Malick's first memory of his uncle was during the big earthquake of 1999.
He was six years old; the whole building shook, but like the child he was, he laughed until his uncle ran up the stairs, carried him and his sister out, and held them under the safest spot in the house.
The second memory, however, defined Malick’s childhood.
One night, his uncle picked up Malick and his brother.
We are going to see a movie at a summer cinema," he said. "You can eat whatever you want during the movie."
Every kid’s dream, right?
The movie was Pokemon: The First Movie.
Malick loved his uncle, who was charming, funny, and had this rare vibe of someone who could win you over in one interaction, with huge eyes as blue as the sea.
But around age 16, Malick learned about his uncle’s past. There were signs, some quite obvious, like the marks on his legs. He once asked his father about them, but his father said, “You should ask your uncle about it.”
Malick learned the story from the truck driver of his family business. His uncle had been an addict until he underwent a special treatment in Russia.
In this therapy, they alter your brain so that if you take the substance—which street people call “Zita” and a dead rapper calls “the golden desert"—again within the next 20 years, you die.
They test this by administering it three times and reviving you each time.
He had "died" three times before he truly passed away.
However, for Malick, the uncle became dead to him a few years later.
Malick was 10 minutes late for the evening shift at the family store, delayed by an argument with Sandybell over a stupid issue.
When he entered the shop, he saw his mother in her usual spot behind the office, but something was off. He came close and saw the bruises and tears.
His uncle had just left after severely beating her over a financial disagreement.
Malick never told Sandybell that her argument prevented him from intervening. Perhaps it was for the best, as God knows what would have happened if he had stepped in during the beating.
2 sins in one evening, probably.
But he was angry, very angry although didn’t know what to do.
The night came
Malick heard the store’s alarm.
His uncle had returned to steal money and a PC.
Malick’s heart rate went off the roof, and he froze for minutes, until he heard the police.
He went downstairs, passed in front of 8 cops, and faced his uncle. Uncle started walking towards Malick, moving his mouth, trying to say something, but no word came out.
Unable to even stand the eye contact, Malick turned away.
His parents came into the store, and his father argued with his uncle but the uncle was laughing.
He turned to the cops and said: Let’s go.
He received a suspended sentence and walked free.
As time passed, every family member seemed to forgive him, at least superficially. Even his mother once told Malick that during the beating, his uncle remembered she had had cancer surgery on the right side of her head, so he only hit her on the left.
“You are just being blind; he’s right-handed, that’s all.” Malick responded.
His image of his uncle was shattered not only by the beating but also when he learned that his uncle was dealing the same substance, Zita, to others.
The irony: his uncle once told his grandma with pride that he would never sell to others what made him “sick.”
“Counting the pennies, you wonder how you fell so low; it’s not a coincidence they call them tough”
Despite their infrequent encounters, Malick never spoke to him again.
Every time he would just stare into his eyes and walk past him without saying a word.
Two years later, the uncle was diagnosed with cancer. The battle didn’t last long.
One day, Malick’s younger brother drove the uncle and their grandma to a hospital.
He never made it out alive.
Malick didn’t really want to go to the funeral, but he did it for his mother.
Over 200 people showed up. The coffin was open, and as the ceremony concluded, he passed by it and gave his uncle one last look. He looked so serene and beautiful.
Then, a sob rose in his throat, but he choked it back and stepped outside.
The night came
Malick lit a blunt and replayed all his happy shared memories with his uncle.
And then, he made peace with him.
It's easier to forgive the dead because they no longer appear before your eyes, reminding you of the pain their existence caused.
But what makes forgiveness difficult from a contextual perspective?
Is it the actions we believe we would never commit, or the fear that, deep down, we might end up committing them?
I'm not sure if that matters.
But I am certain it's harder to forgive ourselves because of the standards we set and because our own existence constantly reminds us of the pain we've inflicted on ourselves.
"I've tried so many times, there's no salvation," he said.
"There is salvation, as long as you want it, from D, from exile, from everything. You just need to want it," the other replied.
"I do want it, my brother, but I can't. Wanting is one thing, being able to is another."
"You're going to die!"
"I know..."
"You think you know your bad times, you know nothing!
We'll both make it out alive, I swear, I'll make things right.
Do you think I'd leave you like this? Split by pride?
I'll give everything to see you back on your feet,
To count our hearts, to find our limits,
Together!
