The troubles continued to pile up on Jabr, each one heavier than the last. His thoughts of his debts grew like vines around his feet, and his attempts to move forward seemed only to tangle him further. There was a suffocating sense that he was sinking, that every effort to climb out of his predicament only brought him deeper into the mire. The words from Sunday’s sermon rang in his mind like an echo he couldn’t shake. He kept replaying the verses, searching them for a clue, a hidden promise he might have missed.
“Who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases.” The words were like a balm to some invisible wound. He knew he was forgiven; he had that assurance. But forgiveness didn’t heal the ache in his chest or the burden in his bones. It didn’t pay the bills or quiet the relentless voice in his head whispering that he was failing, that he had somehow missed his chance. What good was forgiveness when he still felt so broken, so far from whole?
He thought again about the next line: “redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion.” Yes, he believed in the redemption, the idea that somehow, in some unfathomable way, his life had been pulled from a pit deeper than any he could ever imagine. He believed it in his head, but his heart told a different story. He didn’t feel crowned with anything—certainly not with love or compassion. He felt exposed, like a man without armor, standing in the middle of a battlefield. Where was this crown? Where was this compassion that was supposed to cover him like a mantle?
And then there was that final verse: “who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” It was a beautiful promise, poetic and full of life, but it felt like a riddle he couldn’t solve. He wasn’t satisfied. He didn’t feel renewed or strengthened; he felt old, weary, like a man who had seen too many storms and had forgotten what it meant to fly. He understood the concept, that God was the one who satisfied, but he hadn’t experienced it. Not yet. He found himself waiting, convinced that if he waited long enough, God would step in and satisfy his desires, and then, finally, he would feel renewed.
He was lost in these thoughts when a knock at the door jolted him back to reality. He opened it to see the boy from the telegraph office standing there, fidgeting, his face a mix of impatience and duty.
“Come down and obtain your telegram,” the boy said, holding out a slip of paper with Jabr’s name on it.
“Why couldn’t you just bring the message up?” Jabr asked, irritation flaring in his chest. He was tired of the little inconveniences that seemed to punctuate every part of his life, tired of the interruptions.
“It’s the new policy,” the boy replied with a shrug. “You have to come to receive it. Something about privacy… too many foreigners around now, they say.”
Jabr muttered under his breath but followed the boy down to the office. His steps were heavy, weighed down by the fatigue of waiting for something—anything—to change.
But then, as he took the telegram from the clerk, the tension in his chest began to loosen. The news was unexpectedly good. His brother, Fadel, after a long absence, was returning from his voyage to the west coast of India. Jabr’s eyes scanned the brief message again, a small spark of hope kindling in his chest. By some odd coincidence—though was it really a coincidence? Fadel’s route mirrored the same one that had almost cost Dandy his life. Jabr could hardly believe the irony. This was more than just a piece of news; it was a lifeline.
Fadel’s return could mean so many things—a chance to talk, to share, to seek advice. And perhaps, just perhaps, an excuse to approach Dandy again, to mend what was broken, to find common ground after all this time. Maybe this was the beginning of something new. Maybe this was the start of the renewal he had been waiting for, the chance for his desires to finally align with something good, something real.
Fadel arrived three days later, his voyage both successful and lucrative. The old captain’s face was sunburnt, and his eyes had a new gleam — the look of a man who had conquered the seas and returned with the spoils. He brought back a load of teak, fine and sturdy, which was off-loaded in Kuwait for shipment by land north to Basra. His first task was to deliver a thick packet of deposits and receipts to the Bank of Kuwait, his movements purposeful and brisk. Fadel was a rich man now, but he carried his wealth with the same quiet dignity.
There was much healing to do between the two brothers. Their youth had been filled with clashes — bruises, broken furniture, and harsh words. Jabr remembered a particularly vicious fight in the kitchen that ended with the splintered remains of one of Janiah’s cherished chairs. She had first called him a “wild donkey” that day long ago, her voice a mix of exasperation and love. It stung then, but now it seemed almost fond.
Yet the real wounds lay deeper, centered around Fadel’s shining success as a sea captain, a path that Jabr had been forced onto by the family, much against his will and his natural aversion to the sea. Every journey had been a torture of seasickness and fear, a humiliation compounded by Fadel’s easy command of the waves. The obstacles between them were still there, buried under years of silence and separate lives. But they were brothers, and that stood above all.
As Fadel approached, the two men embraced, a little stiff at first, but then relaxing into the warmth of familiarity. Jabr felt an unexpected happiness, more than he had anticipated.
“I’m delighted you’re back from the sea,” Jabr began, his voice a little too bright. “I have much to tell you.” He launched into the news of Jomana and the coming child, letting himself linger on the joy of it, drawing out every detail — the way Jomana’s face had glowed, the plans they were making. Fadel listened with a broad grin, genuinely pleased. For a moment, it was as if nothing else mattered.
But then, Jabr’s smile faltered. He took a deep breath and began, “There’s something else… a confession.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’ve fallen into debt again. A giant debt.”
Fadel’s face darkened, his brows furrowing. “You mean you did this again? We’ve both been through this before, Jabr!” His voice was low but laced with frustration. “Do you remember the last time? How hard it was to pull you out?”
All the old memories flooded back — the late nights, the frantic negotiations, the shame, the travels to sort things out. Jabr nodded, unable to meet his brother’s gaze. For the rest of the afternoon, they sat in silence, the weight of the unsaid things between them hanging thick in the air.
At last, Jabr broke the tension, his voice soft. “We need to go to Ahmadi, to see Dandy and his family.”
The next morning, they climbed into Jabr’s Willys, the battered but dependable vehicle, and began the drive south. The engine growled beneath them as they passed the familiar landmarks of their youth. As they neared the oil depot Jabr had built, Fadel glanced at it and remarked, “There’s one good thing you did for Kuwait.”
Jabr managed a small smile. “Surely, there must have been others,” he muttered under his breath, half to himself.
Their drive was interrupted by a herd of camels crossing the road, driven by a small boy in a brown dishdasha, a big stick in his hand. The boy moved with calm authority, guiding the animals at his own pace. Jabr watched him and smiled. “Still the same old Kuwait. It’ll never change,” he said, with a touch of nostalgia.
Fadel raised an eyebrow. They pulled onto the Ahmadi KOC turnoff. “Some things do change,” he replied, nodding towards the rows of one-story Western-style houses springing up on either side of the road, some still under construction. “Maybe not always for the better.”
When they reached Dandy’s house, Dandy and his family were already outside to greet them. Bassema, noticeably pregnant again, beamed and waved, and the men shook hands. Fadel pulled Dandy into a firm hug. “There was a time when I didn’t think you’d make it,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Bassema, ever the gracious host, ushered them inside. “Come in, come in! You must be starving after that drive,” she said with a warm smile.
The table was set with a curious mix of dishes — sweetened iced tea, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, red beans and rice, and warm rolls. After a brief blessing, Dandy dug in with gusto, but Fadel and Jabr exchanged puzzled looks over the unusual meal.
Bassema noticed their hesitation and chuckled. “Well, how was that for a Texas woman’s hospitality?” she asked playfully.
Fadel smiled, though still a bit bewildered. “Amazing,” he replied, doing his best to sound convincing.
After a while, Fadel shifted the conversation toward Dandy’s apparent success. “There was a time when I didn’t think we’d see you again,” he said. “And when we finally did, I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
Dandy’s expression grew serious. “I did make it,” he said quietly. “But not all of us did. One of my shipmates, he made it back, but he’s finished. He can’t work anymore. Lives with his parents in Texas, broke and broken. Jabr’s shipping company didn’t provide any insurance or support. I understand the reasons, but still…” Jabr felt the sting.
Jabr looked down at his plate, moving the pie around with his fork. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more,” he murmured, barely audible.
A heavy silence fell over the room, each lost in their own thoughts. But Fadel, ever the man of action, broke it. “There must be something we can do. Could he learn another trade, something less physical?”
Dandy nodded. “He could, but he needs money. He has nothing.”
Fadel leaned forward, resolute. “My company can provide a stipend. Would $500 a month suffice?”
Dandy’s eyes widened, his fork clattering against his plate. “Yes, that would save him. I didn’t think it was possible.”
Fadel nodded, a smile creeping back onto his face. “Then it’s settled. The Lord has been good to me… too good.”
Jabr exhaled slowly, a weightlifting from his shoulders. It wasn’t everything, but it was something. A small piece of his guilt had been washed away, and for the first time in a long time, he felt the stirrings of hope. Could this be a small part of what it means to experience the satisfaction that only God could bring? Would this bring healing with Dandy?
In the car back to the city Jabr tried to figure out a high-powered way to say thank you to Fadel. His creativity failed him. Finally, “Fadel, thank you more than I can say. You helped me as much as the poor man I disabled.”