A Hollowing Pursuit

Diana Haidar

 

Part One

Lying in the fetal position in her bunk bed, she raises her hand and gently pats herself on the chest with her fingertips. This motion, for some reason, managed to calm her down whenever she felt overwhelmed by the outside world. The sound of her heart hammering in her ear drowned out all other sounds of her surroundings. “Tonight is the Night,” she murmured, trying to will herself to do something that had long been a far-fetched dream. Something reserved only for her vivid imagination, during the long hours she stole dwelling in her own world, trying to separate herself from her own reality.

She raises her head an inch or so from her pillow and examines the room. It appeared as gloomy as ever, save for a single stream of moonlight illuminating the shabby bunk beds aligned on either side.

Glancing around, she tries to scan every visible part of the room, looking for any sign of movement. Instead, chests rose and fell in a steady rhythm. “Everyone appears to be fast asleep,” she announces to herself, which marks the beginning of a very long night ahead.

She spent months devising the plan for her escape. Still, the one thing she hadn’t taken into account was her body’s unwillingness to cooperate once the long-awaited moment had finally arrived. She was no stranger to fear. On the contrary, fear might have been the only constant in her life. She had learned to live with it and, at times, even found solace in her ability to feel something other than the suffocating hollowness that engulfed her most of her waking life.

This is not the case tonight, however, for every part of her body seemed to protest as she carefully pushed herself out of bed. Her hands and feet shook vigorously, and as soon as her feet touched the ground, she felt a violent shiver travel up her spine. It felt like her entire body was aware of the danger she was about to thrust herself into. That the mere idea of trying to leave this place was a threat to her very own existence, but nothing could dissuade her now. Having turned eighteen last week, what she once considered a distant future shrouded in mystery had finally caught up. Despite the fact that she had no idea what path her life would take, she knew it would be more miserable if such a thing was even possible.

Part Two 

The orphanage was a two-story building that stood adjacent to the village church. Its grayish stone walls bore the signs of having withstood decades of seasonal changes, yet remained solid and immovable. It was initially constructed to accommodate worshippers and pilgrims who once roamed Syria and the Levant, traveling between cities and villages to visit churches and other sites associated with apostles and Christian saints. Thus, what is now considered an orphanage, served once as a shelter for those whose quest to find God had led them to the small Christian village straddling the western foothills of the Hauran Mountain, which stretches across parts of southern Syria.

The large rooms on the second floor, which had previously been used to accommodate worshippers, were repurposed to function as the sleeping quarters for the orphanage’s children, and no additional changes were made to the building after its conversion. With an interior layout similar to the church, and its northern wing overlooking the church’s graveyard, an outsider might deem this place “too grim” for children to inhabit. Little did people know that the gloomy air emanating from the building had nothing to do with décor or the hundreds of bodies resting peacefully beneath its grounds.

Before the events of 2006, this place was what one would typically expect of an orphanage run by a church in a small ordinary village. Nuns were in charge of every aspect of the children’s lives, from attending to their everyday needs to their education and upbringing. The village was a tight-knit community where everyone knew each other, and many locals would often visit the orphanage after Sunday mass to lend a helping hand. Life in the village was exceptionally monotonous, almost bordering on boredom.

Nonetheless, a shift in the atmosphere began to take place during the months leading up to 2006, when the area witnessed a significant increase in tit-for-tat kidnappings between the governorates of Daraa and Al Swaida, which eventually led to a full-fledged tribal war between their towns. Much to the relief of its residents, the village was situated to the south of both governorates and was never exposed to armed conflict. With the exception of occasional supply shortages caused by the locals’ inability to trade with neighboring marketplaces, life in the village was still as ordinary as ever.

The continuous combat, which had been going on for more than a month and was taking place close to the country’s southern borders, began to pose a severe threat to the regime’s grip over the area. The regime’s most preferred course of action in this, and many prior similar cases, had been to use military intervention. So, to no one’s surprise, people woke up one morning to heavily armed troops surrounding the outskirts of their towns. The operation succeeded in restoring control of the area in a matter of hours, forcing a ceasefire, capturing hundreds, and stripping away all weapons the soldiers could lay their hands on.

Following these events, a menacing yet subtle shift in power started to creep through the southern region. Several government and security-related institutions emerged across towns and cities, typically in difficult-to-reach or secluded locations.

A building associated with the public sector could perhaps go unnoticed by the inhabitants of larger cities. The hustle and bustle of everyday life doesn’t usually allow the chance for a passerby to pause and contemplate the purpose and function of such an establishment. This was not the case in a small, isolated village, where the arrival of one stranger could spark curiosity and gossip among locals for several days.

Locals referred to it as White Coats Week, during which several strange faces started arriving and residing in the village. This coincided with the erection of a new building located at the far edge of the town, not far from the church. The building was heavily protected, with a high fence surrounding the premises and a few narrow windows scattered across its walls. Speculation and theories began to spread, but to the local’s dismay, the only answer they could obtain was that the building was a “security facility” – an explanation that never satisfied the people’s growing curiosity.

Most of the strangers bore similar characteristics that can be summed up in one word: “unsettling.” Many of them wore glasses and had a pale complexion that suggested their skin hadn’t seen the light of day for years. They resided in the facility but were seen to spend most of their day in the orphanage itself, dressed in long white coats.

Another group, consisting of four or five individuals, was clearly hired for security and guarding purposes and had well-built bodies with long unkempt beards. Those were intimidating yet very intriguing to the eyes that followed them everywhere. They made a special effort to avoid interaction with the locals, save for when they occasionally ventured out into the village to purchase simple everyday necessities from the local supermarket. In those instances, they kept to themselves and gave the shortest possible responses to the locals’ constant inquiries. When asked about the nature of their profession, they were evidently instructed to state that they work with the government, which was more than enough to keep any further questions out of others’ prying minds.

The most prominent figure among them was Doctor Jubran, who stood apart from the rest as the person who would be taking over the orphanage and providing it with financial and administrative support. This was initially met with bewilderment and, in some cases, outright opposition by some locals, although it did not last long. Within the first few weeks of his stay, the locals’ suspicions and mistrust gave way to respect and admiration as Dr. Jubran adopted a more pleasant demeanor in his interactions with them. The way he conducted himself was regarded by many as courteous and well-mannered. His approval rating rose even further one Sunday morning when, having concluded Sunday mass, the priest officially introduced him as the new head of the church’s orphanage.

Upon being invited to the pulpit to say a few words following the introduction, the doctor gracefully climbed the stairs, grasped the podium, and delivered the most heart-warming speech ever heard at that church. He talked about the growing need to “provide those unfortunate children with a better environment and the chance to become active members of society by implementing advanced educational programs backed up by science and psychology.” He affectionately spoke of the children’s vital role as the country’s future generation and claimed responsibility for paving the way for their bright future.

From that point on, a darker history began to imprint itself, not in the pages of books, but in the minds and thoughts of these children. A past that had remained mostly unknown to the outside world.

The history of unrelenting physical and psychological abuse, disguised as the new Behavior Modification Program introduced by the doctor, was kept hidden inside the orphanage’s walls that were completely closed off from the outside world.

A noticeable change in staff also took place. The majority of the nuns were dismissed and replaced by the men in white coats known as caretakers. However, a few nuns remained to take care of the less desirable tasks, such as tending to a couple of infants and supervising daily chores around the orphanage. Among them, was Sister Sofia, who had previously served as Head Nun.

Part Three 

Placing her hand on the cold metal frame, she stoops down and reaches out for the bag she has hidden under the bed. She managed to retrieve it a couple of days earlier from its original hiding spot in the nook of her favorite pine tree that stands at the edge of the church’s cemetery. Of course, it’s not ideal for keeping her most valuable belongings safe from external elements, but the spot was secure enough to serve its purpose. The cemetery was located in the church’s backyard. It was relatively easy to reach – whenever she had the opportunity during her gardening chores – by slipping through a narrow gap in the fence hidden behind one of the tall bushes in the orphanage’s backyard, which is only accessible through the kitchen. It was also the furthest place possible from the caretakers’ persistent inspections and constant glares, which scrutinized her every move.

Here, in the orphanage, you were not supposed to have any possessions except for essential hygiene-related items. Being caught with anything that resembles a cherished commodity would entail a dreary week full of punishments and cause the item in question to be destroyed right in front of your eyes. Even the clothes you wear are referred to as no-image-clothing as they consist of bland colorless shirts and pants, forcing the wearer into a state of conformity.

After quickly retrieving her shoes and stuffing them hastily inside her bag, she stands up and presses the bag closer to her body as if she is trying to embrace it. She had never inherited anything from her biological parents, not even her father’s surname. According to one of the caretakers in the orphanage, she was discovered on the church’s doorstep back in 2003, wrapped in nothing but a blanket, with a note stating that she would be named Petra. The name never resonated with her, as she was rarely ever addressed by it.

Names tend to bestow a sense of individualism, which is highly frowned upon in the orphanage. You were generally ushered and called upon along with other children, and when it was necessary to address someone individually, the pronoun “you” was the most practical and straightforward choice.

Her possessions, therefore, consisted of various items that may otherwise be regarded as insignificant, but to her, they were her sole companions. She managed to steal the cotton bag itself a couple of years ago during one of her few excursions into the village to buy potatoes from a local farmer.

Children were not allowed to communicate with the outside world. They spent the majority of their lives confined to the orphanage’s grounds, with the exception of some rare instances where they earned the privilege of carrying out a couple of chores in the village, under the condition they exhibited excellent behavior and compliance.

During her journey to the farmer’s market, she was struck by a brilliant idea and promptly put it into action: She ripped one of the bag’s handles and requested an extra bag from the farmer, keeping the new one tucked safely inside her clothes upon arriving at the orphanage.

Petra’s bed was located on the right side of the room, second from the door. The one preceding hers was occupied by two girls. On the upper level was Sally, who appeared to be fast asleep with her mouth slightly opened, and on the bottom one Dolly, whose diminutive figure was facing the room’s door. She hadn’t made a single move for the last five minutes, so it was probably safe to assume that she had fallen asleep as well.

Petra starts walking towards the door, her bare feet moving slowly and deliberately on the cold stone floor, trying to stifle the sound of her heavy breathing. This was not the first time she had gotten out of bed to take a midnight stroll, but tonight’s plan would require her to descend to the orphanage’s ground floor and into the kitchen. A very ambitious and risky endeavor.

The current floor consists of seven rooms varying in size. The dormitories are located on the northern side of the building, where children are segregated by gender and age group. The location of Petra’s dorm played an essential role in her mischievous plan. Being close to the staircase was quite advantageous, except for the fact that the room opposite hers belonged to Caretaker Sofia.

She has almost reached the door when a feeling of something tugging on the back of her sleeve causes the blood in her veins to freeze. In one swift movement, she turns around, making an effort to hide the bag behind her back, only to be met with Dolly’s bright hazel eyes staring up at her. Petra lets out a muffled sigh as the blood proceeds to course through her body once more.

Dolly was much shorter than Petra. Her fragile figure and pale skin suggested signs of severe malnutrition. The long ginger hair was knotted in an elaborate braid that rested on her right shoulder, with a couple of curls escaping in every direction. Her eyes peered timidly from beneath the curly bangs that obscured her eyebrows.

“Where are you going?” she whispered, “To the bathroom, go back to sleep,” answered Petra.

She takes a quick glance from Petra’s hands, clearly concealing something behind her back, to her bare feet, before returning her gaze with her typical worried expression. “What are you holding? Where are your shoes?”

“Go back to bed before someone wakes up,” Petra repeats a little more sternly this time. Dolly flinches at the evident change in tone and gives Petra a sheepish look before moving obediently towards her bed.

Dolly was brought into the orphanage when she was six years old, following the death of her parents. On the morning of her arrival, Petra was called into the caretaker’s office to be informed that she would assume the role of Dolly’s big sister.

Newcomers are usually assigned an older child as their big brother or sister. This role entails guiding newcomers by explaining the rules of conduct, the weekly schedule for tasks and study hours, punishments, and any other details relating to life at the orphanage. Big brothers and sisters also had a degree of authority, and they were expected to report on the newcomers’ behavior and obedience. On the other hand, the little brother or sister was supposed to show the highest respect and refrain from speaking back to his or her elder counterpart.

These encounters were sometimes far from being friendly. An already traumatized big sister or brother would, in many cases, take much pleasure in exerting their superiority over the younger ones, even misleading them at times, causing the befuddled kid to commit a punishable act.

Petra never took advantage of such authority, however. She wasn’t too fond of other people, but she didn’t enjoy harming or inflicting suffering on others unless they had done something to earn it. Her attitude towards Dolly was adequately friendly, which consisted of easing her into accepting her new miserable life while trying to avoid forming a close connection.

The rules of conduct also prohibit forming close relations with others. Caretakers in white coats were always seen hovering around in rooms and hallways, monitoring the children’s every move and interaction while jotting down notes on their clipboards as if their lives depended on it. Interactions that lasted too long or resulted in laughter or even a slight smile were immediately reported and punished accordingly.

This particular rule was suitable for someone as reclusive as Petra, who preferred to stray away from the herd and delve into hours of daydreaming while carrying out various tedious chores around the place. Her time alone decreased after Dolly’s arrival, but she discovered, to her surprise, that she didn’t really mind the company. Despite being an easily intimidated and shy person, Dolly was highly perceptive. She gained some insight into Petra’s personality, made sure to respect her personal space, and avoided being overly intrusive.

Not wanting to waste valuable time, Petra heads towards the door and inspects both sides of the corridor. No one is around. The room opposite hers, occupied by Caretaker Sofia, a stern, hard-to-cross woman, has been empty for the past couple of days due to a family emergency, making tonight’s endeavor possible. Sofia usually stays up late with her door wide open, monitoring the hallway and the staircase. She wanders around, keeping an eye on the infirmary adjacent to her room.

Petra looks at the closed door opposite her in relief, turns right, and proceeds towards the staircase.

Part Four

Her mind tries to recall the page in her notebook where she had written her plan, reworking each step absentmindedly. “Notebook” is the term she uses, for lack of a better word, to describe the pack of rolling papers she managed to steal from Jamal, one of the guards, who happens to be on duty tonight. Over the past couple of months, she had made it her primary mission to track and record every detail concerning the guards’ habits and schedule.

Jamal, a fat middle-aged man who was clearly selected due to the lack of other candidates willing to take the job, was one of the four men recruited as guards in the orphanage and was considerably older than the others.

Petra, who slept in the room closest to the stairwell, could occasionally hear discussions and other noises on the ground floor. Something she had dreaded at first but found to be a blessing in disguise later, as much of tonight’s plan relied on the information she had gathered from overhearing the following conversation between Jamal and another guard a couple of weeks ago:

“What are you doing? The kitchen is off-limits… It should stay locked,” came the first man’s voice, whose hoarseness led Petra to conclude he was the newly hired guy.

“Can’t stay up if I don’t have a cup of coffee with my cigarette,” came the reply from Jamal as he juggled the keys and unlocked the kitchen door. He then added, “I’ll just be in here for a couple of minutes… I’ll lock it on the way out.”

“You can’t smoke inside. The Doctor has the nose of a wolfhound… He detected the smell hours after I had put it out … Mind you, I was smoking near the entrance, not even indoors!” protested the first.

“Relax… I smoke in the backyard,” replied Jamal before chuckling, “I like to sit on the bench and enjoy the beautiful scene.”

“The beautiful scene of tombstones?!” the other exclaimed.

“Death isn’t as awful as people make it out to be… Imagine how liberating it would be to fall asleep and never wake up again,” Jamal explained lightheartedly.

“That’s dark…,” the guard mumbles after a brief pause, having taken the opportunity to ruminate on the previous sentence. “I don’t know man, looking at it… it gives me the creeps, especially at night. It was such a relief to know that I would be stationed on the other side.”

“Don’t fear the dead, son. They can’t hurt you. Those who roam the earth arrogantly as if they own it, on the other hand… Those are the ones you should be wary of.”

Upon approaching the staircase, the smell of freshly brewed coffee came wafting through the air. This is it! The narrow time window during which she could descend the stairs, cross the hall and enter the backyard through the kitchen. She would hide behind one of the tall bushes a few steps away from the bench until the guard finished his cigarette and shut her out. It would then be easy to follow the usual path through the gap in the fence and into the cemetery.

There are no more minutes to spare. Petra wraps the bag’s string around her neck to maneuver easily and begins descending the steps one at a time, keeping both hands clasped firmly on the banister.

She gains a better view of the huge dining hall with each step. All of the lights were turned off, but the moonlight seeping through the entrance cast shadows from various objects scattered around the room, including the younger guard himself, who appeared to be marching back and forth near the far left entrance.

Two long dining tables stood in the middle of the hall, dividing the room horizontally, and beyond the tables lies her main destination: the kitchen. She could hear the older guard rummaging around in the kitchen cupboards. The powerful aroma flowing into the hall indicated that his cup of coffee was almost ready.

She crouches down and silently takes two wide steps to the far right end of the first table, her attention divided between the shifting shadow on the floor and the sounds echoing from the kitchen. She positions herself behind the back of the chair, which creates a barrier shielding her from the guard’s line of vision and allowing her to remain hidden in the shadows.

The sound of a spoon striking the cup’s sides suggested that the coffee was ready. She strains her ears and makes sure that the guard’s footsteps are heading away from the kitchen door before she makes the second move and leaps behind the far end of the second table.

She takes a moment to regain her balance and calm down. She places her hand on her chest. Since the beginning of the night, her hammering heart has been a hindrance. So much of her plan relied on the ability to detect and follow sounds, but she could feel her consciousness ebbing away with each loud pulse.

This last thought hadn’t finished forming in her head when a soft “Pssst” startles her, and she turns to look behind her.

For the second time that night, the sight of Dolly’s face staring back at her causes a sense of foreboding to pass through her. With her full attention directed toward what was in front of her, she had not looked behind and checked if she had been followed.

She places her finger on her mouth and beckons for Dolly to join her. Dolly shakes her head in protest and stays put. She curses under her breath in a fury. Time is of the essence. She doesn’t have any other choice. She casts a glimpse in the direction of the moving shadow and crawls back to Dolly. Once she reaches her, she immediately places her hand on Dolly’s head and lowers it, ensuring she is completely concealed behind the chair.

“What are you doing?” Dolly says in a strangled whisper.

“Why did you follow me?”

“I saw you turn right. That’s not where the bathroom is,”

“I know…” replies Petra with exasperation, “I am leaving this place.”

“They will kill you! You can’t leave!” Dolly interrupts with a squeak that is almost audible.

“Shhh… lower your voice! I can, and I will. Go back upstairs. I don‎‎’t have time. I have to keep going.”

“Please don’t go… Don’t leave me, please,” Dolly replies, her eyes showing her mounting fear.

This was supposed to be a solo mission. There isn’t enough room for anyone else. The scope of her plan goes as far as the cemetery’s gates. After that, she had to improvise as she faced her own bleak future. An additional person, especially someone like Dolly, could be considered a liability. Being responsible for herself is a gamble she was willing to take, but being in charge of someone else’s life is more than she had bargained for.

They’ve gotten this far, though. A couple more steps, and they would be out of here. Petra tries to make a quick decision. There is no more time to contemplate the consequences.

She looks at Dolly’s pleading face and makes up her mind.

“Come with me,” she says.

“Wha…I can’t… They would kill us! Where would we go?!”

“We’ll manage… I have just turned eighteen, and you will be eighteen in a few years. We’ll be transferred to another location, and who knows what kind of fresh hell is waiting for us out there. Come, Dolly, we’ve got to get moving before the guard returns.”

Dolly doesn’t reply.

“Come on! Don’t‎ ruin this for me!” Dolly shrinks, then nods reluctantly.

“All right, now follow my steps, and don’t make any noise. We have to get to the kitchen.”

Dolly nods once again as tears run down her cheeks.

“Don’t worry, I will be with you,” says Petra in a feeble attempt to soothe her.

Petra places her finger on her lips as a final warning before turning around and making the same move towards the second table. Once she settles down, she turns around to see Dolly’s trembling figure looking at her. Petra moves her body underneath the table to allow more space for Dolly to occupy and beckons for her once more.

Dolly places both her hands on the floor in an attempt to steady herself when it happens…

She had apparently leaned against one of the chairs surrounding the table. The sound of the chair’s leg scraping the floor echoes throughout the hall.

Both girls stare at each other, transfixed, when a voice comes from near the entrance, “Jamal?”

Dolly clasps both her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle a squeak. Her eyes are wide with terror. What color she had left in her cheeks quickly drained.

Panic-stricken, Petra’s body grows cold with dread. She feels a prickle in the back of her scalp, causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to rise. As she sees traces of the flashlight lingering behind Dolly, her mind goes blank, and she shrinks back in horror.

“Jamal, is that you?” the guard asks again, his voice growing louder. “Who’s there?!”

Without prior warning, a sudden and unexpected change spreads over Dolly’s face. As though seeing Petra huddled beneath the table had compelled her to make a difficult choice. The terrified expression has been replaced by one of determination. She gets up and walks away without giving Petra a second glance, drawing the guard’s attention to herself. She remains motionless until the flashlight illuminates her frail body.

“What are you doing here, you little filth!” exclaims the guard as he notices her. “Jamal, Come here!”

Jamal crosses the kitchen in what must have been less than two strides after hearing the guard shout. “What is this… What is she doing here?” he exclaims as his eyes fall on the scene before him.

“What do you think? She was trying to escape, of course!” replies the first, his voice trembling with delight.

“I… I was hungry,” Dolly replies, the sound coming from her throat indicating her state of utter terror.

“Yeah, sure… you lying little bitch.”

“Easy now…” Jamal interrupts him.

“What do we do with her?” replies the other, clearly irritated by Jamal’s interruption.

“Nothing, we’ll take her upstairs to the caretakers… It’s their responsibility.”

Dolly’s figure shrinks even more as she gets dragged unceremoniously up the stairs by two massive men flanking her on both sides. Her head lolling back and forth with every step, and she doesn’t look back.

Part Five 

Silence gradually envelops the place as the sound of their footsteps gets further away. She sits motionless, hunched beneath the table, having the entire floor to herself. Her mind is in a trance, deeply absorbed in the events that had just taken place, not being able to process how much time had passed.

Her body begins to move on its own, as if she is on autopilot. She crawls toward the door and rises to her feet.

She walks through the dining hall and into the kitchen, her gaze falling on the guard’s cup of coffee left untouched near the old-fashioned ceramic sink. The smell of fresh air and the evening breeze call her from the door leading to the backyard. A momentary rush of excitement passes through her, only to be replaced by the image of Dolly’s petrified face.

She thought that she did not care much for her, or anybody else for that matter. But why then does it feel like she is committing the most horrific act of betrayal? If she had learned anything at this dreadful place, it would be that everyone carries some kind of a shadow, and the more they try to suppress it, the darker it manifests itself. Nobody can be trusted, and there are no exceptions to this rule. The only way she could protect herself is to recline into her own shell, which is capable of fencing out any outsider, regardless of how well they could hide their shadow. This is a solitary journey. There isn’t enough room for one more passenger.

She turns right when she reaches the back door and sets out for the tall bush covering the cemetery and orphanage fence. She slips through the familiar gap in the wrought iron fence and emerges on the other side of the cemetery.

The cemetery is drenched in darkness. Petra lets the moonlight guide her away as she steps among the graves strewn across the grounds. She brushes her hand lightly against the heads of tombstones as she passes by. Some appeared to be quite recent, with engravings still carved deep into the stone and a bouquet placed on top, while others were forgotten, chipped away at the edges, slowly decaying.

“How liberating indeed to be among them,” she thought, Jamal’s words reverberating through her mind as she crossed the cemetery’s gates, “Each lying peacefully alone in their eternal chambers, oblivious to the woes of the living.” Her time will come one day, and she will be completely free, but first, she must embark on her hollow pursuit through the uncharted territory known as the outside world.