Kenje was a sickly, anaemic little girl. Those eyes of hers always looked at you with trust and devotion; they were the eyes of true innocence, of an angel. Her mother had died giving birth and no one had either seen or known her father. She was brought up by her grandmother and grandfather who were quiet and modest folk. Their three sons had been swallowed up in the war and their daughter had died, but nevertheless they carried themselves with dignity and tried not to show their grief, nor to lose heart. My grandfather used to say that it was sheer honour which kept them alive. If you took away their honour, they would die immediately. They would not be able to continue to live like others, as if nothing had happened. «They are that sort of breed of people,» grandfather used to say. Breed… Grandfather used to love this word but would never use it in vain.
The fire crackled happily. Pitch blackness enveloped us and intensified the feeling that we were surrounded by the cold loneliness of the world. Only the twinkling of the stars in the sky sowed a faint, undefined hope in our hearts. Grandmother mumbled something, lifting the lid of the cauldron to stir the broth with a big wooden spoon.
«Do you want to live, Rollan?» Kenje asked suddenly.
Puzzled, I looked at her, not comprehending the meaning of these words. Patches of light danced on her pale face, her long lashes were half-lowered and tears flowed from her eyes. «Don’t cry,» I said. «I know that’s inviting misfortune, but I can’t help myself,» she quietly sobbed. «Tomorrow they’re going to explode a bomb! I’m scared!» She could not stop shivering and I wrapped her in a fur coat over the blanket. «Do you think dying is terrifying?» she asked and then replied herself, «Death comes in all forms – difficult and easy… A terrible death awaits me…» «What are you saying? You’ll never die, Kenje,» I objected. «You’re a good person, a very good person,» she touched my hand with her timid fingers. To me she was like a thin Teed which swayed in the merciless wind. Gloom. Darkness. Was it possible that Kenje and I would never be able to escape this dark gloom and that Death stood guard over us, greedily waiting to embrace us? Death… The word flashed like lightning and I shuddered. «Did the wing of death also touch you?» asked Kenje, but I remained silent. I was shivering. Suddenly I began to pray and for the first time I began to repeat the words I had heard grandmother say: «Oh, Great Merciful Allah! Save and protect your son. Don’t let me disappear.» I thought for a minute and then added, «Don’t let anyone disappear, then I’ll believe that you exist! Then I will always pray to you, forty times a day.» Again, I pondered and corrected myself. «Five times a day, oh Merciful Allah. I have faith in you!..»