io9 is proud to present the fiction of SPEED OF LIGHT MAGAZINE. Once a month we feature a story from SPEED OF LIGHTIt’s the current problem. This month’s selection is “Inside the House of Wisdom” by Tamara Masri. Enjoy!
Inside the House of Wisdom
By Tamara Masri
This is the eighth floor of the Al-Ahli Memorial Library, my favorite place in the building. When the elevator door opens, it’s like entering a silent circle of glass. So, as we walk, I will whisper. People read, write, draw – it’s a beautiful place to work. I’m probably the luckiest librarian in the world.
Let’s start from the east side, which overlooks the city skyline. How many kites are in the air? I counted five. Now let’s go to the west side. The sweet colors of the sunset, mixed with the blue of the sea, remind me of Rukab ice cream. Look at those windsurfers zigzagging around the fishing boats. On the shore I see a girl washing a white horse.
Even though this room is a circle, the outside of the building looks like a spiral. A single propeller rising towards the sky was the architect’s inspiration. The project came to her in a dream: an angel told her to rebuild the House of Wisdom, the Great Library of Baghdad during the Abbasid era. The angel said that our dark times were over, the golden age had begun. And here we are.
Sixty years ago, during the dark times, this was a destroyed hospital. Many people lost their lives. No book or beautiful building will ever bring them back. This was built to honor their lives and all they sacrificed for our liberation.
Every day when I come to work, I have a morning ritual. See in the center of the room, where all the bigger books are? This is the “Oversize” section. I go directly to the Court Volumes; there are at least fifty of them. I choose one at random and read for a few minutes. I remember the names, the stories. Please.
Before continuing, you can go and see it.
***
INTERNATIONAL TRIBUNAL OF TRUTH AND JUSTICE; VOLUME FIVE
TRANSCRIPT OF THE PROCEDURE
JULY 10, 2034
Pages: 5900-5904
The Tribunal met, after a short break, for the afternoon session at 01.30.
MARSHALL OF THE COURT: The International Court for Truth and Justice is in session. The prosecution will now present exhibit no. 8090 as evidence against the defense. The exhibit describes a twenty-year-old medical record, dated April 23, 2024. The prosecution may now introduce exhibit 8090.
START OF REGISTRATION
This is Doctor Sufyan at the Bursh. The date is April 23, 2024. The time is 2:29 am. Patient 1090 was born about an hour ago. Vital parameters are good; slightly underweight, a week premature but other than that, I’m seeing a healthy baby girl. After this recording, the memory stick will be attached to the patient, placed under the identification tape on her chest. On the tape I wrote: “Daughter of martyr Sabreen al Sakani”. His father’s surname is Joudeh. The mother, along with the family, was killed in an air strike. Neighbors who brought the mother here say there are no known living relatives of the little girl. His father and three-year-old older sister were also killed. Even the extended family, but we are still waiting to see if the rescuers will be able to reach them.
This audio must be transcribed for the Ministry of Health. Send another copy to any organization working with the International Court. Take screenshots of each patient entry. Document everything.
Request that the following audio be given to the child when she is older.
Hello, daughter of Sabreen al Sakani. Your last name is Joudeh, but I don’t know your name. I am Doctor Sufyan, I delivered you today. I try to record a more personal message for as many patients as I can, but there usually isn’t time. Now there seems to be a lull in the explosions. I want to tell you everything I know about you, while I can.
We are on the shore under a white sheet. Below you is the sand, in front of you the sea. It’s cold outside, but you look warm while sleeping in your incubator. I can hear the waves and the sound of the generator you are connected to. You are covered in wires; you almost look like you’re from another planet. Under the round glass it seems to be in an illuminated space egg. You seem safe. Calm. I say this because I want you to know that these types of moments can exist.
Before you were born, I saw you as a little mound in your mother’s womb. She was already a martyr when she came to me, God rest her soul. There was a second when I thought about leaving you there, swimming in that warmth as long as possible, so that you could join her on the next journey. But I am a doctor and I have sworn to save you, no matter what. One day I hope you will understand.
Your birth was not really a birth, but like looking for treasure in an underwater shipwreck. Something calm spread through the room, as if it had been orchestrated. A journalist had a camera, maybe one day you will be able to see the footage. When I took you out of your mother you were blue, like a guppy still in the fish stage. Everything was silent, as if it were just you and me at the bottom of the sea. I didn’t think you’d survive. I have collected the remnants of the old world from your mouth. You waited. And then it happened. Your first breath. Little ribs started moving up and down in my palm like a wave. A nurse shouted, “Miracle!” That was the first word you heard. My hands were shaking. Your eyes were open.
Then I realized there was no one to feed you. I thought I had made a mistake; I never wanted you to suffer. But then the nurse found a new mother in another medical tent. Yesterday a relief package dropped from a helicopter fell through the ceiling of the church and landed on the mother’s leg. When I entered her tent, she was praying to the Virgin, begging her to keep her. He was so happy to feed you. I don’t know how long he’ll be able to do this. He’s also hungry.
Beyond the horizon of the Black Sea, I see a light on the water. I think it’s the aid dock that the United States says it wants to build. I don’t know how long it will take for food and medicine to arrive here; months have passed. I can’t bear the thought of hearing you cry for milk for days. What if I can’t feed you? I imagine taking you into your space egg, turning it into a little ship, and sending you into the water. Toward that light or back to heaven.
I don’t want to lie to you. I struggle with doubt, with weakness. I don’t know if bringing you into the world was the right thing to do. When you get older, if you’re mad at me, you can always call me. I am not your father but you can call me Ammo Sufyan and consider me an uncle. And if I’m not alive, you can call my three children. My two children. Najah and Lina. My third, Thawra, the youngest, was killed last month together with my wife Nadia. They went to get flour from the aid truck. The sniper shot Nadia in the leg and then anyone who tried to save her. That day I treated more than a hundred people. The hardest thing was my little girl.
May God rest in their souls, in the souls of your family, I’m crying now, I’m sorry. The journalist is still here with his camera. I will not allow the enemy to enjoy my pain to feed his wounds. We must have strength. We must have faith.
My brother Adnan was a surgeon at Al-Shifa Hospital. When they attacked the hospital a few months ago, Adnan didn’t want to leave his patients, he transferred them to another hospital. They tracked him down and took him to prison. We were told they killed him last week. I recorded the date of death as April 19, 2024. Four days ago I received a phone call. They said they were coming and I was next. But I can’t leave my patients. I can’t leave you.
I won’t leave you.
The explosions start again. I’ll have to finish, but there’s one last thing I want to tell you.
A family tree is made up of nasl and asl. Nasl is lineage, your genetic relationships, branches. Your mother’s branch is al-Sakani; your father’s is Joudeh. ASL is origin, it is what you come from, like the seed in the ground. It’s you and everything in front of you. The enemy can always cut your branches, he can also cut the trunk. But they will never be able to reach down and stop the seed from sprouting. They can’t change the beginning: the fact that you were here, the fact that you existed. When I hugged you, I felt neither fear nor hunger. You were a miracle. You were a victory.
END OF REGISTRATION
***
Inside the House of Wisdom, on the eighth floor of the library, just below the Helix Peak, is the Omega Point. According to the Abbasid angel who visited the architect in a dream, the Omega Point unifies the spiral of the helix: from the rubble of the Al-Ahli hospital below, through the volumes of the Court that line the stacks, up to the sky above. Here the architect chose to preserve evidence of the dark times: our history. That’s why I come here every morning. To remember the stories, the names. Pray. Sometimes I can almost hear them say: Yes, it’s possible.
About the author
Tamara Masri is a writer from Ramallah, Palestine. He studied anthropology at Tufts University and earned a master’s degree in evolutionary biology from Imperial College London. In 2024 he attended the Clarion Writers’ Workshop. His work has been featured in Hypocrite Reader, 3 Quarks Daily, and +972 Magazine.
Please visit SPEED OF LIGHT MAGAZINE to read more great science fiction and fantasy. This story first appeared in the December 2024 issue, which also features short stories by Melissa A Watkins, Lincoln Michel, Pat Murphy, Cressida Blake Roe, Adam-Troy Castro, David Anaxagoras, Gene Doucette and more. You can wait for this month’s content to be serialized online, or you can purchase the entire issue now in convenient ebook format for just $4.99, or subscribe to the ebook edition. Here.
Want more news on io9? Find out when to expect the latest news Wonder, Star WarsAND Star Trek versions, what are the prospects for the DC Universe at the cinema and on TVand everything you need to know about the future of Doctor who.
