Seven U.S. soldiers killed in Ramala. Maddy took a quick glance at the television screen as he shoved the last piece of pancake into his mouth. CNN said the same things these days. It was always a bombing, always a suicide, and always Americans losing their lives. It angered Maddy that there were so many dying. He had begged Nicole not to go. Patriotism ran deep but nothing counted in a guilt-ridden war. Iraq was in shambles a few months back just as it is now. However, Nicole was steadfast in her trust of the President. The spirit of her country. The lives of her fellow people. She called on occasion but Maddy always feared for her. Brian was only six and missed his mother in the guise of an orphan. To Brian, Maddy was only an afterthought.The yellow bus snaked its way through the lively streets. It was a searing summer morning and Philly was bustling with activity. Maddy stepped out into the street with Brian clinging onto his shoulders just as the bus halted to a distinct stop. “Off you go, my love”. Brian shook off Maddy’s kiss as he tumbled up the high steps. Maddy would wave goodbye in spite of Brian’s indifference. Sometimes, Brian’s friends would gesture back out of pity. Nobody did today. Maddy slowly shuffled back in and closed the baby blue door. He changed into his yellow overalls and kissed Nicole goodbye. A photo to replace her horrid absence.
The El was aberrantly sluggish today. Every stop seemed to take longer and Maddy felt a mounting sense of frustration. Jung docked his employees half their hourly wage for every minute they were late. And Maddy was never late. He couldn’t afford a pay-cut this week. Silvio had imposed a direct threat on Brian’s life and Maddy would not risk non-payment. He would need all of Jung’s charity this week.
30th Street Station. Maddy was half way there. Students, nurses, accountants, and every other Philadelphian conceivable swarmed into the already crammed train. Maddy scanned the crowd like he always did and noted something different. An Arab. Just like the ones CNN always interviewed. He was wearing a head-scarf too. Maddy had heard on the news that the terror code had been elevated. Subways and buses were always latent targets. “Hogwash!”, Maddy would allege whenever Nicole talked about the imminent peril immigrants brought to the United States. At this moment however, the Arab was a threat and Maddy felt it deep within his blood.
The El began to empty out as it made its way through the city. As the train accelerated out of Suburban Station, Maddy managed to get a clearer glance at the Arab. He was dressed in grey and had a spotless white headscarf. He appeared to be breathing heavily as rivulets of sweat streamed down his bullet ridden face. Odd. It was pretty chilly inside the car and to sweat was quite unfathomable. His face was sickeningly brown. Like a tanning machine subject gone bad. The Arab appeared to be working on something but Maddy did not have a clear view. He picked up his toolkit and made his way to a seat two rows behind the Arab. Much better.
Shock and awe. Maddy was immensely surprised nobody else had noticed what the Arab was doing. The Arab looked to be working with an electronic gadget of some sort. It had a row of four red lights that were blinking furiously and a set of color coded wires that snaked around a metallic box. A pair of scissors was feverishly snapping away at singular points. His perversely long brown fingers twisted the red and the blue together just as his teeth clenched the already knotted yellow and black. Maddy had seen this simulation before at the movies. A bomb. A Muslim suicide that would send innocent Americans into a vile, fiery death at the behest of a terrorist. CNN would report this story for weeks and then Philadelphia would forget. The world would move on as a single, solitary memoriam would have the ungratifying task of remembering the dead. Brian would be all alone. An orphan at last.
Market East Station. The police would need to be warned soon. Maddy stumbled as he heatedly searched for his phone. Thankfully, his signal strength was respectable. Maddy rushed to the back of the car and dialed 911. “Hello…Yes…There is a Muslim with a bomb on the 8am El out of 69th Street. Excuse me? Yes. I am positive. POSITIVE. Light black hair, grey suit, 30’s, white headscarf. The only Arab on this train. Yes. Yes. I always sit in the 3rd train car. Yes. Somebody intercept the train at 2nd. I’ll round up the passengers. Yes. I will be safe…..Hurry. Please.” Maddy gestured toward two construction workers and told them about his call. They would need to confront the Arab.
“Inshallah. Nahi. Nahi. Yeh bomb nahi hai. Oh Allah. Allah. Allah hu Akbar Allah.” Maddy’s face was burning up. The man refused to offer them the contraption. And the lights were blinking faster every second. Gibberish. That’s all he spoke. Maddy grabbed hold of the Arab’s arm and the construction worker attempted to grasp it out. He was pretty strong. Suddenly the Arab started flaying his arms. He was standing now and pointed the contraption at Maddy directly. A direct threat. Screams from the other passengers. The Arab was making circular gestures now. This was a bomb and he meant to use it. It would explode upon detonation and nobody dared go near the Arab. The train screeched out of 5th street. One stop to second. Maddy did not have much hope. His hands were shaking now and it was only a matter of time. Nicole, I love you. Brian, I love you. The words would barely come out.
2nd Street. The train stopped but the doors refused to budge. Maddy threw all his weight onto the door but to no avail. A loud thumping of a million footsteps. The police were here. An officer quickly broke the glass with his baton and rushed into the car. A hundred hands moved in unison as a hundred fingers pointed in one direction. At the Arab in the corner. Crouched into the fetal position and violently shivering.
“Put the bomb down Sir. NOW!”.
“Allah….Allah….Allah hu Akbar”.
Four M-16’s had their sights set on the Arab. A single click and everything would be over.
“NOW Sir. Put the bomb down NOW.”
The Arab stood up just as sixty bullets pummeled their way into his body within seconds. No scream. No agony. Gallons of blood. Maddy watched in slow motion as the Arab sunk into eternal sleep. It was over. Maddy was a hero.
“Rahim! Papa!”. Maddy watched in disbelief as Wasim popped his tiny head out of the city cab and rushed to the ambulance that carried the Arab. A woman followed, panting and screaming in utter desperation. Wasim? Brian’s best friend? Maddy inched his way to the medical personnel that were laying a white sheet over the Arab’s body. Wasim was strangely clinging on to the man’s body and refused to let go. It took two officers to pull the woman and the boy away. As they sat in the waiting facility, Maddy approached the officer in charge. The Arab’s son and the Arab’s wife. Maddy felt heady and nauseous. He walked past the police car and sat down next to Wasim. The tears formed unending rivulets but Wasim was not screaming anymore. In his hands, he held the metallic object. Maddy’s bomb. Maddy’s eyes opened wide and he felt the earth fall under him as Wasim spoke. “Papa couldn’t afford to buy me the fire engine Brian got for his birthday. This was his solution”.
Wasim laid his head on Maddy’s shoulders. Sans fire engine. Sans father.
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