His father had returned to exact revenge for the breaking of his chair.
Sami awoke to a loud noise that tore sleep from his chest. The sound was sharp, accompanied by a ringing that made him sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes still half-closed, peering towards the window.
Dawn was still far off.
The sharp ringing repeated, like a church bell crashing onto a priest's head. But they were not Christians, and they had no bells save the one at the door… and the doorbell's chime was thinner, like the clang of a copper pot…
Sami rubbed his eyes with his fist and yawned.
But their neighbour had stopped banging pots since his father landed a knockout punch.
A knockout!
Like a judge striking a gavel on a marble table.
But the marble was in the parlour, and the sound came from the kitchen. Their kitchen had ceramic tiles. Unless… unless the ceramic had turned to marble in the night!
Sami shook his head. Things didn't transform on their own except in One Thousand and One Nights. Or… or someone had brought marble!
Who would carry marble to a kitchen in the middle of the night?
A builder? No, builders slept at night.
A thief? But a thief would steal marble, not bring it!
Unless it was a generous thief.
Or… a foolish thief.
Like the thief who tried to rob them but was caught because he forgot to extinguish his lantern's wick. But times had changed, and people used electricity now.
A thief from the past?
An ancient thief carrying marble and striking it with a small hammer… like a dentist's hammer!
Sami's thoughts halted.
A dentist… from the past… striking marble… in his kitchen…
But why?
Perhaps searching for teeth?
Marble had become valuable—could he be trying to steal it?
Steal it…
"My father's ghost is fighting a mad dentist from the past trying to steal my marble teeth!"
Sami paused for a moment.
Then he lay back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
He really needed to stop reading One Thousand and One Nights…
His eyelids grew heavy, his breaths settling into calm, and he began to slip back towards sleep—when the same sound jolted him again.
Sami's eyes snapped open.
The kitchen.
His gaze darted instinctively to the nearby wooden staircase, where the leather-bound book with its worn cover lay, then to the kitchen itself, which had borne witness to hours of strange experiments. He glanced at the closed window, measuring the distance to the ground below.
Could he survive a jump? But what if it was merely a thief?
He sighed. He'd never forgive himself if he let a thief plunder his family's legacy.
Abandoning the idea of hiding beneath the blankets, he leapt up, only for his feet to tangle. He crashed to the floor, his blanket wrapping around him like a severed cocoon, the thud of his body echoing through the room.
With a single motion, he freed himself from the covers and listened intently. The sound from the kitchen had stopped. He swallowed hard, his throat heavy. Whatever was down there, it knew he was fully awake now.
Clutching the book to his chest, he hurried into the dark corridor, fumbling for a weapon. All he found was a long broom he'd meant to use for cleaning the attic.
What good would a broom do against a thief?
He wasn't his mother, with her martial mastery of the broom, and he doubted even her broom-wielding prowess could handle whatever was in the kitchen if it wasn't a thief. He suspected there was little difference between a broom and a rifle if the intruder wasn't human.
He studied the broom from top to bottom. Perhaps the broom his grandmother used to slay scorpions could banish demons?
He sighed again, steeled himself, and lifted it with a trembling hand, tiptoeing towards the kitchen.
Please, God, let it be a thief… Please, God, let it be a thief…
He paused, reconsidering.
Please, God, let it be an unarmed thief… Please…
He neared the kitchen door, holding the book before him like a shield and raising the broom in his other hand like a crude spear. He stole a sideways glance through the doorway, planning a surprise attack if an intruder was there. But his feet were angled towards the corridor, ready to flee at any moment if what lay inside wasn't… human.
A rat, gnawing at his hammer.
He blinked once… then twice.
No, his eyes weren't deceiving him.
It was a rat, truly.
A rat was trying to drag his hammer to some unknown destination, known only to God.
Fury ignited in his chest like a barrel of gunpowder.
This tiny creature, this wretched rat, was the source of all the terror that had nearly driven him to hurl himself from the window.
Humiliation washed over him, making him feel like a child play-acting a knight against neither thief nor demon.
All those preparations, all those escape plans—for a rat.
He dropped what he held, the broom clattering to the floor with a tremendous crack.
The rat leapt in fright, scrambling towards the old clay oven.
No, by God, you won't get away.
Sami yanked off his slipper and hurled it with such force he nearly toppled over. The slipper shot like a missile, grazing the rat and folding it in half. It let out a sharp squeal but quickly regained its footing and resumed its escape.
You won't get away that easily.
Sami tore off his other slipper and launched it with all his might. The creature dodged at the last second, and the slipper slammed into the floor, its impact booming through the silence. The terrified rat abruptly changed course, leaping onto the marble counter where knives and large spoons lay scattered. Its black eyes widened in panic as it tried to hide behind a clay pot.
That wasn't enough for Sami, who closed the distance between them in a flash, snatching the nearest slipper in his path and hurling it. But the rat leapt aside at the last moment, and the slipper crashed into an old metal tin on the shelf, sending black pepper exploding into the air like a dark cloud that seared his nose.
Sami coughed, struggling to see through the sudden storm. The rat seized its chance, darting towards the wooden shelves, clambering expertly over tins of spices and pulses. Lentils and wheat scattered from their wooden containers.
"No!" That was his food for the rest of the month.
Sami advanced with heavy steps, his breaths quickening. He looked up to see the rat scrambling towards the small ventilation window. In a desperate lunge, he grabbed a hanging kitchen towel and shook it violently, trying to knock the creature down.
The rat leapt at the critical moment, landing on the metal sink with a faint clatter. The chase became a frenzied dance around the sink, with the squeak of feet on ceramic and water droplets splashing from the old taps.
At last, Sami cornered the rat between the sink and the wall. The tiny creature trembled, its eyes brimming with terror, but Sami paid no heed to the eerie human-like expressions on its face. With nothing to strike it with, he lunged and seized it in an iron grip.
The rat's frail body writhed in his hand, its delicate bones palpable beneath his grasp. It struggled fiercely, its hind legs clawing wildly at Sami's palm. He strode towards the small window to rid himself of it forever, but as he prepared to fling it out, the rat sank its sharp teeth into his thumb.
"Ow!" Sami yelped in sudden pain, releasing the rat instinctively. Its tiny body sailed through the air, slamming into the opposite wall with force before dropping to the tiles.
Sami hurriedly pressed his bleeding wound with his other hand, sitting back and gasping from pain and shock. When he looked up to find the rat, he saw it hiding behind a table leg. It hadn't fled as he'd expected but was watching him with eyes that no longer conveyed only fear, but something else…
Was the rat challenging him?
They locked eyes for a long, tense silence, but the rat broke it first. Its gaze slowly shifted to the small hammer lying on the floor, then back to Sami.
Sami thought for a moment before rising and approaching slowly, his injured hand wrapped in a cloth. He bent towards the hammer, his eyes still fixed on the rat, which retreated in fear. Sami paused abruptly, whispering reassurances:
"Don't be afraid… I won't hurt you."
He moved his hand deliberately towards the hammer, his eyes watching the rat, which began to calm gradually. He noticed how its eyes tracked every movement of his hand.
"You want this hammer, don't you?" Sami whispered softly.
He began to wave the hammer lightly in the air, then stepped back, retreating instead of advancing. He crouched lower, making himself appear smaller to seem less threatening to the tiny creature.
"Look… I'm moving away… don't be afraid."
The rat stood still for a moment, its nose sniffing the air, its eyes never leaving the hammer. Then it began to move cautiously, taking small, halting steps, advancing and pausing as if testing Sami's intentions.
When the rat reached halfway between them, Sami gently placed the hammer on the floor and stepped back slowly, leaving enough distance between himself and the tool.
"It's yours…" he said calmly.
The rat stood still for a moment, gazing at the hammer, then looked at Sami, as if silently thanking him, before approaching the tool and bending over it, sniffing it with its tiny nose.
In a flash, with one swift motion, Sami grabbed a glass jar from the shelf behind him, which he had strategically neared during his calculated retreat. In a moment the rat didn't anticipate, he slammed the jar onto the floor, trapping the small creature beneath it.
"Got you!"
The rat thrashed inside the transparent jar, colliding with its glass walls in panic. Sami's eyes met the rat's terrified gaze through the glass, where he could now see every detail of the strange creature—its trembling whiskers, wide eyes, and fur that seemed to carry an age unfit for its small size.
Sami tapped his finger on the glass. "Time to talk, little one," he said, then added, turning away, "but first…"
He surveyed the chaos he'd caused: scattered food crumbs, upturned jars, and swirling dust. He sighed deeply, then dragged the rat's jar across the floor to another shelf of jars. He chose one filled with flour and placed it carefully atop the rat's jar as a makeshift lid.
He picked up the hammer again and approached the rat, which now watched him with wide eyes. "What were you planning to do with this hammer?" he asked with bitter sarcasm. "Eat it?"
To his surprise, the rat began to squeal hysterically, pointing both front paws behind Sami to the right. Its gestures were exaggerated, brimming with urgency.
Sami spun around quickly, staring in the direction the rat indicated. He saw only the cluttered counter, its tools strewn about. He began cataloguing the wreckage piece by piece: a broken plate, a twisted spoon, a knife dangling from the table's edge…
Then his eyes fell on the dislodged wooden plank he'd tried to fix with magic the previous night. He froze, staring at the wood, still detached from its place.
Could it be…?
He turned slowly back to the rat, this time with a serious question, as if truly expecting an answer. "Were you trying to fix it?"
The rat nodded?
It began to bob its head up and down in a distinctly human gesture.
Shock hit Sami like a runaway train, nearly knocking him to the floor.
A rat… nodding… its head.
He tried to process the information.
Failed.
Tried again.
Failed again.
He looked at his wounded hand, then at the chaos around him, then at the rat, which stared back, waiting.
He staggered back until he found himself sitting on his father's chair.
If his father were alive, he'd have laughed until he cried, seeing his son battling a rat with a broom in the middle of the night. Or perhaps he'd have helped.
Or… perhaps he'd have known what to do with this book.
The book that had mended the chair he now sat on with magic.
The magic that hadn't failed in its joyful hysteria but had betrayed him when aimed at the simple wooden plank.
"I haven't slept enough for this," he whispered to himself.
But curiosity—that wretched trait he'd inherited from his father—began to assert itself.
If the rat was this intelligent, then perhaps… perhaps last night's magic hadn't failed?
Perhaps it had worked in a way he hadn't understood?
Sami looked at the rat, ignoring the sheer strangeness of the situation. "Did you come out of that crack?" he asked, pointing to the crevice formed by the dislodged wooden plank.
The rat repeated the same gesture, nodding its head in agreement.
Sami sat, bewildered. Had his magical desire been directed at the rat because it was hiding behind the plank? But he was certain he'd pointed at the wood directly.
Why, then, had the plank been ignored, and the magic aimed at this rat instead?
He plunged into a desperate attempt to recall every detail of that moment, but exhaustion weighed on his eyelids, and his thoughts slipped from his grasp like fish. In the end, he surrendered, casting a final glance at the book before rising with heavy steps to fetch his lantern, ignoring the rat's persistent squeaking.
Stupid rat, thinking it could escape after what it had done to him.
When he returned, he placed the book on the table and opened it before lighting the lantern, watching its faint glow.
He sighed with regret. It seemed he'd spend the rest of the month relying on candles and the flickering electric light. Sitting slowly, he turned to the page for "desire" and began reading again, clinging to every letter and word.
But nothing. No hint of a mistake in the ritual.
Perhaps the error wasn't in the words?
He rubbed his head vigorously, a headache already coiling around his temples.
Perhaps it was in his own desire. The problem was, he couldn't recall exactly what he'd wished for in that critical moment.
Suddenly, he froze as an idea began to take shape in his mind.
He reread the phrase: "What you desired… let it desire me as I desired it."
Somehow, didn't the object of his desire need to understand his wish to fulfill it? Especially since the book warned against desiring what couldn't be achieved, which required precision in knowing the desire.
Wasn't that so?
With renewed determination and a fierce desire to unravel this mystery, he began flipping through the pages earnestly, his eyes searching for any word that might serve his new purpose.
His hand trembled as he turned the worn pages until his gaze settled on a new ritual titled "tawasol." But he quickly dismissed it, as it promised only connection, not understanding, and what puzzled him was that the ritual required… a radio?
After this, would he find rituals demanding vinyl records or cosmetics?
It hardly seemed consistent with the idea of ancient magical rites, but who was he to judge what was fitting or not?
He shook his head, trying to banish the night's wild thoughts, and refocused on his search. He continued turning the pages patiently until his breath caught, stopping abruptly at the word "fahm" in an unexpected moment.
Utterly unexpected…
Who was fooling? The book's author clearly hadn't tried to be clever.
The word wasn't exactly what he wanted—it granted understanding, not the ability to speak directly with rats—but it would do.
He hurriedly gathered items on the table: a half-filled glass of water, an old cloth, and a candle he searched for at length in drawers and shelves until he found it hidden behind a plate in the cupboard. Finally, a small cracked mirror with a wooden frame painted green, once his mother's.
He glanced at the rat, which watched him from the corner of the room, silent and still. Assured it wasn't moving, he began the steps, fully aware of the absurdity of his actions.
"If my grandmother could see me now…" He'd heard enough of her stories to know this was a bad idea, but he pressed on regardless.
He positioned the mirror to reflect the candle and the glass. He wet the cloth with water and wiped the mirror's frame three times slowly, whispering:
"Let the mouth open between me and it, let the water be its voice, and the spectre its face."
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes widening with growing focus. Suddenly, he felt the light dim slightly, as if a faint shadow veiled part of his image. He sighed and said "the rat" clearly.
He fell silent, waiting. There was no sound, but the candle's flame suddenly bent, as if brushed by an invisible breeze.
He waited longer.
Nothing…
Of course, nothing. What had he expected? To speak with… His reflection's pupil moved.
He was certain he hadn't looked away from the mirror.
He swallowed hard, his fear mounting as he saw his reflection fail to mimic him.
Could his grandmother have been right?
Suddenly, the still surface of the water in the glass rippled, and in sync, his reflection's mouth opened.
"Hello."
-------------------------
fahm/understanding:
"Make that which lies between you and your ignorance become what illuminates your insight."
Tools:
A small mirror, a candle, a glass of water, a cotton cloth.
Steps:
Choose the entity you wish to address, provided it has a material or symbolic trace in the place (a photograph, a mark, an object belonging to it).
Ensure the place you are in is quiet.
Position the mirror before you so that it reflects the candle and the glass.
Dampen the cotton cloth lightly with water and wipe the mirror's frame three times slowly.
As you wipe, say:
"Let the mouth open between me and it, let the water be its voice, and the spectre its face."
Gaze at your reflection in the mirror until you sense a subtle shift in the light, then speak the entity's name once clearly.
Do not speak afterward. Wait. The first sound, or movement in the flame, or sudden thought in your mind is its response.