Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Vision in Red

"Children understand things we've forgotten how to understand. They haven't learned yet to explain away what they see." Yasmin set down the photograph. "Khalid is eight now. He visits Al-Shahid sometimes, when the clinic is quiet. He talks to him. Tells him about his day, about school, about ordinary things. I think it helps. Both of them."

"You said he's different from the new ones," Amal said. "Different how?"

"He doesn't grow. The newer watchers—the ones appearing now—they're changing. Getting stronger. More present. But Al-Shahid has been the same for as long as I've known him. I think it's because I've been..." She hesitated. "Because I've been speaking to him."

"Speaking to him?"

Yasmin crossed to the table and picked up a worn notebook. "Every night before I leave the clinic, I come down here and read to him. Names, mostly. Names of people who died in the original massacre, when I can find them. Names of people who've died since. Names of children from the clinic. I read them aloud, and I tell him that I remember. That someone remembers."

"Does it work?"

"I don't know. He doesn't respond. He doesn't move or speak or acknowledge me in any way. But the new watchers—the ones that have appeared since I started doing this—they seem to avoid this building. They gather outside, but they don't come in. It's as if..." She trailed off.

"As if what?"

"As if the act of remembering creates some kind of barrier. Some kind of protection." Yasmin set down the notebook and met Amal's eyes. "I don't understand the rules yet. I don't think anyone does. But the children seem to know instinctively. They keep lists of names. They recite them. They're fighting back the only way they can —by refusing to forget."

Before Amal could respond, a sound came from above —footsteps on the stairs, quick and urgent. A moment later, the young woman in the white coat appeared at the bottom of the steps, out of breath.

"Dr. Yasmin. There's a child asking for you. He says it's important. He says he saw one being born."

The boy was small, maybe four years old, with enormous dark eyes and a faded blue shirt that was too big for him. He sat on the floor of the waiting room with a piece of paper in his lap, drawing with intense concentration.

When Yasmin and Amal approached, he looked up.

"You're the doctor who knows about them," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I am." Yasmin knelt beside him. "What's your name?"

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