Read Online Cinnamon by Emily Danby - Free Book Online Page B

fill it with cinnamon sticks. She would let the steam fill the air around her, breathing in and out in controlled breaths. When the water in the kettle had evaporated completely, she would refill it. Every time she started a new pot, she would place a transparent, gold-rimmed glass next to it; a glass unlike anything Aliyah had ever seen before. It was very rare, Hanan told her; it had been her great grandfather’s and she had drunk her tea from it since she was ten years old. Hanan recalled the little girl’s joy in sipping tea with her from the special glass. She struck her hand painfully against the porcelain floor, screaming:
    â€˜She’s not coming back!’

    â€˜I’m not going back!’
    Aliyah hit the heels of her shoes against the ground as she cursed Hanan using foul expressions. She imagined jumping on her from behind and slicing her with her knife, just as she had once done to the neighbourhood boys. ‘Fucking bitch... Fucking bitch,’ she heard her own voice croak, muttering the words into space.
    Opening her eyes, Aliyah stared into the horizon stretched out before her. The compact mansions were silent. The scent of the desert had a reinvigorating effect, but her bag was still heavy and her body had started to wane with fatigue. It had not been an ordinary night: the mistress and the master, the streak of light, ghosts of al-Raml and, to top it all off, there before her was her elder sister, carrying her along on her magic carpet, encouraging her to keep going.
    She felt a prickling sensation around her neck and remembered the gold chain, reaching out her hand to feel it. The necklace was a gift from Hanan. She could sell it, she thought – a reassuring idea. Then she would be able to take some things back for her brothers and sisters, and her mother too. After all, it wouldn’t be right to return after so many years without even a few sweets or some fruit. The tin-sheet room occupied Aliyah’s mind. Imaginings of her future in al-Raml took over her thoughts. But the visions were not alone; for a little while now another image – that of a closed window – had gnawed away at her mind.
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    Aliyah remembered how she and her siblings would trample on each other’s toes as they gathered full circle around a large aluminium dish on the floor, placed in the exact centre of the room. It was difficult to tell precisely whose fingers were reaching towards the bowl; hands scrambled chaotically, rising from the dish, before they delved into mouths so cavernous it seemed they would never get out. Huddled together, the children would push and shove. Sometimes they joked with each other, but usually they swore and hurled insults, while their mother watched over them from a corner of the room, keeping an eye out for any sign of one of her children attempting to push another. After the youngest brother was once pushed head-first into the bowl, the mother had grown cautious to avoid a repeat incident. The boy’s face had been covered with food and the rest of the dish had spilled onto the plastic mat, depriving the children of their dinner.
    When the time came to sleep, the siblings would lie close together in special formation, each huddling on the floor with their arms tucked in to leave enough space for another member of the family. In winter especially, Aliyah felt herself slotted snuggly between the others like spoons in a drawer. In summer things were different; the bitter cold turned to blazing heat and the sheets of tin making up the roof and walls roasted their flesh. To sleep, the family would spread themselves across the plastic mat on the floor, since in summer the sponge mattress burnt their backs and the insects living inside became an instrument of torture, with their incessant scurrying and constant drone. The noise of the bugs and the biting mosquitoes buzzing about their ears kept everybody from sleeping.
    Next to the sleep-stealing mosquitoes,