Ammar Habib - The Heart of Aleppo - A Story of the Syrian Civil War

Salman shoots me a wink. “Can you beat that?”

The burden of pressure immediately begins crushing my heart. Crouching down, I start rummaging through the stones at my feet. I look for the perfect one. Flat but not circular. The size of my palm but the weight of a tennis ball. And triangular. After a few moments, I find the perfect stone buried underneath some useless ones.

Holding it with my right hand’s thumb and middle finger, I firmly hooked my index finger along the stone’s edge. I remind myself that my thumb goes on top of the stone, not the edge. Don’t want to make a fool of myself like I did last weekend.

I stand up straight, facing the pond at a slight angle.

Keep this position, Zaid. Don’t lose it during the throw. The lower your hand, the better. I wind back. Throw out and down at the same time. Strength isn’t the key. Speed is. Don’t mess this up. Not in front of Fatima.

With a quick snap of my wrist, I launch it with as much spin as possible. The stone cuts through the air, heading straight at the water. It strikes the pond perfectly.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

It sinks down. So do my hopes.

“And the still reigning champion: Salman!” Salman cheers behind me.

My shoulders slump as my hopes of victory vanish. I thought I had him. It looked so perfect. But, like always, my aspiration plummets away. Fatima pats my back as she speaks to her brother. “Be a good sport, Salman.”

“Sure, sure.” He comes up from behind me. “Good try, buddy.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Well, it’s a good thing your dream is to be a doctor. Even with your grades, you have a higher chance of becoming that than being a professional rock skipper.”

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

“Don’t worry. Your day will come, Zaid.”

I turn and look back at his smiling face. He’s not more than a step away. There’s a devilish look in his eyes. No, he wouldn’t—

“But it’s not today!” With a laugh, he suddenly shoves me. My arms are flailing as I go into the pond with a loud splash.

“Zaid!”

My eyes suddenly shoot open, staring right at the face of Salman. His expression is the complete opposite of the jovial one I saw in the dream.

“You were supposed to keep watch. Not fall asleep.”

He takes a step back, allowing me to slowly sit up. It’s a battle to keep my eyes open. I take a deep yawn. Then another as I rub my eyes. My head feels so heavy. A few late morning rays spill in through the broken window and into the room.

As I shake away the slumber and draw myself back to reality, I take a look around. I was surrounded by shards of glass as I slept. It’s a miracle that I didn’t get cut. I feel dehydrated. Was I sweating in my sleep? My hair is a mess and I feel dirty.

“What were you thinking, Zaid?”

Should I tell him that I was dreaming of life before all this? But I don’t think that’s what he means. Looking out the broken window, I have a much better view of Aleppo than before. There’s smoke rising from nearly everywhere. Black smoke. It’s more than there was yesterday evening. If there is any gunfire, it’s too faint to hear. I can see a few buildings ablaze. Even up here, their heat crashes against me.

“I—I’m sorry, Salman. I don’t know what happened.”

Salman sighs and shakes his head. “C’mon. You need to eat something.”

I slowly rise to my feet with Salman’s help. Ouch! My legs are so sore that it hurts to even stand on them. And moving them is even worse. Salman helps me steady myself by holding me upright with his strong grip. I follow him towards the room’s exit and into the corridor.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Almost noon,” Salman replies as he glances back at me. “I tried to wake you up a few times, but you wouldn’t stir. Thought it would be best to just leave you be. We stopped Amaan’s bleeding.”

“Amaan?”

“The wounded boy. His brother—the one we met in the corridor—is Faisal.”

That fills the gap.

“I can’t believe you slept through it all.”

“All the what?”

“Shelling. There have been bombs dropping not too far from here all morning. Two of them were close enough to shake the building. Thank God we were okay.”

That explains all the dust and smoke. “Did you find any phones here?”

“None that were working.”

My heart sinks upon hearing him utter those words. I follow Salman to another room on the other side of the hallway. The door is open. “You go on inside, Zaid. I need to look for something.”

He departs without another word, leaving me to enter the room alone. I stagger inside, still unable to completely walk properly. This room has no windows. A chandelier brightly illuminates the private dining room. Unlike below, unlike the wrecked street outside, everything is just as it would be on a normal day, upright with nothing knocked over.

Fatima sits across from Faisal and another boy—must be Amaan—at a red-clothed dining table that could seat twelve. They each have a handful of dates, some bread, and a glass of water in front of them. At the center of a table is a crystal white fruit basket. It’s been emptied.

Their eyes focus on me as I enter. I’m immediately hit with a rush of cool air. This room’s A/C must be working. Alhumdulillah . Fatima immediately smiles upon seeing me as Amaan speaks up. His voice is a little hoarse but polite. “ Assalam-O-Alaikum . You must be Zaid.”

“ Walaikum Assalam. ” Returning the traditional greeting, I see that his thigh is partially covered in a wrapping. There’s a dark red stain on it, but it’s been applied perfectly. I look over at Faisal. He smiles and I return the gesture. At least, I mean to.

“I set aside some food for you, Zaid.” Fatima motions towards some dates and bread next to her. Her eyes look so alive. Much more than they were yesterday.

I take my seat next to her. As soon as I see the food sitting in front of me, my stomach reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. My hand is nearly shaking as I grab the bread and tear off a good piece. Faisal and Amaan both stare at me, waiting for me to speak. They’re just as nervous as I am. Faisal appears to be seventeen, four years older than me. Amaan is only a year younger than Faisal, at least I think.

“Is it just you two?” I ask as I take a hefty bite of my bread. It’s softer than it looks and is easy to chew. I hardly gnaw on it before swallowing it down.

Faisal nods.

Downing the bread in a bulky gulp, I take a sip of my water. It’s not cold, but it is the most refreshing thing I’ve ever tasted. I feel my parched throat thanking me a thousand times over before I speak again. “Where were you when it all began?”

They both exchange glances as if wondering who wants to answer. Finally, Faisal replies. His voice is different than the night before, and it’s stronger than Amaan’s. “At home. We were sleeping when the shooting began. It came out of nowhere. Our parents got us out the back door. They told us to go a few blocks down and wait for them at the backside of a restaurant that we went to all the time.”

I watch him glance down for a moment.

“There was so much shooting. People were…” He pauses before his words grow mellow. “…shouting. We ran there as fast as we could. No matter where we ran, we couldn’t escape the chaos. When we finally got there, we hid right where they told us to. We hid there the entire night, amongst the trash bins and rats, waiting for our parents. We could hear everything: the shooting, explosions… and the screams. It must have been hours before the sun rose… but they never came.”