want you to listen to me,” he waited for a positive sign.

He told him how he can hook him up with this man who could get him some money without much hassle. And how that man would not ask anything more back from him. He explained what to do and how to do it. He assured him that it was safe.

“How would you know?”

“Trust me. I am your friend. I mean you no harm,” saying this Adel felt his soul tremble and his heart ache, it was an outright lie. But he kept telling himself that it was worth it. Things will be better after this is all over. He has a plan and his plans always worked.

Fazhil fixed him with a strong gaze and then went on to a pile of clothes over some three-legged table, pulling some ragged jeans and a shirt on.

“Besides, what’s the harm in trying? See what the man has to offer you.” Adel added.

Fazhil nodded along. “Let's go have some breakfast” he said.

Adel stretched out his wrist to take a look at his watch: “Lunch you mean.”

It was this attitude that drove Adel to believe that Fazhil Mahdi was a man with nothing else to loose. And seeing him in that shit-hole prompted him to do what he planned to do. It irked him more that Fazhil was blindly trusting him and wondered how he never really asked many personal questions, about what he did and worked and how he lived his life. He seemed not to care. He only wanted someone to be with and talk to.

The next day, Fazhil managed to get to Zelf according to Adel’s instructions. He found him in one of the old aparetemnt blocks in the southern parts of Isa Town. And like Adel had told him it was easy. This black-muscular fellow was relaxed and easy going. He sat comfortably on a plastic chair at the back of one of the buildings. There were a couple of skinny youngsters standing right next to him, they seemed ill, Fazhil thought, remembering one thing Adel had told him: No questions.

Zelf asked him how much he wanted. It was something Fazhil had not thought of.

“A-A couple of thousand?” he stuttured.

He waved a finger and some other tough guy came from behind the blackness and placed two stacks of money on Zelf’s lap. He nodded towards it. “Take it. It’s yours.”

“Well... Tha.. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Fazhil stood there for a few seconds in silence. Zelf spoke again: “You see, my boys can’t make this errand for me. I was hoping you can.”

When he emerged out of the shadows, Adel was hiding in his own car just few meters away. He followed his friend for some time and when he realised he was not heading back home, he sensed an unexpected worrying feeling. Fazhil, for some reason Adel was itching so badly to know now, was going towards one of the dirtiest neighbourhoods in town. Adel’s suspicions grew and his detective intuition took control of him, when he noticed the plastic bag in Fazhil’s hands.

Fazhil was scared a little bit of what was he about to do, the package he was carrying under his arm must be... Important!? He could not have said no, not when the man was generous enough to hand him a couple of thousands dinars, and certainly not with two tough guys staring at him like some yummy apple-pie just out of the oven, ready to devour in seconds flat. Damn you Adel! He said; walking to his mysterious destination, damn you!

The detective sneaked behind his friend until they reached some neglected ally, full of thrash cans, sewerage water and dying stray cats.

There was a man, someone Adel did not see before, but kept telling himself he must’ve had, waiting next to a rubbish tank. Adel always suspected he saw everyone, just would not manage to remember who, where and when at the time.

The man, a short little weasel wearing a cap, stood near-by some boxes, under the fire escape metal stairs of some short apartment building. He motioned to Fazhil to come closer. Adel watched in anticipation. He reached to his gun just in case. Curse the devil! It was not there! He had left it in the glove compartment. How could he have forgotten to pick it up? Detecitves and undercover cops rarly carried their guns with them, but he should have taken it with him this time. He had a bad feeling about all of this all of a sudden. He contemplated running back to the car to get it but there was no time, so he stood behind a wall in the corner and observed.

The man took the plastic bad, sliced it open with a little knife. He dipped a finger inside, pulled it with a white tip. He sniffed at it and licked it. Fazhil, confused and ratteled, realized what was going on. He panicked.

“What the fuck?” a shout came, and Adel knew there was trouble. “You trying to screw me again you little cunt? Fuck you and fuck that fucking son-of-a-whore. I’m gonna kill you both.”

“I-I... Don’t know... Anything.” Fazhil muttered.

The man, his eyes raging red, jumped at Fazhil like a mad bull. He reacted instinctively and swooped around the man, held both his hand from the back.

“Stop!” he yelled.

The man turned violently and shock Fazhil off and pushed him on the ground. Adel did not know what to do. Never in his career has he been in a situation like this. He almost went back to the car for the gun, when he heard another scream. Fuck! Big trouble! He finally ran to the rescue and shouted “Stop. Police.” But it was too late.

A man was already dead. Luckily, it was not Fazhil. The knife was stuck into its owner’s nick.

The two friends stood in utter silence, both struggling to breathe. They looked at the bleeding body and then at each other. Then Fazhil ran off. Adel didn’t try to follow him.

And now, here he is, Detective Adel Nasir, who betrayed the friendship of an innocent man and tried to use him. Who betrayed the trust of Fazhil Mahdi and led him to eventually kill a person. How unfair of him, how indecent and vile of him. Here he is standing at the body of one Fazhil Mahdi, Caucasian male, age twenty-seven, height almost six feet, shedding silent tears. Not only because his new best friend was dead because of him, but because his spirit is dead.

Over the next two weeks, Adel could not live like he used to. There was great pain within him. His heart was sad. His mind was mad. He could not think of anything but what he has done to Fazhil.

Suddenly he lost interest in the case he’s been working so hard on. The same case that lead him to commit this heinous act which resulted in the suicide of Fazhil, who was going through enough trouble of his own, killing someone just sent him over the edge, literally.

It changed him. Suddenly Adel was thinking about his life. Started asking himself all sorts of questions: Is my life worth it? Am I a good person? Does Allah allow this? What am I doing here? Is this the end? Is this the death of my spirit?

It was a very cold night. Winter is finally here; the gentle cold breeze blowing, Ramadan at the doors.

Adel’s partner, Detective Al-Hamar, took over the case full-time, even though he was not very happy about it. He was a dedicated man. He was also loyal. But he was getting more worried on the health of his partner, who’s been pretty out of it lately. He even stopped coming to the Friday prayer at the mosque.

One day he tried calling him several times, and he felt there was something wrong. No answer home. Adel lived alone in a little house in the suburbs of Riffa.

That night, Adel thought of Fazhil as he stood at the edge of the National Bank of Bahrain building roof, at 25-story, the tallest in the country. He’s never been on top of anything that high. He could see the whole stretch of island within his sight, all glowing with yellow dots of light, ahead of him was Manama, to the left Muharraq, to the right the rest of the country, and behind him was the sea.

He came closer to the edge and looked down. Things were very small. It seemed a very long distance. How could Fazhil have brought himself to throw himself from that place?

They told him the fall took only a few seconds, maybe five. That’s a very long time for someone facing their death, seeing it approaching them closer by the second. What would have he had been thinking of at these few miserable seconds? Did he think of his Life? His parents? His lost love? Did he think about his death?

Was there pain felt when he hit the ground? What then? Just blackness? Adel was so frustrated, so angry and desperate. He could not find any answers to any of the questions his mind was generating. He turned to Allah, but he also did not have any answers.

There was only pain. Great pain. He could not hold back the tears. They were tears of sorrow and regret. He has not cried in a long time. Many years ago, when he was a much younger Adel Nasir, he promised himself that he would not shed anymore tears, no matter what. He promised himself after he cried so bitterly on the death of his closest and only friend, Jasim, who was run over by a truck as they played football on the main street, that he would not allow anything to hurt him again. But he broke that promise now. He failed himself. He failed the world.

He stood at the very edge of the roof. Holding on to nothing but the balance of his own two feet. The wind danced with his body. And then there were the first droplets of rain. He felt their sharp wettness on his face as they crashed on it from the heaven above. He’s been waiting for rain, he’s missed it dearly. And now when he decided to end it all, it came. Is that a sign? Adel wants to not think so.

He came to the conclusion that he did not deserve to live anymore. One single incident has led him to realise the holes and gaps in his soul. There has always been emptiness but he has been too busy to acknowledge it, until now, until that dark and gloomy day. Just like his father used to say, as they played dominos when he was a boy: “Your game’s over, son!” He whispered these words to himself. “Your life’s over.”

He was ready for his new fate. He was ready to be gone. He deserves it, not Fazhil.

The rain fell and the winds blew and his spirit flew.

He saw it as it made its way of his body and into the heaven. His dead spirit has left him. Finally. Perhaps now he will be free of regret and guilt. Perhaps now he can find a new beginning, or even a new end.

He closed his eyes as he swung back and forth and opened wide his arms. Come to me my end, he mentally said. Come and face me.

He felt like he was floating in thin air, as the winter breeze swooped him off his feet and carried him away, still droplets of early rain flashed over his face. The weight of worries and guilt subsided and vanished.

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All content on this site is subject to copyright © 2000/2006
If you wish to use anything either text or graphics please ask permission