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

to your sisters?” Although she is wearing a shayla, I can tell she is Egyptian from her accent.
    Little Asma is no older than five or six—too young to know what she should do. She clutches the boat-note with one hand and tugs at her dusty plaits with the other. “Go on,” the boys instruct her. “Hand the note to the girl in the passenger seat, the beautiful one, the princess.”
    â€œGo home and let your father teach you some manners,” cries the girl in the driver’s seat. “How would you like it if your mother . . .” The girl in the passenger seat, the princess, shushes her before she can go on. She turns her head to peek briefly at the boys. I crane my neck to get a better look, but her shayla covers her profile. I manage to pick out the tip of her nose and the glimmer of her pearly complexion. Her arm floats out the window. There is a subtle elegance in the way it moves. The wrist twists and the palm flattens. She holds it up like a mild-tempered policeman stopping traffic, a signal to the boys not to make a scene.
    There is no need. The boys are in a good humor, even when their note is refused. Asma cries out to them, “They say they don’t want to bebothered, that you should leave them alone.” The boys seem amused. The driver of the Toyota leans out the window and pounds his chest. “Now, why would you do that? Don’t you realize my heart is burning here?” He slips some money into Asma’s open hand and motions to her to go back and plead his case.
    Back by the Fiat, Asma says, “Take pity on him.” She mimics his stance with her fist glued to her ribcage. “His heart, God protect it, has burst into flames.” She takes note of the girls’ response and skips back to the Toyota. “The girl in the driving seat says you should drink a bottle of water to put it out.”
    â€œTell that big mouth that my messages are for the princess. You must make her understand that nothing can quench the fire in me.”
    And so it goes for the next few minutes, until the boys start sending songs. Once more, the mouthpiece is Asma. With a squeaky voice filled with the murmur of the lovesick, she sings of the boy’s burning desire in a melody she creates right then and there. The princess laughs, and this time she turns her head fully, flashing the boys a smile filled with the suggestion of intimacy. She really is beautiful. It’s Dalal!
    I know her actions are all in jest, but what does Adel think of her? I don’t dare look at him. “That’s it, let’s go.”
    â€œSoon.”
    â€œNo, now.”
    He raises his hands. “Remember the dying man’s last request?”
    â€œNo more requests, no more joking.” Stern, unsmiling, I stare ahead. “I have to get back to the sakan immediately.”

    Adel drops me off at a safe spot a few streets away from the sakan. Just as I open the door, he grins and says, “By the way, wasn’t that your cousin back there?” I don’t answer, just slam the door and forge ahead blindly without a thought spared for direction until I find myself lost,standing in front of a café I’ve never seen before. There are a few outdoor tables under an arching trellis covered with vines. It’s quiet and I pause for a moment, listening to the soothing gurgles of the shishas. I fix my sight on the smoke hovering in slowly dispersing clouds and touch my cheek with the same pressure that Adel had. Instead of smiling with the memory, I scowl.
    He was cool, curious, passionate, intense, playful, and unpredictable all in one evening, his mood flying in different directions like a leaf caught in a crazy wind. His behavior confuses me. Previously I had thought he was a sensitive man, but after he licked the mango juice in that suggestive way I don’t know what to make of him. He seemed to find pleasure in seeing me fidget and squirm. Why? The questions