CHAPTER III
IN TO
Entering Ismat's life as an unknown teenager was traumatic. The data I had to know as his mother left me with a huge empty taste. Knowing that I was incompetent, cowardly and most of all stupid for letting my family go to an unknown place that killed me. I should never have taken the key and gone in there, although as the days went by I was plunged into discoveries about my Ismat's life with Yaro, his father, I was brought to immense strength for bringing down the man responsible for this event. It should be noted that Yaro was also a victim; had Ismat not died after the overdose, he might have been alive.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Fatima. My real name is Yeri Mariga and this is my story.
A TIME AGO
YARO AND ISMAT DEPARTMENT IN NEW YORK
Yeri was trying to repair her heart from the pain she felt when she put Ismat's clothes in the drawers. Though she had been crying for hours, her thirst for tears was not quenched.
That's when she finds the kid's tablet and tries to turn it on, but it's dead. She grabs the charger and puts it on a charge.
In the top drawer of that mahogany-coloured bureaucrat there are also photos of Ismat with a girl, no more than seventeen years old, tattooed on her arm and looking like she is not sleeping. They both looked smiling, but their glasses in their hands said they had had too much to drink.
Staring at the photo, she is transported to the moment when she says goodbye to Ismat for a long time. It's when she gets scared with a voice that surprises her.
- Sniffing around?
- By God, Munga, you scared the hell out of me!
- I was tired of waiting. The waitress at the coffee shop on the corner looked at me suspiciously. Maybe he thought I wouldn't pay the bill. Gosh, I've been on that coffee for almost three hours.
- Maybe you were mistaken for a terrorist or something.
- Ha, ha, ha, ha! I don't think so. If they didn't stop you at the airport, they wouldn't stop me.
They looked at each other, smiled, tried to lead a normal life, but it was impossible. The recent death of two such loved ones was insurmountable.
Munga lands on Yeri, hugs her and they start to cry.
- Isn't it unfair this world to take two children of two mothers who only hope to love them for the rest of their lives? I'm devastated. Munga cries on Yeri's shoulder and vice versa.
- You had them with you, at least you have that comfort. You lived many happy days at his side; I, on the other hand, missed the best part.
Munga separates and wipes away Yeri's tears, taking the picture from her hands.
- She was his best friend, Pons. They'd go everywhere together, chat for hours. One day he confessed to me that he liked the girl, but that he was afraid, he didn't want her to reject him, so they were always friends.
- Except for the night of the photo and the clothes she's wearing, she looks beautiful.
- She's beautiful, isn't she? That picture was the night Pons was celebrating his trip to Paris. I'd go into a dance school. She's an excellent dancer. The photo should be a while ago. If you want to see the real Pons, enter the social networks: she is one of the most acclaimed young urban dance talents on the web.
- Oh, boy! I'm happy for her.
- When she heard about Ismat and Yaro, she called from Paris. She told me she was too sorry, she cried a lot.
I hope that my son has experienced happy moments in his friendship with her, which gives me some satisfaction.
- That's for sure, Yeri. They went out all the time and I enjoyed it. Ismat was a healthy young man at the time.
- What about her dark circles under her eyes?
- It's normal, Yeri. They had fun, all the young people do it.
- With alcohol? No, Munga, that's not investment for a young man, it's not.
Yeri left the room throwing the picture on the bed. Munga takes the shot and chases him.
Is that the woman who says she loved Ismat, the one who went through the world to get here and take care of him? I don't think so.
Yeri stops, turns around and yells at her mother-in-law:
- And you? But she is the woman who will know a family to achieve her low intentions of having her spoiled, despicable son by her side! That monster was raised by you, you're responsible. You came here with your dreams of an American nationality, abandoned your roots, and then dragged my Yaro and my beloved Ismat into this madness that ended badly. You know, it ended badly. His voice is strong, his face is exalted.
-Yeri, I... -The woman tried to defend herself.
- No justification on this earth will bring me back to my family. You dug their grave. You should have left us alone in Kenya.
- I just tried to give him a better life.
- You call that a better life? Please, just shut up.
- You kill me, Yeri, your truths kill me.
At that moment Yeri sees Munga's tears. He's starting to feel bad, but he's not saying anything, just shut up. The pain is deep.
After this Munga left. Yeri insisted on staying. She closed the whole house and plunged into the self-torture of going through all the memories of her loved ones through her things. I imagined them both in the kitchen, having breakfast, watching TV, taking a shower, leading a normal life. It was frustrating, but I needed that. A few hours later she fell into a deep sleep. The furniture was his bed, that's when he has nightmares.
In those dreams she plays hand in hand with her son and her husband in that park. They have fun at a fair, but the sky starts to get dark. Black hands coming out of the ground pull Ismat and he cries out, "Mom!" but inevitably he is swept away by that mystery. Wake up sweaty. She sits down and looks at her watch: its three o'clock in the morning.
She remembers vaguely that the tablet must be loaded, so she goes for it and turns it on.
To her surprise, it wasn't blocked, so they started getting all of Ismat's messages in.
Lots of messages from friends. His Facebook page was full of condolences for his departure, its cause for more tears.
There are several chat bubbles: one said "Pons", the others did not recognize them. She went into the girl's room and started reading, surprised. In those conversations she discovered that the young people had died when Pons went to Paris to study Dance. They confessed their love and had a beautiful relationship through chat conversations. Ismat dedicated beautiful songs to her, she danced for him. The last few conversations, however, had a mixture of bitter uncertainty: her claims for the young man's carelessness. Sometimes it took many days to connect.
The young lady in that photograph had been left behind. Apparently the tattoo was temporary. On her Facebook profile she appears renewed, fresh. His oriental features gave her a unique personality, stylized, thin but not malnourished. She looked pretty good.
Certain conversations in the last few days before Ismat's death had shown that the young man had taken a strange attitude. The claims were many.
Yeri sees the green dot going: Pons is connected. A curiosity invades him, so he writes.
- Hello.
It takes about 25 seconds.
- Who are you? What are you doing with the Ismat account? Respect the dead.
- I amâ¦
-