She is always with him, in his core of being, in each new day like a sea monster turning over. All his interactions are covered in a sticky substance- like syrup, ever responding to her absence.
Some days this could defeat him, others not at all. Ahmed, on his brave days, behaves not nice, he is meaner, angrier, he shouts at the radio commentary; he roars at motorists going their own way, he fears being ignored in one way or another.
Once he had a dream that he was a hungry bird in the garden shed. His feathered mother fetched and carried to him, all day long, and
he became plump and strong.
She on the other hand became weary and thin, cross, and distracted. Ahmed liked that dream; he wrote it down and dated it.
He knew life was a circle, a wheel of being.
One morning soon, he may go to the beachhead and watch for a sea monster, scan the horizon all along and the dark waves as they roll in, and hold storms in their laps. Or it might be Ahmed’s good day and by morning the sea had taken and gobbled up the monster.
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