Marco Etheridge

Tati and Darkness

A girl shelters in a cave. Outside, hellfire rains from the sky. Two children cling to the girl, her younger brother and sister. An explosion beyond the cave sends shock waves coursing through solid rock. The children cower as one animal, the little ones whimpering in fear. The oldest girl coos to them, soft words I cannot hear.

The children have built a small fire. The flames cast a weak glow that holds me at bay, but not for long. Already, the fire burns low. There is not much wood in a cave. The fire will die, and I will come forth.

I am Darkness. Few humans truly know me unless they are miners or prisoners locked far below ground. Human beings mistake me for the absence of light. I forgive them their error. They seek any form of illumination to stave off ancient fears. Sun, moon, stars, fire, these things humans worship. They do not worship me. I am the opposite of light, not its lack.

Do not misunderstand me. I know I terrify humans, yet I am as beautiful as any light. These poor children have nothing to fear from me. I offer them another form of comfort, the cloak of concealment. Darkness will hide them from the conflagration when their paltry fire dies.

The three children hold to each other and the failing light. Darkness behind them, and war raging across the world outside. Death falls from the heavens as two tribes throw hatred, bombs, and missiles at each other. Both tribes are convinced their war is righteous. Both invoke their deities. I sanction neither tribe. That is a matter for their gods.

Explosions walk toward the dark horizon. False thunder in the distance. These children understand such things. They have grown up under such barrages. They know this is only a temporary respite.

The oldest girl sits upright. Her name is Fatimah. She is twelve years old. The boy stirs and leans into his big sister. This is Jalal, nine years of mischief. And last, peeking out like a rabbit, little Nour. I know the children’s names because I listen.

“Tati, when will Mama and Papa come back?”

Fatimah bends over Nour and wipes the tears from her sister’s cheeks.

“Soon, I hope.”

“Can’t you call them?”

Jalal pushes away and shakes a finger at Nour. 

“Don’t be dumb. No using the cellphone. That brings the rockets.”

Fatimah raps a fingertip on Jalal’s skull.

“Don’t call your sister dumb.”

“But Papa said…”

Another rap.

“I know what Papa said. We won’t use the phone, okay? Be a good boy and find some more wood. You can do that, yes? Use the flashlight but be quick. We must save the batteries.”

Jalal takes the flashlight from his sister and stands. He puffs out his chest, turns on the light, and marches away from the firelight.

I slide further back into the cave as the feeble beam swings back and forth. I hear Jalal’s heart beating like a drum. He is afraid, yet he moves further away from the safety of the fire. A brave boy. I will not betray his fear. It is our secret.

The children are not the first to shelter in this cave. The flashlight illuminates an abandoned packing crate. Jalal cries in triumph. He snatches the crate and drags it to the firelight.

“Look what I found!”

Fatimah claps her hands. Jalal beams with pride.

“Can you break it up?”

“Just watch me.”

The boy jumps like a grasshopper and lands atop the crate. The wooden slats burst. He falls through the splintering wood and tumbles to the stone floor.

Nour forgets her tears and giggles. Jalal scrambles to his feet. He points to the smashed crate.

“Told you I could do it.”

Fatimah lifts Nour to her feet and turns to Jalal.

“You did a wonderful job. Now, I want you to show Nour how to feed a fire so it lasts a long time. And no fighting.”

“Okay. Come on, Nour. First, we have to stack the wood.”

Nour clings to her sister.

“I want to go with you, Tati.”

“No, you stay here and help Jalal. I’m going to peek outside. I’ll be right back.”

“But…”

Fatimah leans down and whispers in Nour’s ear. I cannot hear her words. She kisses the girl on the forehead and pushes her toward Jalal. Then she steps out of the firelight and walks to the mouth of the cave. I slip past the circle of light and glide after her.

We stand together at the brink, Fatimah and me. The rocky landscape falls away to the valley and stretches into the night.

Human sight is a puzzle. I am not sure what Fatimah sees. I see everything, of course. Night keeps no secrets from me.

Does she see the columns of smoke rising from the tortured earth or her village in the center of the valley? The village is dark except for scattered flames. Buildings blown to rubble. No gleam of welcoming light, no candle in the window to guide a weary traveler.

The villagers have fled into the night. I see tiny figures moving across the broken land, and some will never move again. I hope the girl cannot see what my vision makes plain.

A whisper draws me back. Trembling, Fatimah sends a child’s plea into the hard world.

“Please let them come back. Mama, Papa, where are you? I don’t know what to do. Jalal and Nour need you. I’m not strong enough to protect them. Please, please come back. I’m so scared.”

An angry shout from the depths behind us and then plaintive sobbing. Fatimah turns and hurries back into the cave. I linger behind for a long moment, filling the void. Then I follow.

The firelight wavers and I gather close to its receding edges. Jalal’s face is angry, but tears glisten in his eyes. Little Nour sobs, throws herself against Fatimah’s knees. Fatimah scoops Nour into her arms and kneels beside Jalal.

“What’s wrong, Jalal?”

Jalal points at Nour. His hand trembles.

“Nour knocked the fire over. She put a stick on wrong, and the fire fell over.”

Nour’s sobs rise to a wail. Fatimah sinks to the stone floor and cuddles the girl. She looks past the fire and into me. I see the fear she must not show, the tears she dares not shed. She must be brave for the little ones. Such a hard task for one so young. I wish to comfort her as she comforts her sister, but I cannot.

Fatimah breathes deeply and forces a smile onto her face.

“Hush now, Nour. Everything will be fine. Jalal is a big boy. He can fix the fire, can’t you, Jalal? Show us how to make it right.”

Jalal stares at the scattered coals, toes the stone with a dirty sneaker. 

“But…okay.”

The boy kneels, lifts a broken slat from the dwindling pile and begins raking the coals into a glowing heap.

“Look, Nour, you build it like this, see?”

The girl peeks from Fatimah’s arms. Her face is a mess of tears.

“Now we put more wood on.”

Jalal places fragments of wood atop the coals, bends low, and blows into the glow. Flames curl around the fresh kindling. The light grows, and I fade back.

The fire is restored, but only for a short time. The flames burn low. Fatimah wipes her sister’s tears. Jalal searches for anything to feed the fire but finds nothing.

“I’m sorry, Tati. I looked everywhere. This is the last piece. What are we going to do? When will Mama and Papa come back?”

“Soon, Jalal, very soon.”

“But what if they don’t?”

As the fire dies, I edge nearer. I see Fatimah gather Jalal close.

“Mama and Papa will return. They promised. We must wait here and be brave.”

Nour presses into Fatimah’s neck. Jalal snuggles close beside them.

“Tell us a story, Tati.”

Fatimah wraps an arm around the boy. “What story do you want to hear?”

“The fisherman who finds the djinni.”

Ah, an old tale and one of my favorites. I lean in to listen.

Once upon a time, there was a fisherman. He was old and so poor he could barely feed his family. He fished everyday but often caught only a single fish. Then came a morning when he netted no fish at all.

Without fish, his family would go hungry. He threw his net into the sea once more. But when he pulled in the net, there were no fish, not even a minnow. Instead of a nice fat fish, the net held a yellow pot. The pot bore intricate designs and was sealed with lead.

The poor fisherman thought he might sell the pot and use the money to feed his wife and children. He lifted the pot from the net and shook it, but he heard nothing. Then he took his old knife and pried open the lid.

Jalal stirs and shakes his head.

“The old man better not. There’s a mean djinni inside.”

“Shhh, let me tell the story.”

“Sorry, Tati.”

The fisherman opened the pot and peered inside. Then he turned it upside down. The pot was empty, just like his nets.

Suddenly, smoke poured from the pot and rose into the clouds. The smoke swirled like a whirlwind. Then, a djinni big as a giant appeared out of the smoke. The fisherman tried to run, but he was too frightened to move.

The huge djinni towered above the poor man. It spoke with the voice of thunder.

“Well, mortal?”

The fisherman almost fainted from fear. He clung to one slim hope. 

“Great djinni,” he cried, “I am but a poor fisherman. Grant me a wish, I beg you.”

But the djinni was very angry.

“Very well, I will grant you one boon before I kill you.”

“Why kill me?” cried the fisherman. “I freed you!”

“Yes,” answered the djinni, “but that will not stop me from killing you. The boon I grant is this. You may choose the manner of your death.”

“I am the unluckiest man alive,” cried the fisherman. “Please spare my life.”

“Impossible,” said the djinni. “Choose quickly. You waste my time.”

With death staring at him, the fisherman hatched a desperate plan.

“Before I choose my death,” he said, “I beg you to tell me if you were really inside that little pot.”

“Of course I was,” answered the djinni.

“I cannot believe it,” said the fisherman. “That pot couldn’t hold even one of your giant feet. How could your whole body fit inside? I won’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes.”

“See and believe,” thundered the djinni.

The monster djinni swirled into smoke. The dark column spun smaller and smaller, then disappeared into the empty pot. An evil laugh echoed from inside.

“There! Now, do you believe?”

Instead of answering, the fisherman grabbed the lid and slammed it onto the pot, sealing the djinni inside.

“I’ve got you now!” he cried. “I will throw you into the sea. Sink to the murky depths where you belong, evil djinni. From this day forth, I will warn unlucky fishermen not to cast their nets here. Wicked monster! Never again will you threaten a poor man who frees you.”

I see little Nour’s face in the dying light. Her tears are gone, replaced by a child’s puzzlement.

“Tati, are all djinn bad?”

Fatimah leans down until they are nose to nose. She gives her little sister a nose bump and smiles.

“No. Some djinn are good, and some are nasty, just like people.”

The last flames flicker and fail. Now, there is only the red glow of the coals. I circle the three children, pressing in close. Jalal looks through me, turning his head this way and that. I see a small boy’s bravery fade to fear. He pushes in tight against his big sister.

“There’s no more wood, Tati. What are we going to do?”

Fatimah pulls the boy into her lap and wraps her arms around her siblings.

“We are going to be brave, just like the old fisherman. He was very frightened, but he survived because he kept his wits.”

A light blazes outside the cave, white and searing, then vanishes. The children cry out. I count their heartbeats, one, two, and then comes the rolls of thunder. Shock waves reach the cave, using through solid rock. Jalal and Nour begin to sob. Fatimah pulls them close and whispers into their sobs.

I wrap myself around the huddled children, a second circle of comfort and protection. They fear me, but their peril comes from the darkness hidden in the hearts of men. That is another form of darkness, one I do not control.

Time passes. The glow of the dying fire fades to nothing. Sobs become whimpers. Nour and Jalal exhaust themselves. I hear their breathing slow. Sleep takes them, but Fatimah remains vigilant.

And I am with her, surrounding her, hiding her. Such a brave girl. I sense the ache in her arms, the fear in her heart, and yet she holds her brother and sister fast. Her, in darkness, she is all they have. Fatimah will not let them go.

And then, from nowhere, I hear an electronic buzz. Fatimah’s head snaps up. She shifts one arm. The children moan in their sleep. Her free hand is frantic, searching like a spider in the night. Then, a feeble blue glow. A phone in her palm. I read the words on the tiny screen.

Shine your flashlight three times. We cannot find the cave. Do not use the phone.

“Jalal, Nour, wake up!”

More groans as the children stir. Fatimah shifts them from her lap.

“Jalal, wake up! Mama and Papa are coming. I have to signal them. Stay here and hold your sister.”

The boy’s eyes snap open.

“I want to come, too!”

“No, it might be dangerous. Do what I say. Guard your sister. Be my brave boy.”

Fatimah lays the sleeping girl in Jalal’s lap.

“I’ll be right back.”

Then she’s on her feet and moving. I am beside her, all around her. She stops at the cave mouth, phone in one hand and the flashlight in the other. She whispers into the valley below, a shadow figure etched against the outside world.

“Please, let them see the light. That’s all I ask. Please.”

She points the flashlight down the rocky slope. A wavering beam stabs into the nothingness. One heartbeat, and it’s gone. Then another flash, and another.

Tears course down Fatimah’s face. She cannot see what I see. A line of figures moves in the night below, climbing upward. The figures disappear behind boulders and then reappear, higher, closer.

Then the clatter of rock on rock and Fatimah’s ears tell her what her eyes do not see. Someone is coming, and they are close. Hope and fear fill her in equal measure. Have her parents returned, or have men with guns discovered the cave?

Muffled voices, a wordless susurration that floats up the rock. Fatimah tenses, ready to flee into the cave and throw her body over the children as a last shield.

A lone shadow appears, striding up the hidden path. Fatimah sees him, hesitates, then runs out of the cave.

“Papa!”

The shadowy figure lunges for Fatimah, clamps a hand over her mouth, and hisses into her ear.

“Hush, Tati. Not here.”

Fatimah collapses into her papa’s arms. He lifts her from the stony ground, turns, and whistles softly in the manner of a night bird. A cluster of shadows appear from behind a huge boulder and clamber up the steep trail.

Mama materializes from the night. Her calloused hands find Fatimah’s cheeks. Soft kisses land on the girl’s forehead.

“My Tati, my Tati.”

Fatimah’s Papa pulls his wife close. 

“Shhh, it’s not safe here. Where are the others?”

As if to answer his question, more figures appear.

Fatimah blinks through a scrim of tears, and I see what she sees. Here is their neighbor Basma and her son Yousef, who has a crush on Tati. And now Uncle Anwar and Aunt Aya carrying their two little ones. So few, so many left behind in the blasted village.

Still clutching Fatimah, Papa herds everyone into the cave. Mama races into the gloom, finds Jalal and Nour, sinks to the floor beside them. 

A babble of voices and sobs.

“Mama! Mama! My babies! Papa!”

Someone lights a lantern. I retreat beyond the glow and sink back into the depths of the cave. The adults settle the children in a huddle and form a protective circle around them.

The boy Yousef leans close to Fatimah and whispers.

“Our houses are gone, Tati. Both of them. One minute they were there, and then nothing. I think many people died.”

Fatimah begins to sob. The boy puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close. I see her sink against the boy’s shoulder, and I am glad for her.

Fatimah’s papa and Uncle Anwar build up the fire with wood they have carried. The women unpack bundles, wrap the children in blankets, and lay out food. Basma tucks a single blanket around her son and the weeping girl.

“You are very brave, Fatimah. Rest now. Yousef, you watch over her.”

“Yes, Mama.”

I watch from the back of the cave, for I am Darkness, the opposite of light, but not its enemy. The enemy of light is the darkness humans themselves create. And yet, at times, they overcome their ancient fears and shine.

Fatimah weeps and is comforted as she deserves. This brave girl has shown me her inner light, bright enough to rival the sun. And if she must walk again where there is no light, I will be there to protect her. She has earned that much and more.