Abba
opened her eyes with difficulty. She brushed off gravel and dust from
her face and hands. It took her a few seconds to recognize some of
the confusion of chaotic loud sounds about. Most of the sounds she
did not recognize. The others were frightening: human screams of
pain, groans, crying, shouts for help.
She
was on the floor of the office.
Her
memory exploded back. The building had been aerial bombed.
For
days previously the official news outlets had continuously non-stop
alerted the nation that there were indications the country was on the
brink of war. Her duties in this office left her little time to give
serious thought to matters outside this building and beyond her
private life. Her family were constantly accusing her of being a
workaholic.
She
recognized some of those other deafening sounds; aeroplanes roaring
in all directions. Instinctive terror drove her to move from where
she lay.
She
sat up, and looked about in hopeless fear. Motionless human bodies
and parts of bodies lay scattered about. Blood spatters everywhere.
There were three other workers, colleagues, in this office. She
struggled to stifle in her the horror that was building.
She
crawled to a space on the floor that had less debris. She worked up
courage to dare to stand. This was the room in which she worked as a
typist, along with three others, at separate tables. On the fifth
floor.
She
looked about for the doorway. She resisted the thought of looking for
the other typists.
She
saw at the far end the Company’s payroll safe. It was partially
sunk in debris of broken office furniture and chunks of stone broken
from walls.
Every
day in her work routine she had glimpses of the contents of that safe
when it was opened and closed by uniformed Company officers a few
times a day. Only they knew the combination of the safe’s two
electronic locks. There was a huge amount of paper money in that
safe. In a loud noise, the safe crashed downward, utterly out of
sight in an instant.
She
found what was left of the doorway; it was a hole in a pile of broken
stones. She struggled through the hole, suffering bruises and
scratches from jagged ends of broken brick and concrete. She thought
a quick thanks she was wearing long trousers.
Gravel
inside her shoes was causing her sharp pains, but she did not pause
to do anything about that. Her determination was focused on getting
as far down from the fifth floor as quickly as she could. She paused
a second to look about to see if there was anyone who needed help.
After
a while of slowly climbing-crawling-scraping down through and over
broken stones and twisted iron bars and pipes, she hoped she was off
the fifth floor.
She
did not know how far down. The sounds of the aeroplanes were
diminished. Human sounds of trouble and agony were increasing all
around.
She
was extra careful to not touch any of the many motionless bodies she
had to squeeze by on her way down. She paused to figure out how to
move over the fully clothed body wedged partially under a shattered
heavy wood beam. When the body stirred, she stifled an impulsive gasp
of fright.
So
far, all the other bodies had been motionless and, she assumed,
lifeless.
She
struggled to ignore this one. Why? She was upset by not understanding
why. She inched her way through obstacles to get near enough to touch
the person. She got close enough to see the face. The eyes were
closed. It was a woman. A woman clothed as a man; a white lace scarf
draped around her neck.
The
woman’s eyes opened wide.
She
saw Abba. She struggled to speak. Abba squeezed herself close enough
to hear, and to speak.
The
woman: I’m not in pain. I cannot feel any part of me. I am not
going to make it. Do not stay. Keep moving. Just one favor. Please?
Of
course. I promise
We
were on our way to get married. She’s dead. My Sarai. My Dad
said he would disown me if I did not get married. I said there would
not be any grandchildren, Dad. He was okay with that. He was looking
forward to meeting my Sarai.
She
paused in pain: bodily and emotional.
Please
tell me the favor. I cannot stay.
Yes.
Sorry. Find my ring finger. Take the two rings. Return them to Dad.
Dad bought them. Will you do it?
Yes; I promise.
Those
bomber aeroplanes seemed to be getting nearer. Abba whispered,
hoarsely: Give me your hand.
I
don’t know where it is. I cannot feel any part of me.
There
was an explosion in another building close by. The vibrations brought
down rubble over them. The vibrations dislodged the stones that had
pinned down the woman. In a deafening crash, the stones and the woman
disappeared with a roar downward, out of sight.
Abba
remained motionless for seconds. She tried to move, but her body had
stiffened. She waited, helplessly and hopelessly, struggling to
breathe through the dust.
Someone
whispered her name. Abba answered, but did not try to look around to
see where the voice was coming from.
Yes.
I’m Abba. Above me?
Yes.
I can see you through cracks. Is there a way down?
I
cannot see one. Abba slowly eased her feet out of the rubble. She
cautiously looked about.
Hopelessness
increased, and stung worse when she recalled, bewilderedly, she had
not removed the rings from the woman’s finger, as the woman had
asked. She felt hurt that she had let the woman down; she tried to
find comfort in the thought that it was highly probable she, too, in
the next few seconds would be dead.
Abba
placed a foot against a large flat stone, and thrust; she did not
know what she thought to make happen. She repeated thrusting her
foot, angrily.
While
her movements did not disturb any rocks she could see, she heard
rocks below her nearby beginning to be dislodged. She pulled herself
back.
The
voice called out to her: I see a gap opening. I’m going to it.
Abba
looked, but saw no gap opening. She saw rubble at her feet beginning
to sink. She stepped on the unstable rubble. The rubble plunged down.
Abba
struggled to her haunches while digging her fingers into the
crumbling rubble. She slowly sank down with the rubble.
As
she slowly sank in and with the rubble, she somewhat steered her
descent by grabbing onto broken stones and metal parts of the walls she
moved against.
The
sounds of aeroplanes stopped. She heard sounds from people: shouts,
screams. She paid little attention to the people sounds as she was
concentrating on safely easing her struggle down in and with the
rubble.
The
rubble rush quickened; Abba instinctually clutched a metal bar to
stop herself, and to squeeze herself against a wall of firmly stuck
furniture wood. Just in time.
Within
seconds, the slow rubble descent turned into a waterfall-like
cascade, from above her and ripping at her clothes as it roared
passed her. If there had not been the furniture wood splinters hooked
into her clothes, she would have plunged to death in the rubble.
A
wind picked up. The clouds of rubble dust were carried away from her.
Someone from below was calling out. To her? A rescue group; she
desperately hoped?
Abba
moved ever so slowly because she did not know which of her moves would
dislodge things. Clutching onto the furniture wood, she slid
along it to its edge.
There,
behind the polished wood, and crushed against broken chunks of wall,
was the body of the woman draped in lace; her dead hand with two
wedding rings on a finger, barely discernible through the rubble and
debris; within easy though precarious reach.
Contact
Ezra (Unless
you
type
the
author's name in
the subject
line
of the message we
won't know where to send it.)
