Read Online I Sweep the Sun Off Rooftops by Hanan al-Shaykh - Free Book Online

had she not gone to his house before, when Souad was ill, and almost dragged him out of bed?
    Ingrid had been on her second visit to the village, invited by Souad, whom she had just met. Souad’s warm smile and overwhelming generosity had been hard to resist, but she was also encouraged by the fact that Souad’s husband was away in Saudi Arabia at the time. As soon as she got out of the car, which had brought her all the way from Sanaa, the children crowded around her, repeating Souad’s name. She nodded her head, smiling with pleasure at the welcome. She didn’t pick up on the anxiety and tension in the words and faces, nor understand what it meant when a woman came running and pointing to Souad’s house and repeating Souad’s name within earshot of the driver of the foreign mission’s car. But neither Ingrid nor the driver understood and Ingrid took it to be a further expression of welcome, until she finally went into Souad’s house and found her in bed under piles of her own and the neighbors’ clothes, although at that time of year the heat rose up andhit you, even from the cracks in the walls. Souad wasn’t moving except to throw up helplessly, having given up hope of controlling her diarrhea. Ingrid understood from the women who were sitting dejectedly around her, taking turns putting hot vinegar poultices on her forehead, that she had been like this for several days. Ingrid hurried out onto the porch and saw the mission car disappearing down the winding mountain road, reduced to the size of a small insect. She looked around her, unable to believe that there was nothing she could do but sit there like the grim-faced women around Souad. She went inside and asked if there was a telephone anywhere nearby, then went back outside and looked in despair and disbelief at the emptiness, overcome by a feeling of loathing for this silent countryside. Suddenly she noticed a car parked down the valley beside a house. She stared hard and rubbed her eyes, as they say in stories. She rushed back in, gesturing toward the car, praying that they wouldn’t tell her it had broken down. The women gathered around her and began shaking their heads disapprovingly, and one of them spat on the floor. Finally Ingrid understood that the car belonged to Mahyoub, Souad’s brother. She tried to find out why nobody had thought of turning to him for help, but was irritated by them talking all at once in loud voices and beating their breasts, and hurried out to find some children to go and fetch him.
    Ingrid imagined that Mahyoub would come rushingover, but the children returned, saying he was asleep and didn’t want to wake up. Ingrid flushed bright red and, seething with rage, she was off, almost hurling herself down the mountainside, slipping and sliding over the rocks and stones, surrounded by children whose shouting made the women they passed look up from their baking or washing.
    She found herself in the middle of a room made bright with cheap rugs on the walls and floor, curtains at the windows and cushions and backrests around the sides. One huddled mass of color moved and sat up. She told him in English that Souad was nearly dying of dehydration and that they must get her to the hospital.
    She couldn’t believe the cool indifference in his voice. He told her that Souad wasn’t strong enough to walk and that it would be difficult to carry her down in her condition as her house had been built at the top of the mountain and it was a fair climb to reach it. Ingrid wondered if he was still half asleep, or didn’t understand the gravity of his sister’s condition. She explained the position to him slowly and deliberately, and Mahyoub repeated what he had already said to her, also slowly and deliberately, and was clearly wide awake.
    “What will you tell her husband if your sister dies?” shouted Ingrid. “How will you be able to show your face around here? What will you say to people? ‘My sister’shouse was on top of the