Late Night Knocks

By Ahmad Alam

Its hard to believe its been a little over fifteen years since 9/11. My intention in writing this novel is to portray the trials and tribulations of an Arab American family in the aftermath of that fateful day.

The story focuses on the plight of Amira, whose husband is wrongfully taken away by the FBI. From the confusion-laden night when Ali (her husband) is detained to the various channels that Amira is forced to explore in order to bring him home, the novel looks into the details of the journey of this determined woman. In the process, Amira is compelled to rediscover herselfin the spiritual, psychological, social, and even financial spheres.

This book is dedicated to all that have tragically perished on 9/11. My heart also goes out to their families, who are not only grieving the loss of their loved ones but also had to initially witness on television the gruesome way they were murdered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524564469

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Hassan and Saila were in a deep sleep when the phone rang and woke them up. At first Hassan couldn’t tell what time of the night it was. He looked at the clock radio and found that it was three.

Sorry, Hassan, to wake you up late at this hour, but it’s an emergency, said Amira on the other line.

What is it? What is it? Hassan asked.

They came to our house and took Ali, said Amira between spurts of sobs.

Who took Ali? Hassan wanted some clarifications, as he still was trying to wake up.

They identified themselves as the FBI, replied Amira.

Let us come to your house, and then we’ll talk, okay? Hassan told Amira.

Amira was still shaking after she hung up the phone. Everything happened so fast that she was trying to figure out if all this actually happened or was she just having a bad dream. It was an ordinary night at the Khatib residence. Both of the boys Jameel and Jihad went to bed early on time as it was a weeknight. Even though Ali, too, had to wake up early, he never went to sleep until quite late at night. In fact, he would boast that he didn’t need more than three, four hours of sleep. Amira, being the supportive spouse she was, developed the habit of going to sleep late in order to give her husband company. They would either watch TV or read their books. Once in a while, the couple brought out the cards and played rummy for hours. That particular night, Amira was in the bathroom and Ali was catching up on his reading for work. They both missed hearing the calling bell. When Ali heard poundings on the door, he ran to it and asked who it was.

FBI. We wanted to talk to Ali Khatib, responded a male voice from the other side of the door.

Upon opening the door, Ali saw four men wearing boots and jackets with the initials FBI on them. Each one of them had a totally blank expression on their faces. The tallest of them all with dirty blond hair started to speak.

Are you Mr. Ali Khatib? asked the man in a thick southern accent.

Yes, I am.

Sir, you’ll have to come with us now.

When Amira heard voices, she came running and saw Ali being handcuffed.

What happened? Who are you, guys? What are you doing to my husband?

Ma’am, we cannot divulge anything right now. This is a national security issue.

Don’t you have to show us a warrant or at least your identification? pleaded Amira.

With that, all four men took out their badges and showed them to both Ali and Amira.

This is a huge mistake. I know my husband, and he has done absolutely nothing for him to be taken away like this. Who can I talk to? Why are you quiet? Please say something.

Ali seemed too shocked to even speak first, but as he was escorted away, he just told Amira not to worry and tell the boys not to worry either.

Hassan and Saila rushed out of the house. The October wind started to pick up. That night was even chillier than the usual Wisconsin cold. While driving to Amira and Ali’s house, Hassan began wondering about his own fate. Would Saila be the next one to call another friend to tell them what will have happened to him? What would they do if they were to take Hassan next? What would happen if he couldn’t get in touch with Saila and Sameer from wherever they would take him? How long would they hold him? For what would he be charged? Hassan never felt this fearful and uncertain of things before. All he kept thinking of was his family.

Sorry for troubling you this late at night! said Amira as she opened the door.

Please don’t say that, Amira. I know you and Ali would do the same for us, said Saila in a calm voice.

So, did they have any warrant against Ali? asked Hassan.

No. That’s why it really concerns me, replied Amira.

They cannot do that. Don’t they have to have an arrest warrant to pick someone up? interjected Saila.

As they now say, we have to see things in two ways—pre and post nine eleven, Ali tried to reason.

I don’t think there is anything to worry about, Amira. I’m sure he’ll be released, if not tomorrow, soon, said Saila as she gave Amira a hug.

I really hope so, said Amira with tears in her eyes.

CHAPTER 2

Ali Khatib had started working with Data Force Corporation three years earlier. The company’s stock went up 400 percent in just two years. It was definitely a boom time for all its employees. Ali not only started a college fund for his two teenage boys but also decided he’d take three weeks off the following month so that he and his family could go for a vacation in Jordan. He had bought a four-bedroom house a year earlier and was loving every moment of his financial bliss. He remembered going home one summer after completing a year on his first job and how his parents couldn’t wait to introduce him to a daughter of their very close friend. Her name was Amira, and she eventually became his wife.

Ali used to reminisce the first time Amira raised her head to take a look at her future husband. Her big greenish eyes stole the moment as it stood still for few seconds. Since that day, Ali couldn’t even imagine life without those eyes and that smile with the rare ability to reassure dark days that the light is right around the corner. Coming from a culture where open expressions of one’s love and appreciation towards others is relatively subdued, Ali always felt a tremendous sense of responsibility to make sure his sons were as openly expressive as possible. That’s one of the reasons Ali used to always remind his sons how special of a person their mother was.

Amira, being a woman coming from a male-dominated society, had to clear bigger hurdles in order to teach herself how to be more expressive with at least words when it came time for her to convey her love to her husband and sons. Amira used to tell her friends, after coming over to the United States, the most difficult thing she had to get adjusted to was having to bring her feelings out in the open. She first had to somehow learn to distance herself from some of the attributes she was exposed to while growing up in Jordan, like her belief that women were expected to be modest even when it came to talking about their family to others. Soon, however, she learned sharing what she actually felt about the accomplishments of her sons and husband to her friends was a justified way to feel good inside. In doing so, Amira opened the door for other women with similar background (surprisingly, there were quite a few of them in the community) not only to be more expressive but also, in general, to communicate better.

Right after they were married, both Ali and Amira were worried at first how much each would have to adjust for the other. Soon though, both realized how overrated that notion was and that complementing, rather than adjusting, was the key. That, of course, didn’t mean the couple didn’t have a fight or two trying to find the middle ground. In fact, Amira was more surprised to see some of her own traits come out the way they did than Ali’s peculiar ways in trying to make amends.

The two, with all their sometimes contrasting and often complementary ways, had been, for the most part, happily married the last fifteen years and were living the American dream in a small town called Champlin, about an hour west of Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Amira was a stay-at-home mom. She had always been there for her boys: Jameel, fourteen; and Jihad, twelve. Her life was centered around their daily activities and her husband’s needs. Amira had been trying desperately to keep some time just for herself but couldn’t get around it.

I really have to start walking one of these days, she reminded herself from time to time.

Their cat Jenny—a seven-year-old—ruled the house with her dragging feet and long, lazy purrs. She had such an independent disposition that even before Amira was done opening the can of cat food to put it in a cup, Jenny would try to grab the can and start eating right away.

The neighbors that lived on their right were Bob and Ann Gunderson with their twelve- and thirteen-year-old boy and girl named Calvin And Melissa. Melissa was definitely the outgoing one of the family. She was always the first one to say hi and the last one to go home after a summer barbeque with the Khatibs.

Dad, I really need to talk to you about something, Jameel stopped his dad when he was going upstairs.

Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning? his dad asked.

No, it can’t, replied Jameel.

Give me a minute. I have to go to the bathroom quick.

Tiny sweat drops kept multiplying on Jameel’s forehead. He was visibly nervous about something. He started pacing back and forth like there was no tomorrow for him.

Ok, I’m here. What’s the scoop? asked Ali.

I really don’t know how to say this, but I guess I have to… Jameel started to talk.

If you are not ready, you don’t have to tell me, Ali reassured his son.

I got a B-minus on my math test, Jameel finally let it out.

That’s not bad. There’ll be many more tests in the future—

Ali was cut short by Jameel, But, Dad, that’ll really mess up my GPA.

Well, son, as long as you tried your best… and besides, as I was trying to say earlier that your GPA is still great. Don’t worry, you’ll get lots of chances to recover.

I suppose, replied Jameel.

Jameel was the bookworm of the family. His parents still talked about his near addiction to Barnes & Noble since he was two. His brother Jihad, on the other hand, rejoiced at the notion of getting a B average and was more driven by challenges he faced in sports, so much so that his friends didn’t hesitate to call him a jock. He played basketball, baseball, and football and nearly excelled in all three.

If you don’t know they are brothers, you never would, their mother used to say that about them all the time. There wasn’t even any physical resemblance between the two. Jameel was tall and lanky, and had dark brown eyes. Jihad was stocky and muscular, with reddish hair and bluish green eyes. Initially, most girls’ first impression of Jihad was too favorable for Jameel to handle. But he had managed to cope with it; perhaps suppress was a better word to describe Jameel’s handling of emotional challenges.

Alright, kids, let’s get ready to visit Jordan, said Amira, who was not only addressing her two boys but also Ali. She often joked about how she had three kids, and that the younger two were easier to handle. Going back to her place of birth was always a pressure cooker for Amira, as she was the one who made the list of all the relatives for whom she would have to buy gifts.

CHAPTER 3

It was a bright and unusually warm morning for the residents of Champlin that day. Ali had woken up at around six and went about his usual routine of going to the gym, working out and then coming home and having breakfast with a hot cup of chai. Jameel and Jihad dragged themselves out of bed, like they did every day, and managed to get a bite or two that their mom had prepared, before catching the bus to school. Ali started reading the first page of the Daily Tribune when all of a sudden, his attention turned to their television set.

Breaking News! popped up on the huge screen.

We just found out that a plane had hit one of the twin towers in New York, the Channel 12 newscaster, Tim Ferigno, casually started the news.

They were showing live pictures of the World Trade Center with smoke hovering over on both sides of the south tower. Amira was sipping her coffee with her eyes glued to the television when the unthinkable happened.

Oh my God, Ali, look! cried out Amira.

They both watched in awed disbelief when another plane hit the other tower. Words, along with heartbeats, stopped completely for a few seconds, and those seconds seemed like eternity. The day that began so peacefully would soon have a totally new meaning. Nineteen self-destructive hijackers took over four planes and crashed them not only into the World Trade Center but also the Pentagon. One of the planes crashed on a field near Pittsburgh.

Pray to Allah this wasn’t carried out by Muslims, said Ali to Amira. He remembered when a Pan Am flight went down over New York a few years earlier, and the first finger was pointed toward Muslims. Ali was relieved when he found out that wasn’t the case then. But this time, even though the media was very careful coming to prejudged conclusions, the facts themselves were making it clear that this was done by none other than Muslims. Ali’s stomach couldn’t handle the news as he had to rush quite a few times to the bathroom and throw up. He couldn’t go to work that day. The day was spent focused just on the tube. Each and every airport in the entire country was closed. After a long silence, the first thing that came out of Amira’s mouth in the form of words was, Can we fly to Jordan next month? No one could answer her question. Jameel and Jihad had come home early as their classmates and teachers couldn’t stay out of the TV lounge area.

The image of the planes crashing into the buildings kept recurring on their shocked psyche. How could anyone do that when they knew so many innocent people were just starting out their day? The answers, one might never know. Ali always felt very close to God and couldn’t help but wonder how one could even come close to associate themselves with the Creator and yet have so much hate in their heart.

The following morning seemed even more surreal, with nothing but unbelievable thoughts of reality lurking around every breath. The nightmare of the planes destroying not only the lives of thousands of innocent people but also the spirit of the whole nation was too overwhelming to handle. With backlashes against Muslims and Arabs being reported almost hourly, the Khatib family had no choice but to reconsider their planned trip. They had a fear that it would turn out to be one way. They, however, also knew if they stayed back, it wouldn’t be necessarily safe either. After struggling with this for a few days, they decided not to go in hopes that the justice system in America would always come through, and so they really didn’t need to worry being in the US.

But soon after started a painful period of fear, self-consciousness, discrimination, and racism of significant magnitude. They were seeing law-abiding, America-loving, caring, and understanding Arab looking men being taken into custody, with their family frantically looking for them, without any clue as to their whereabouts.

The days did turn into weeks quite fast, but times weren’t getting any easier. No one could predict if things would get worse or better. Amira decided not to go out even for groceries. Ali first thought about shaving off his beard, but something kept him from doing it.

Mr. Khatib, I’m afraid I’ve some disturbing news for you, said Charles Gilbert, Jihad’s teacher.

What is it? asked Ali nervously.

Jihad was involved in a fight— Mr. Gilbert was interrupted as he started to talk.

But Jihad is not the type to fight.

I was going to say that he didn’t even raise a finger. He was attacked and beaten by two of his classmates during recess, Mr. Gilbert continued.

How is my son doing now?

He was taken to the hospital. He was knocked unconscious, replied Mr. Gilbert.

What? What are you saying? Ali’s voice started to quiver.

It’s Midway Hospital near downtown, said Mr. Gilbert softly.

What is it? asked Amira.

Jihad was involved in a fight, said Ali.

What are you saying? cried out Saila.

He was beaten up by two of his classmates, said Ali.

Amira dashed out to the car and shouted, Let’s go!

When they saw Jihad in the hospital, they were shocked. A big portion of his face was bandaged.

How are you doing, son? asked Ali, while Amira stood speechless.

I’m okay, said Jihad in a weak voice.

Why don’t you get better first and then we’ll talk? replied the pained father who was trying his utmost best to keep it together in front of his son.

Jihad nodded. Little by little, Amira regained her composure. She then gently started rubbing Jihad’s head.

I don’t know what’s going to happen, Amira, said Ali, while driving back home.

Have faith in God. He’ll show us the way, Amira tried to comfort Ali.

For the first time, the Khatib family seriously began contemplating the feasibility and practicality of living in the United States. Amira and Ali didn’t care much about what might happen to them, but when it came to their children, they just couldn’t compromise with their safety and well-being.

The school principal asked Ali and Amira if they wanted to press charges against the two boys who were responsible for Jihad’s injuries. In order to avoid further exposure and perhaps open up a whole new can of worms, they decided not to. Jihad did recover from his injuries in few days and was released.

The questions never stopped coming from Ali’s colleagues at work. Why do they hate us? was the most common one. Other questions were about Islam itself. They were really befuddled as to how a religion can propagate violence in such an inhumane manner. Ali’s reply was simple and yet detailed enough not to leave any stones unturned—Islam was not the problem; the