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The Voice

Fear is the ink with which to put your name on the map of success.

By Ayman BaroudiPublished 2 years ago 24 min read
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Jack lost touch with reality and lived in an illusion. He imagined he was a congressman, a commander-in-chief, a chancellor, or an author. Occasionally, Jack acted as the boss of all bosses and talked like Marlon Brando in The Godfather. His daydreams responded to his unstable ways and his changing feelings each day. When he was angry, nothing would stop him from thinking like a serial killer—finishing off all types of people who may cause him anger.

To bring his daydreams to semi-realty, Jack loved going on vacations alone, meeting new people, and introducing himself in a way that satisfied his fluctuating mood. Today, Jack was on his second day of a cruise vacation and in a hyper frame of mind. The azure sea of the Caribbean stimulated his imagination. The sea air refreshed his thyroid hormones. The result was a combination of disasters. Jack’s daydreams were congested altogether at one time, his mind jumping like a monkey from one image to another. He visualized himself delivering a speech in the House of Representatives, speaking as a guest lecturer at Harvard Business School, commanding military forces and directing them to achieve objectives. Then, his thoughts suddenly drifted to womanizing, and he visualized himself famous like Casanova, having complicated and elaborate affairs with women.

Jack realized that he went over the top into hallucination. He looked up at the sky with a hope to slow down that frenzied stream of contradictory daydreams and asked in silence, ‘So, what do I want out of life, and who am I in the first place?’ When he received no answer, he left the deck and went to the bar to have a couple of drinks and clear his mind.

Before finishing the fourth glass of wine, Jack had been half-drunk. ‘It would be better to go to my cabin and rest a little.’ But he was too lazy to move from his seat. ‘What a man!’ When his sight caught an African American guy, Jack thought. ‘He’s almost six feet six inches in height and looks very similar to Michael Jordan.’ Jack closed his eyes. He gave his imagination the liberty to daydream that he was now six feet six inches in height, changed the color of his skin, and became an African American. Then he imagined himself walking the streets of Charlotte and people greeting him as the greatest basketball player of all time.

Jack ordered one more drink and stared at an Indian man who had just entered the bar. ‘Oh my God, this man looks like Shah Rukh Khan, the King of Bollywood.’ In no time, Jack closed his eyes, and he was now five feet eight inches in height and looked like an Indian with charming, dark brown eyes. Jack took one more sip of wine. And now he was walking the red carpet, like Shah Rukh Khan in film festivals, feeling proud he was the legend of the Indian film industry.

‘It’s boring.’ Jack wished that the lady he’d met last night would show up. ‘What was her name?’ He had to pick his brain for a hot minute. ‘Adinda. Yes, her name was Adinda.’ He remembered and rewarded himself with one more drink.

……………..

……………..

Adinda was thirsty and wanted to cool down with a tropical beverage on the deck. She thought about ordering a piña colada or virgin mojito and finally ordered a pineapple coconut smoothie. She took a long sip and let her gaze float all over the azure sea of the Caribbean. ‘It’s so relaxing to be back home.’ She licked her dry lips and took another long sip to beat the Caribbean heat.

Adinda’s grandparents on both her father’s and mother’s sides, who were all of multi-ethnic origin, had immigrated from Aruba island to the USA long ago. Adinda had been proud to be originally from an island country in the mid-south of the Caribbean Sea. She was happy to be of multi-ethnic origin until an odd dream changed her life and made her responsible for commemorating the history of the native Indians of Aruba.

…………….

…………….

“Adinda, my great-great-granddaughter, how are you doing?” That had been how an older man, wearing nothing but a slight genital covering, various ornaments, greeted her - on the night he first appeared in her dreams.

Adinda had woken up scared that night, not because the almost naked older man was scary but because the dream felt extremely real. It was a vivid dream. The following night, when the old man showed up again in her dream, she screamed at him, “Who are you, and what do you want from me?”

“I’m Adamudu, your great-great-grandfather.”

“Adamudu?”

“It means rain in the Arawakan language, and you should never forget the origin of your race. You are my great-great-granddaughter. I’m from Aruba island and was originally a Caiquetio Indian of the Arawak tribe.”

“But the last authentic Indian died in Aruba ages ago.”

“I was that man, but before I died, I made love with a Dutch woman who delivered your great-grandfather.”

The second dream was not the last. Adamudu’s ghost made it a habit to show up vividly in her dreams. She found herself confused about whether to go on a Caribbean cruise or see a doctor and make sure her vivid dreams were not health-related.

………………

………………

Adinda enjoyed the pineapple coconut smoothie to the last sip and stood still watching the sunset. The sun’s radiance displayed every color imaginable over the sparkling reflective waters. Adinda was pleased that she had decided to set out on a Caribbean cruise instead of visiting a doctor.

She ordered one more drink. Then she walked around, hoping to meet with Jack, the handsome, educated man who occupied the cabin next to hers. He claimed he was a psychotherapist.

“Even though I’m a psychotherapist, I strongly believe that ancestral spirits can influence the stream of our lives,” Jack had told her yesterday when she spoke with him about the Adamudu ghost showing up in her dreams. “I’m sure that your cruise to the Caribbean and your visit to Aruba would help your great-great-grandfather’s soul to rest in peace.”

……………..

……………..

Jack, who had been half-drunk after he finished his fourth glass of white wine, was now fully drunk and had to struggle to reach his cabin and throw himself like dead weight onto his bed. He fell instantly into a deep sleep that lasted until he woke up screaming madly—terrified of the nightmare that had been repeated every other night. It was a nightmare that had remained the same since he immigrated to the USA.

Hundreds of tortured prisoners emerged, screaming for help. Headless bodies ran wildly around, looking for their heads. Rotting corpses begged him to perform a miracle and bring them back to life.

After screaming himself awake, Jack found himself sweating profusely. The nightmare kept running vividly in his head. The more he yelled to wake up from the hellish dream, the more the prisoners cried, the headless bodies ran to him asking for their heads, and the rotting corpses wept and moaned about their loneliness in death.

Jack could hear heavy knocks now, but he could not answer the door. He was almost paralyzed, holding on to his pillow, hoping against hope to wake up from the trap of the night’s terrors. He heard the people at the door calling him. Their voices sounded distanced and made him more scared and silent. “Are you ok, Jack … Is there something wrong? why do you not open the door?”

Eventually, the door opened, and two men from the security staff, accompanied by Adinda, dashed into Jack’s room.

“No, no, I’m not Jaber, I’m Jack,” Jack shouted when he saw the two-security staff over his head. “I’m Jack. I’m American….”

“Should we call the medical center?” one of the security staff members asked his colleague.

“First, let us help him with a glass of water,” suggested Adinda, who had experience with nightmares and vivid dreams.

It took Jack a while to pull himself together again and thank everybody for their help: “Now I’m fine. Yes, I’m good, and I may need to be alone. Thank you, honestly, thank you for caring.”

Adinda told the two-security staff that they could leave. Then she walked to the coffee machine. “How about a cup of espresso?”

“Yes, please. I need it.”

Adinda walked back, put a coffee tray on the bedside table, and relaxed next to Jack. “Fine. Tell me now.”

“What’s to tell?”

“Tell me, who is Jaber?”

“Jaber?” Jack’s face turned white. “Jaber? I know no one called Jaber.”

“You said your name was Jack and not Jaber.”

“Uh, no. Maybe it was a kind of hallucination, or you did not hear me correctly! Or….”

“Jack, what are you hiding?

You should know I’m a journalist, and media people can never suppress their curiosity.”

“Journalist?” Jack pushed her away. “You said you are a journalist!” He jumped out of bed. “Can you tell me what you are doing here?” He got closer to her. “Can you tell me why you are in my room?”

“Jack, cool down. I’m here because I’m your neighbor in the cabin. You were screaming, and I called security to come and help. That’s all.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“No, there is something more. It seems we have something in common.”

“Something in common?”

“Yes, the odd dreams.

I told you yesterday about Adamudu, my great-great-grandfather.”

“Yes, you did.”

“But not everything. Adamudu was not very nice to me lately. He threatened to make me lose my job if I do not do what puts his concern at ease.”

“And what is his concern?”

“Aruba. The island of Aruba, and the Caiquetio Indians of the Arawak tribe, are his concern.” Adinda rubbed her forehead like she was in thought. “Adamudu expects me—as a journalist and the last person in the world related to the Caiquetio—to bring the Caiquetio’s tragic story to the world’s attention. Adamudu does not want the Caiquetio Indians to be forgotten just because they became extinct.”

Adinda walked to the coffee machine. “How about another cup of espresso?”

“Why not a glass of wine? There is a bottle of Chardonnay in the drawer next to the coffee machine,” Jack said and headed to the bathroom.

Adinda opened the drawer. Next to the bottle of Chardonnay, there was a passport. Her jaw dropped when she saw that it was a Syrian passport. She opened the first page in a hurry. Jack’s picture was there, but the name was written in Arabic. She opened the second page. The name was in English and read Jaber Abd Al Karem. Underneath it was written “Occupation: Actor.”

……………

…………….

Adinda picked up her handbag, rushed out, and locked herself in her cabin with no second thought. ‘Who’s this ambiguous man?’ she wondered. ‘Why is he hiding his name, nationality, and even his career, claiming he’s a psychotherapist?’

She heard a heavy knock at her door followed by Jack’s harsh voice: “Adinda, open for me. Let me clarify something.”

She got scared and did not answer. She flashed back to Jack’s scary image when he’d pushed her away the moment she’d mentioned she was a journalist. He had almost tried to throw her out of his cabin.

“Please open. I need to say something.” His insistence made her more scared. ‘He might be a terrorist coming from the Arab countries,’ she thought. ‘He may kill me and throw my body in the ocean because I found out his real identity.’

“Please open, please.”

Jack’s voice sounded sad and honest. ‘So what? He’s an actor, and it’s easy for him to act and hide his reality!’

With no more hesitation, Adinda called the staff captain. She reported to him that a man was knocking at her door, and he might be dangerous and want to kill her.

…………….

…………….

In the security office, Jack spoke in confidence. “I can’t find any reason why I should be here.” He showed his Syrian passport. “I’m originally Syrian, and my birth name is Jaber. But now I’m an American citizen and have officially changed my name to Jack.”

The security officer had no probable cause to take any action against Jack. But still, there were some doubts due to Adinda’s testament and the statement of the security guards, who helped him recover from a nightmare earlier.

“Fine, listen to me, Jack. You may go back now to your cabin and relax. I believe you need some sleep. Tomorrow morning we will have coffee together and talk,” the security officer said in a friendly manner.

“Do you mean I’m under house arrest?”

“Please do not take it that way, but I need to deal with some formalities before closing this case.”

……………

……………

Being under arrest in his cabin brought Jack back to the worst memory of his life. He remembered how he had been repeatedly tortured in Syrian prisons because he’d joined protests against the regime in the spring of 2011.

He and many others had been packed into filthy cells where thousands were tortured and killed. Jack did not stay in jail long enough to pass away. He was from a wealthy family—his father managed to pay a considerable bribe to a high-ranking officer to get him out of the dungeon.

Jack came out of the prison broken and lost. He could not carry on with his career as an actor and locked himself in his room. Jack refused to receive anybody for months and insisted that his parents help him flee Syria. “Speak with my uncle Fareed. He has a big business in New York—for sure, he would help me.” He kept repeating these requests to his parents, speaking of nothing else.

When Uncle Fareed received his nephew in New York, he demonstrated patience and tolerance. Jack came to live in fantasy rather than reality. He claimed to be different characters every day and refused his name and original nationality.

The psychotherapist whom Uncle Fareed had chosen to treat Jack was Syrian. He stated that Jack had lost contact with external reality due to his torture in prison. “Torture is an intentional and systematic taking of a person’s identity and humanity. It destroys his sense of community, creates a climate of fear, and produces a culture of apathy.” At the first session, the psychotherapist stressed that he expected the many necessary stages of treatment to take a long time.

At the beginning of the treatment, Jack showed little progress, but the nightmares that disturbed his sleep every other night made him feel guilty. “Those prisoners who show up in my dreams expect my help to bring their case to the public’s attention while I’m doing nothing,” he said.

“Go. Go out and talk. Talk on behalf of hundreds of thousands suffering in jails. This kind of public relations work may help them and would allow you to resume your contact with external reality,” the Syrian psychotherapist encouraged Jack and made him agree.

Jack wrote articles to the most famous newspapers in Europe and the USA, talked on college campuses, and briefed members of Congress on the tragic situation in the Syrian prisons.

One day, Jack received a call from Syria. It was a chilling voice that carried him back to a dark cell and daily beatings. “Why don’t you shut up? Do you want me to send someone to kill you?” asked the man who used to torture Jack, ending the call before receiving an answer.

That scary call was enough to silence Jack, frighten him away from external reality, and bring him back to square one of his treatment journey.

……………….

……………….

Time was crawling slowly and giving Jack no choice but to finish the bottle of wine then open the cabin door to go to the bar and drink more.

The security guard standing at the door stopped Jack and kindly requested that he return to the cabin.

“I’m not a prisoner here; I’m free. No one can stop me from going to the bar and drinking,” Jack shouted in a tone that revealed he was extremely unwell.

The security guard called his boss and briefed him on what was going on. He then turned to Jack and told him firmly to stay in his cabin until the security officer finished some formalities.

“No way.” Jack pushed the security guard and ran along the corridor but could not get far. Other security guards rushed to the passage and stopped him, but he resisted and started shouting.

Adinda got out of her cabin to find out what was going on.

“You! You’re the one who put me in this trouble!” Jack shouted at Adinda.

The security guards pushed Jack into the office, and Adinda followed them.

………………….

………………….

Eventually, Jack opened the ‘black box’ containing his dark memories and spoke to the security officer and Adinda. He said everything from A to Z, from the moment he entered the hell of the Syrian jails until now. Jack did not talk because the security officer forced him to open his past book. Still, the irresistible need to talk made him do that.

He needed to release the violence he had in his emotions and thoughts and empty all he had in his heart and mind. Jack did not only talk. He collapsed, cried, and made Adinda come to her knees and cry with him.

“It’s so touching to see such sympathy,” the security officer said. “The good news is that we’re going to dock shortly at Oranjestad cruise port, where you may get everything you need if you want to go on a shopping spree. All you need to do is walk from Lloyd G. Smith Boulevard to the Renaissance Marketplace and check out the local goods and souvenirs for sale.”

“Ah, I didn’t come to Aruba to go shopping,” Adinda said. “I’m more interested in the Aruba downtown historical and cultural walking tour.”

“Good choice. And what about Jack?”

“May he do not mind joining me!” Adinda looked Jack in the eyes and smiled, “Do you mind… do you mind joining me?”

“It’s OK. It’s good. At least Adamudu may appreciate that!”

……………………

……………………

Leaving the vessel to tour Aruba, Adinda asked Jack to hold her by the arm.

“Do you feel dizzy?”

“Kind of,” Adinda answered. “I feel like I’m in a dream.”

“How?”

“Everything around looks familiar to me as if I was born and raised on this island of the dry climate and an arid, cactus-strewn landscape.”

“It might be expected. You are for the first time in the hometown of your ancestors.”

“And it might be a kind of madness. Even the local guide approaching us now looks familiar, like an old friend.”

……………….

……………….

“Hi, my name is Adamudu, and it’s my pleasure to be your local guide for today.”

“What? What’s your name?”

“Adamudu. If you do not like it, mam, you may call me Ad or whatever you like.”

Adinda looked at Jack with a big exclamation mark on her face. Then she turned to the local guide. “Honestly, I like your name. It’s the name of my great-grandfather, or let us say my great-great-grandfather.”

“That’s good. I can’t hide that I’m proud of my name, which has powerful symbolism and a destiny impact. The initial ‘A’ in my name ensures my insistence to come out the best at all times. The ‘D’ suggests the great dreams that I strive to make possible.”

“So, what’re your great dreams?” Adinda asked while looking deeply into Adamudu’s facial features.

“It’s a long story. We may talk about it while doing the tour,” Adamudu said and looked at his hand watch, hinting that they must start the walking tour to finish on time.

………………

………………

During their walking tour of Oranjestad, Adamudu briefed Adinda and Jack on the history of Aruba. “The Caiquetio Indians were the first known inhabitants of the island of Aruba. They settled there in peace for more than four thousand years, till the Spanish explorer Alonso de Ojeda discovered Aruba, kicking off the island’s colonization by the Spanish in 1499. The Spaniards found the island’s low rainfall and arid landscape did not make it profitable for plantation. Therefore Aruba was neglected until the Dutch conquest of 1636.” Adinda did not need to listen; she had learned about all that earlier. She was more interested in studying Adamudu’s face. The more she looked at him, the more she recognized the features of her great-great-grandfather.

The walking tour took them to a series of monuments and shops. They visited the Fort Zoutman Historical Museum, where Adinda felt history seep through the walls, and the National Archeological Museum. They took a break at “the small and cozy front porch of Island Grind Coffee” to let Adinda rest a little and wipe her tears.

……………..

……………..

“How do you feel now, mam?” Adamudu asked Adinda, handing her another tissue.

“Sad. The thought of the Spaniards enslaving many of the Caiquetio Indians and sending them to Hispaniola to work on plantations and in mines makes me cry.”

“Mam, you should not forget that when the Spanish arrived in Aruba, they found the Caiquetios living much as they did in the Stone Age.”

“It does not matter. They were still my ancestors.”

“Sorry, mam, I can’t follow what you mean!”

“Fine. It’s something to do with a dream and my job as a journalist, but let us first order something to drink.”

………………

………………

Over an artisanal coffee prepared with care and dedication, from hand-stamping to hand-sorted coffee beans and roasting, Adinda revealed the nightly visits of her great-great-grandfather. Adamudu and Jack listened with respect, even though they had ordered more coffee before Adinda finished her talk.

After a long moment of silence, Adamudu had to clarify an issue. “Sorry, mam, you said that your great-great-grandfather, Adamudu the Great, assumed that the Caiquetio Indians in Aruba had become extinct?”

“Yes, he did.” Adinda was flattered that Adamudu had called her great-great-grandfather “the Great.” She took it as a sign of respect.

“With my full respect to Adamudu the Great, I can’t agree with him. You must have noticed during the tour that the Indian features remain in the faces of many native Arubans.”

Adinda looked again deeply into Adamudu’s facial features. ‘Yes, he is right,’ she thought. ‘Many of the people I met during the tour also had the same Indian features as him.’ She hesitated a little, then dared to ask, “Do you mean my great-great-grandfather was lying to me?”

“Oh, no way, mam. But as you know, the death might make the dead people forget!”

“Ah, it’s not like that. My great-great-grandfather appears alive in my dreams. He talks like a mature man who knows well. I do not assume that his concern is people having Indian features. I believe his concern is the Caiquetio language, which is now termed a ‘ghost’ language because it had become extinct. His concern has a good reason: When Caiquetio had reached the top of their cultural development, the Spaniards arrived and wrecked their culture.”

“I agree with you what had happened was tragic. But that had taken place ages ago in the era when no one cared enough about human rights. Instead of digging in the past, why don’t you care about countries that till now disrespect Human Rights?” Adamudu showed his university student ID card, “I study law in the University of Aruba and writing now an essay on the prisoners of conscience in the third world countries. There’s a long list of authoritarian governments. They have turned the prisons in their countries to hell to murder and torture prisoners.”

“I know!” Adinda said and nodded her head.

“You know, and I know, and the whole world know, So what? Do not you believe that the international media should take a major initiative to deal with this topic and talk on behalf of those prisoners!”

Adinda looked at Jack, asking him to say something to help her think.

Jack kept quiet. Adamudu’s talk about hell to murder and torture prisoners took his mind to the hundreds of tortured prisoners who have been showing up in his nightmares. ‘Those prisoners in Syrian jails have no voice and want me to talk on their behalf,’ Jack thought. ‘I responded to their request for a while. I wrote articles. I talked about the tragic situation in the Syrian prisons. But when I received a threatening call to shut up, I proved to be a coward and shut my mouth.’

“Jack, what do you have in mind?” Adinda asked. “You are so quiet.”

“Cowards should be quiet,” Jack said and got to his feet.

“It might be time we go back to the port.”

………………

………………

Back at the vessel, Jack locked himself in his cabin. He opened his laptop and started writing a lengthy article on the hell going on in Syria. He went on writing till Adinda called him in the early hours.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me too.”

“Fine, I’ll make coffee and come to your cabin.”

…………………..

…………………..

“It’s well written.” Adinda praised Jack’s article.

Jack looked at the laptop screen for a hot minute, then deleted the article.

“Why! Why did you do that?”

“No one would care to publish it. The media has other priorities than the Syrian Jails.”

“I agree with you. Media people have their agenda.” Adinda took a punch of papers from her handbag. “And this is the topic I want to discuss with you tonight. Why don’t we have our magazine?”

“Our magazine! You said our magazine!” Jack got to his feet. He walked to the coffee machine, stood still for a moment, and came back to his seat without making coffee, “Our magazine. Ah, I see. Yes, why not! It’s a good idea. But, but....”

“But what? We’ll be free to say our words.”

“Look,” Jack switched off his cell phone and hinted to Adinda to do the same. “I’m willing to partner with you. But I’ll be a secret partner.

“Why?”

“Because I’m a coward. Yes, because I’m chicken. A man who’d visited Syrian Jails and received a threat of having a pullet in the head has good reason to be phobic or even much worse.”

“Till when, you would like to stay in this trap ?”

“Maybe till I die.”

“You see, we’re all going to die at the end,” Adinda laughed and dared to hug Jack and give him a kiss of sympathy. “And yet, swimming in a pool of blood is more colorful than living in the darkness of fear.”

“Do you think so?” Jack cackled for the first time since he’d been arrested and packed with many others into filthy cells.

“So, should we open a bottle of champagne to celebrate the beginning of our partnership?”

“Yes, we should,” Jack said and responded to Adinda’s kisses.

……………….

……………….

A little more than a year later, on a snowy night in New York, Adinda and Jack held a party to celebrate the first anniversary of their magazine, The Voice. The magazine had been dedicated to defending human rights worldwide.

“We’re doing well.” Adinda addressed the crowd attending the party and showed two appreciation letters. “This letter is from the United Nations Human Rights Committee.” She laughed and said, “It’s a very long letter to read now.” She opened the second letter. “This one is from Charles & Colvard. It’s short and sweet and says: ‘We struggle for producing the world’s most brilliant gem, and you struggle for defending the world’s most valuable rights.’’ Amidst a storm of applause, Adinda turned to Jack and said, “For sure, I’ve got to give the entire credit to Mr. Jack Abd Al Karem. He’s the brave man who challenged his fear and partnered to establish the magazine. He invested well in the magazine and dedicated his time to make The Voice heard.” Then she turned to Jack. “One more thing to say: You’re the man who makes things happen.” Amidst another storm of applause, Jack got closer to the mic, saying, “And there is still a wish I hope I turn into reality.” Then he went down on one knee and presented Adinda with a moissanite engagement ring: “Will you marry me?”

Adinda’s jaw dropped open. “Yes, yes….”

“And we will be together forever.”

“Forever.”

“And we will keep struggling together.”

“We’ll keep struggling to defend people’s right to a decent and brilliant life.”

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Ayman Baroudi

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