Read Online The Cry of the Dove: A Novel by Fadia Faqir - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Fadia Faqir
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sheep grazing and a vast plain covered with dew The smell of cut grass and open fires filled the air. It was my first sunrise in eight years. The morning light lit up the mountains and the plains. I wondered what my black goats would be doing now I turned my face towards the side window and saw the glittering lush green plain, which spread to the end of the horizon.
`The Beqaa Valley,' said Khairiyya.
Dew sparkled in the morning sun. I was free. With the end of my veil I wiped my wet face.
`I love the sound of running water,' I said while getting into Jim's old car.
Jim smiled and said, `So there is something you like after all.'
`Yes, the sound water, sage-flavoured tea and chocolate cream cakes.'
He laughed and said, `What a mixture!'
I noticed the waxy glow of his skin, his thin lips, his small ears.
`Sage tea? Yes. Do you drink a lot of herbal tea in your country?'
`Yes, camomile and sage and mint and thyme.'
`And do you grow these herbs?' he asked then took my hand.
My goats would be climbing the mountain, and I would be busy gathering herbs for my mother. I used to rebuke the goats if they ate the herb bushes. `Yes, we do. Camomile, sage and thyme grow everywhere.'
`I import them from Greece, dry and beautifully packed, to sell in my shop.'
His trousers had a generous, comfortable cut; his shoes were sensible. He parked his car opposite Sadiq's offlicence then looked at me about to say goodnight.
`Thank you,' I said in a trembling voice and grabbed the handle ready to get out.
`Your hair is amazing,' he said and touched it.
The warmth of his fingers ran down my hair all the way to the side of my face. I tightened my grip on the handle. The street looked cold and unreal in the dim orange glow of the street lights. My heart was thumping, my hands sweaty and my chin was quivering when I finally said, `Would you like cup of tea with sage?'
He ran his fingers through his hair, then down his ponytail, hesitated then switched off the lights of his car and said, `Yes'
It was not meant to be, but it happened. I inherited all Elizabeth's letters and diary. I forgot to give them to her niece so I became the holder of her Indian secrets.
My grandfather and my parents were invited to the Begum's wedding procession. It was siesta time and the reading room was dark and pleasantly cool. A hushed silence enveloped us apart from the buzzing of the odd fly. I climbed the wooden ladder and picked out one of my grandfather's forbidden books, which were normally kept on the top shelf. I put the book on the desk and it split open to this page:
`One day, while Shahriyar was out hunting, Shahzaman stayed in the palace feeling very depressed about his dead wife. He looked out at the garden and saw his brother's wife enter the garden with twenty slave girls, ten white and ten black. They undressed and turned out to be ten men and ten women, who proceeded to have sex together, while another slave, Masud, jumped down from a tree when the Queen called out, "Come, Master. " He pushed her against the tree, smothered her with embraces and kisses, then mounted her. The negroes and the slave girls followed suit, revelling together till the approach of night. Then they all got dressed as slave girls, except for Mas'ud who jumped back over the wall and was gone.'
Suddenly I felt thirsty and walked as if in a daze to the kitchen looking for Hita.
Jim and I tiptoed through the hall and climbed the stairs quietly. I put the kettle on and asked him to sit down. He sat on one of the chairs near the window. The orange light of the railway, suffused through the net curtain, made him look like an alien. I took off my shoes and my shawl and sat on the floor leaning against the cold radiator, hugging my knees.
`Are you cold?' he asked and squatted opposite me.
I saw my father's face then my mother's then Hamdan then Shahla then the Ailiyya convent in Lebanon then Minister Mahoney's house. The men of the tribe spilt my blood. My mother beat
`The Beqaa Valley,' said Khairiyya.
Dew sparkled in the morning sun. I was free. With the end of my veil I wiped my wet face.
`I love the sound of running water,' I said while getting into Jim's old car.
Jim smiled and said, `So there is something you like after all.'
`Yes, the sound water, sage-flavoured tea and chocolate cream cakes.'
He laughed and said, `What a mixture!'
I noticed the waxy glow of his skin, his thin lips, his small ears.
`Sage tea? Yes. Do you drink a lot of herbal tea in your country?'
`Yes, camomile and sage and mint and thyme.'
`And do you grow these herbs?' he asked then took my hand.
My goats would be climbing the mountain, and I would be busy gathering herbs for my mother. I used to rebuke the goats if they ate the herb bushes. `Yes, we do. Camomile, sage and thyme grow everywhere.'
`I import them from Greece, dry and beautifully packed, to sell in my shop.'
His trousers had a generous, comfortable cut; his shoes were sensible. He parked his car opposite Sadiq's offlicence then looked at me about to say goodnight.
`Thank you,' I said in a trembling voice and grabbed the handle ready to get out.
`Your hair is amazing,' he said and touched it.
The warmth of his fingers ran down my hair all the way to the side of my face. I tightened my grip on the handle. The street looked cold and unreal in the dim orange glow of the street lights. My heart was thumping, my hands sweaty and my chin was quivering when I finally said, `Would you like cup of tea with sage?'
He ran his fingers through his hair, then down his ponytail, hesitated then switched off the lights of his car and said, `Yes'
It was not meant to be, but it happened. I inherited all Elizabeth's letters and diary. I forgot to give them to her niece so I became the holder of her Indian secrets.
My grandfather and my parents were invited to the Begum's wedding procession. It was siesta time and the reading room was dark and pleasantly cool. A hushed silence enveloped us apart from the buzzing of the odd fly. I climbed the wooden ladder and picked out one of my grandfather's forbidden books, which were normally kept on the top shelf. I put the book on the desk and it split open to this page:
`One day, while Shahriyar was out hunting, Shahzaman stayed in the palace feeling very depressed about his dead wife. He looked out at the garden and saw his brother's wife enter the garden with twenty slave girls, ten white and ten black. They undressed and turned out to be ten men and ten women, who proceeded to have sex together, while another slave, Masud, jumped down from a tree when the Queen called out, "Come, Master. " He pushed her against the tree, smothered her with embraces and kisses, then mounted her. The negroes and the slave girls followed suit, revelling together till the approach of night. Then they all got dressed as slave girls, except for Mas'ud who jumped back over the wall and was gone.'
Suddenly I felt thirsty and walked as if in a daze to the kitchen looking for Hita.
Jim and I tiptoed through the hall and climbed the stairs quietly. I put the kettle on and asked him to sit down. He sat on one of the chairs near the window. The orange light of the railway, suffused through the net curtain, made him look like an alien. I took off my shoes and my shawl and sat on the floor leaning against the cold radiator, hugging my knees.
`Are you cold?' he asked and squatted opposite me.
I saw my father's face then my mother's then Hamdan then Shahla then the Ailiyya convent in Lebanon then Minister Mahoney's house. The men of the tribe spilt my blood. My mother beat
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