Four Crystal Balls

© 2013 by Mona Salem Rashed. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   12/04/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8216-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8217-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8218-4 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

The Promotion

The Journey

Are we really our ancestors? Are we a copy of our distant relatives that repeats their life and circumstances and luck and fortune just because we carry their genes?

This is a story of a therapist who faces many difficulties in life and love and work, with no apparent explanation until he finds a book on genetics.

It answers all the questions for him and unveils many mysteries through leading him to his far past and connecting him with his ancestors in a different way that not only amazes him, but also changes his luck, his life and his destiny.

The Promotion

Before going to sleep at night, Ghazi followed a ritual in bed. He would lay on his left side for a moment, take a deep breath, then turn to his right side and go to sleep. In the morning, he woke up like a tiger jumping on a gazelle or a monkey in an Indian forest.

This morning the physiotherapist was ready for the best. He learned from the Physiotherapy Department secretary, where he works, that the list of promotions and upgrades was at the head office, and soon all the staff would know who had been lucky enough to gain the promotion and money raise; there could be more than one. The keen, hardworking employee believed that he should be among the chosen people to get the reward. He had been working in the same ward in the same public hospital for eleven years; two of them were as a trainee in the final two years of his study in the School of Medicine, and the remaining nine years were as a full-time therapist at the department. With little time away from work in short, scarce vacations, he was known as the ideal workaholic physician and the loyal employee, but behind closed doors, many colleagues secretly called him the dumb-head, stupid mule.

Ghazi has an incomprehensible combination of a straight, serious personality, a bit shy and hesitant, with a low voice when talking of walloping emotions, mixed with a soft, hidden desire for love and romance. The handsome therapist had a deep belief inside that told him that one day he would meet the right woman, a beautiful, smart, and sophisticated person who would match him and spend the rest of her life with him. His strong commitment to work and noticeable endurance of the boring and changing work schedule pulled the eyes and focus of people away from his beautiful face. Most people took only a short time to draw a conclusion that his handsome looks just reflected dullness.

The very black and sleek hair reaching the back of his neck, combined with those charming dark brown eyes and full lips—even his beautifully arranged white teeth—did nothing to promote the tall, slim therapist in the eyes of those who worked with him. People were reluctant to spend more time with the therapist and find out more about his real personality. Although the thirty-one-year-old doctor was basically wise and polite, they thought they could read between the lines and analyze his character when they met him, whether they were work colleagues or merely patients.

Jamal Tarrak knew almost everything about his best friend’s personality and life outside this routine. They had been together more than seventeen years, ever since they were teenagers. He had lived his friend’s joy every time the therapist came to him describing a deep thrill about a woman he went out with on a date.

Ghazi lived two true love stories in his life, along with a few scattered crush periods. However, nothing moved forward. Either a story turned cold for a woman because the therapist could hardly find love words to kindle the romance, or a sudden crazy crush from a beautiful partner froze after she found another love or got bored of the slow-motion pace their relationship took. He would dream about the women and prepare all his words and acts of love to do with them, but when they met, he would retreat inside and act very collected. He would struggle hard to do something romantic and touching, but the endeavors usually ended in failure. He always wanted to touch them and enjoy some kisses, but respect and shyness controlled his demeanor.

Women murmured reluctantly at the beginning, then geared the grumble loudly into repeated complaints and objections against his behaviors. They would leave him perplexed and dispirited. He had an honest and faithful intention to please the other party and be happy himself, but things never went as he wished; his bashful nature blocked the way.

How many times he told his mother, with whom he lived, that there might be a happy event soon, something like marriage, but the stage curtain always fell down before the end of the show. The joyful approach he always presented to his mother made it hard for her to believe he really would end up with joy and delight. She prayed all day and night for her second son to settle and start a family. She was desperate to have one of her three sons get married.

Her eldest son, Yahya, moved for good to England many years ago after studying there. His visits to Jabriyah in the third governorate in Kuwait had become fewer and fewer by the years. She and his brothers and younger sister hadn’t seen him for two years straight. He used to call his mother and brother Ghazi every once in a while. Now with all the recent intelligent applications of free communication programs like Viber and Line and Tango, he could call anytime he wanted. He could also send them photos and videos through Instagram and video programs, all for free. His brothers, Ghazi and Fahad, bet that he had married there, whether an English girl or some other nationality, but their mom refused the idea, believing that her son would tell her news like this. Her other argument was that he didn’t have the money to get married.

Fahad, who was twenty-seven and an army officer, planned to marry the daughter of his father’s lifelong friend. They had been in love since they were young. When he finished high school and talked to his father about it, his father was more than happy to strengthen the friendship ties; he immediately asked his friend for the hand of his daughter to the boy. Just like black and white movies, the two families were happy to get closer. Layla, the fiancée, announced that she needed to finish college before getting married. The engagement did not last for only her four years of college, but for another five years due to many circumstances.

Mr. Hamed Abdulhadi, the father of the three men and their sister, passed away in the fourth year of the engagement, when the girl was in her senior year in college, which pushed the marriage a few months later.

Fahad’s strong commitment toward his army work and the missions he was commanded to take helped Fahad to get raises and recognition faster than other soldiers. This, without a doubt, allowed him to go on training courses outside the country for many weeks at a time. On the other hand, he would be secretly summoned to do a job, whether inside Kuwait or outside it. As secrecy is one of the most important aspects in the life of a soldier, he would never answer Layla when she asked him why he was traveling a lot or going to work when it wasn’t work time. He told everybody that he was an officer in the infantry force, but his brother Ghazi thought in his heart that his brother worked in army intelligence. Still, Ghazi never discussed the nature of his brother’s work in the army with him. After all, it was his life and work, and a major quality in Ghazi’s nature was that he never interfered with others’ business, even if it were his own sibling.

This year, however, Fahad asked for a two-month vacation from work in order to get married, not only because about five years had passed since he proposed to Layla but also because his mother, his fiancée, and her mother were nagging for the marriage. Fahad was enthusiastic to tie the knot with his fiancée and had just talked to his oldest brother, Yahya, asking him to attend the wedding next month. Yahya was overjoyed to hear the news and promised to come back home within fourteen days.

The four women involved in the wedding ceremony; his mother, his sister, his fiancé and his mother in law to be, whether linked by blood or by law, were occupied with the preparations.

Fahad’s sister, Mariam, a twenty-five-year-old math teacher, had consulted many of her friends about the best places for flowers, DJs, buffets, and most important, beauty salons. She was the kind of woman who paid great attention to small details; that was one of the reasons why she loved mathematics and decided to study it and teach it. She was a beautiful, slender woman, with a smaller nose than her brothers’. Like her three brothers, she had dark hair and dark brown eyes. Her sleek black hair always made people think she was Indian or Turkish or Iranian. She was none of the above; she was a real Kuwaiti, with real Arab ancestors, and she was always proud of that.

Many men liked her and approached her, but the notion of love and romance in her heart was very different from what they had. She had that classic notion of love, which comes all of a sudden from a man who has a knight’s manners and morals. Meeting a tall, good-looking man with a beautiful smile was a dream she would fancy all day long, at work, or even when she was driving. The dream man would look like her big brother Ghazi. She never admitted that to herself, but it was true. Still, she wanted him to have a different personality from her brother’s; she wanted him a brave man, loud and strong-minded, unlike her brother’s shy personality.

All the siblings had shy personalities, which were taken from both their father and mother. Fahad overcame his bashful nature due to the nature of his work and the dangerous encounters and hard training in the military environment.

Ghazi finished showering and shaving. He was dressing now, and had mixed expectations toward the promotion and the raise. He must be the second or the third or maybe the fourth name on the list. Surely he would not be the first name, for he had never been the first in any place or competition he joined—just as he was never number one in the heart of any woman he met. However, he sometimes came first in studying and competing and running and answering puzzles.

He locked his apartment door and shook it twice to make sure it was locked before he went to the car.

Tuesday was like any other day in Kuwait; the traffic was congested and nerve-racking. New model cars moved abreast with the old ones, which were few on the road. Kuwait passed a law a few years earlier concerning old cars; no car older than ten years was to be given police department approval to be relicensed and driven on the road. A few exceptions were issued for only certain cars—ones belonging to companies, to needy people, or to families and other cases decided by the police. The royal, glittering roads must keep their identity—clean roads, beautiful expensive cars, and glamorous people driving those cars.

Ghazi did not notice the time as his car slowly moved through the crazy traffic. His eyes were just lenses taking pictures of the scene around, with no comprehension or interpretation of the visions in his brain. His total concentration was on Galiah, his second love. She was a different girl in his life. They met when he was at the Civil Service Council to renew his civil identity. She was sitting on the women’s side waiting, and was holding her cell phone doing something, maybe sending messages to someone. He glanced at her and wondered if there was an empty place near to her. His eyes searching the area attracted her attention. She looked at him, and with a soft smile, she pointed at two empty seats in front of her, near a few men. He thanked her and sat on the second chair from her. She carried on with her work on the phone; he was thinking quickly what to do next; approach her and get to know her more, go back to the office to finish some papers or just return home and forget about everything?

He looked back at the crowd around him and saw that beautiful small woman and wished to start a conversation with her. Without a doubt, Galiah felt that kind of wish in her heart and knew that he was making an effort to talk to her; it was just a woman’s intuition. In an effort to help him, she stopped working in her mobile phone and put it in her purse; the action lit a candle of hope in his heart. She looked at her watch and then at the electronic display that tells the numbers of the people being served. It was 10:35 in the morning, and the number was 423.

It seems that I’ll have to wait longer. My number is 478, he said. His mind was working fast, wondering what her reaction would be, whether he had done the right thing. Would she ignore what he said?

She looked at him and spoke in a sure but soft voice; It is always like this. I guess there aren’t a lot of employees inside; that’s why the numbers up there take a long time to change.

He smiled, desperately looking for extra words to keep the conversation going, but vainly he searched. She turned back in the seat and took a breath, an action that allowed him to see her chest from the corner of his left eye. She had perfect measurements, and now he was determined to proceed with the wish of knowing her!

They heard voices from afar, like two or three people arguing. It seemed like some people were not happy about the slow rhythm of the work progress here. It was annoying, especially when the floor security guards rushed to the fiery spot; however, it was a good chance for the therapist to get entangled in the conversation. He raised his voice, objecting to some people who do not accept reality.

It was an idea that found no place in Galiah’s heart and mind. She thought they had the right to object, or at least to complain about any imperfection of work. They were citizens, and they had the right to be served fully and correctly.

He lowered his head, looking at a point on the floor in front of his shoes, thinking that she had a point, and that not everything in order was correct or acceptable. She stood up and went inside because it was her turn, which gave him a chance to gaze at her without anyone noticing. She was a full woman. He decided to make a move and approach her.

The best thing to do in the heart of an endless traffic jam is to think about a beautiful remote island, a romantic scene with someone you love, riding a horse on the beach or just yourself drinking passion fruit juice with beautiful girls with golden skin sitting around. The sunset is another wonderful scene on your list to watch. When dinnertime is near, the best choice is a seafood dinner with Spanish guitar music nearby.

The road opened a little, and cars poured like a waterfall coming down from a mountain. His car was only one among the countless numbers of cars on the way, and here he was, stopping at the traffic light again for the third time. Three minutes later, the light turned green, and he moved with the army of cars on the road. Twice he made sure that his car door was locked, and the other three doors as well when he reached the hospital at last.

He entered the building with swift steps and a heart beating a little more than usual. The expectations were escalating now, and a cloud of pessimism hit the dreams in between. The attack of a stereotype fear struck suddenly; he made space for it, but it got defeated strongly by the confidence and faith of his eligibility for the promotion and raise. He would accept no rejection simply because there was no place for it now.

As he marched to his office, the department secretary noticed him and called to him. An uneasy feeling slapped him like a gush of air rifling through his hair. He felt not only unhappy but also not ready for any bad news this day in particular. With papers in her hands and a pen of black ink in her right hand, she pointed the pen at him and said, Ghazi Hamed, the manager wants to talk to you!

About what? I am only waiting for one thing…

The raise list, I guess. It is why the manager wants to talk to you.

His eyes sparkled with a kind of ominous feeling. It was like Neptune rose from beneath the ocean and hit him with a spear. He nodded his head to her with no words and entered his office.

She figured that he got the message and would be following within minutes, so she went back to her business.

He felt something wrong was about to happen, a feeling he was not ready for and dreaded. He feared to face another disappointment, another collapse, another cold wave pulling him away from reaching the shore. Why do I feel so? Aren’t things going well, and I was chosen from the group? He thought to himself. But wait, why do I feel this way? I still don’t know about anything. Why don’t I wait and see? The sound of the phone ringing cut off the sea of thoughts, and he picked it up.

What distinguished Mr. Ibraheem Hilal was his brilliance in containing the other party with the utmost degree of patience and cheerful mood. No matter how wrong or unjust the case he was defending or attacking, he could win easily because he told people what they needed to hear, appeased them, and assured them that life was another phase of heaven. Some people called it straight hypocrisy and resented it. Others took it as the full cleverness of the guy; he was able to cross the river onto the other bank while keeping himself away from danger. The smile could be seen and heard through the handset of the telephone when Ghazi answered the call.

The manager started the call by asking his employee whether his brother Fahad was facing any troubles in the army, as he read in the newspaper that the recent threats from Iran were making a kind of upset inside the body of the Kuwaiti army. Ghazi, taken by surprise at the unexpected opening, denied anything of the like as far as he knew and heard from his brother. Actually, if the case were such, he would have heard from Fahad, but he hadn’t. Therefore, life was not as tight as the manager depicted.

Going back to the main subject, Ghazi said that he was waiting for something nice; he deserved the reward he had long waited for.

The manager replied at once, This year the list has no employee from our staff.

Ghazi did not believe the news. I know that at least three names from here were put up for nomination. They either had outstanding work or had already passed the period needed for getting the promotion.

The manager replied at once; it always surprised Ghazi how the manager could always reply. Ghazi didn’t get how this man could be so ready and reply instantly, always finding the words to fill in the gaps. Personally speaking, Ghazi, I think you should be on top of the list, and should be rewarded several times. You are doing great work. I can never find any negative points in your work.

So? What about now? Doesn’t that mean I should be on the list?

Yes, definitely! But unfortunately the budget this year is tight!

What does this mean, sir? The budget is tight? Here in Kuwait? And especially for hardworking people? You don’t give any value to the strong commitment to work?

The manager took a deep breath and tried to find words for the situation. For the first time since history ever remembered, the cool, easygoing boss was having trouble picking the right words for the occasion. Instead of talking, and for the sake of giving himself a chance to think, he posed that good old smile of his. You know, Ghazi, I think there is a mistake in the whole issue. I will check with the finance department once again and inform you what I find out.

And how long do you think you need to answer me back, sir?

The manager seemed not to be unhappy with the fire-back technique his keen employee was using. He had expected, however, that this plot would quench the subject for a few days or weeks until birds flew with their food and the workaholic therapist would forget and retreat back to his borders and take things as fate and divine decree. This time, however, the medical healer did not seem to accept things. Negative vibrations stretched through the telephone lines and reached the circumference of the manager and were about to explode everything. The manager’s office and his secretaries’ offices were in the target zone as well. Again for the first time, the manager,