Read Online That Other Me by Maha Gargash - Free Book Online Page A

beggar girls, who have doubled in number as more cars pull in for juice or a light seduction that might lead to a sweet escapade.
    â€œI haven’t seen a fight for a long time.” Adel stuffs his mouth with three chunks of banana all in one go while keeping his eyes fixed on a scene that has suddenly grown chaotic. There is a constant stream of new arrivals. Some drive on, to try their luck again after a turn or two around the block. Others start parking closer to where we are. The ease I have been enjoying dissolves, and I suggest that we leave.
    â€œNow?”
    â€œYes, now,” I stammer. Feeling exposed, I pull my shayla lower over my forehead. “You know, move out of the way. I mean, look at all these people.” Although making space for others is the least of my cares, I dread the possibility that someone might see us. There are many excuses I can come up with for being there—taking a breakfrom studying; thirst—but who would bother to ask? Any person who might chance to recognize me would most likely choose the swiftest and most damning conclusion—and spread it. I become aware of my shoulders tightening as I imagine the scores of restless tongues: “I saw Mariam Al-Naseemy in a car with a boy.” That’s how it would bounce off the first tongue. “They were drinking juice and doing who knows what else.” That’s the tongue that would inject suspicion. “They were even holding hands.” And finally, fiction would be turned into truth, into a report that would inevitably reach the ears of the cultural attaché, who would not hesitate to inform Ammi Majed.
    â€œLook, look,” Adel says. A young man in a Toyota has flung a folded piece of paper out his open car window. We know it contains a telephone number, and perhaps a suggestion for a meeting somewhere private. The paper flies in a straight course but misses its target, bouncing off the hood of a maroon Fiat that has slowed to a halt just in front of us. Adel snorts with glee. “Hopeless, just hopeless.”
    I start fidgeting. “I have to get back, Adel. The sakan curfew will be in effect soon.”
    Adel sighs and looks down at his juice, and I think, Finally, he’ll get me out of this place . But then he dips his fingers into his glass and pulls out a soggy slice of mango. Holding it up to his face, he starts licking the juice that trickles down his hand. My mouth is a hoop, but no words come out. His movements are slow and deliberate, and when he turns to look at me he curls his lips into a half smile, paying no heed to the juice that sinks into his beard and dribbles down his wrist.
    What trick is this? I look away and start examining the smudges on the glass of my half-open window with a compulsion that feels silly. “I need to get back,” I mumble. “I can’t have people seeing me in the middle of this pickup place.”
    â€œThis is too much!” he shouts, and drums the steering wheel with his hands. I wince and look back at him, to find he’s reacting not to my request but to another note that has fallen short of its target. “Theymiss again,” Adel says. “And they actually took the time to fold their paper into the shape of a boat. Hah! ”
    The note has rolled somewhere beneath the car, and the interested boys direct one of the beggars to fetch it. She scrambles under the car, and once she retrieves it, the boys call out, “Give it to her, Asma.” Asma starts to hand it to the driver of the Fiat. But the boys wave their arms with exasperation. “Not her, Asma, the other one.”
    â€œCan you believe these guys?”
    I click my tongue. “What rudeness! That poor woman driving; she must feel horrible. She won’t be able to face them out of embarrassment.”
    Embarrassment does not rob the driver of her voice. “Shame on you!” she hollers at the boys. “How would you like it if someone did that