Read Online The Girl Who Fell to Earth by Sophia Al-Maria - Free Book Online Page B

had a wiggly tooth. Then, before I could even shout out or struggle, he’d be holding up a bloody molar for me to see. “Throw it at the sky and the next one will be better,” he told me, and pushed open the window just a crack for me to toss the jagged little tooth up into the air and watch it disappear downward into the construction site below.
    The weeklong stretches when Baba did come back were always highly anticipated. While Ma waited for her driver’s license, Baba’s visits were the only times we ever dared to venture far from our isolated little capsule. On one visit about nine months after our arrival, Baba came home from the rig and told Ma to pack.
    â€œBut you just got here!” Ma exclaimed.
    â€œAnd now we’re going.”
    â€œWhere? Why?”
    â€œThe desert.”
    Ma stuffed Dima roughly into a onesie, straightening her out with a brisk shake as if she were bagging a pillow. It was just after maghreb when we headed out to Baba’s rented Land Cruiser. Ma’s face was as pale as a porcelain doll with her black hijab pulled down tight; Dima dozed against her chest. Baba opened the back of the Land Cruiser and boosted me up inside. As we left the city, I watched the westbound road scroll out under us through the back-door windows—a hypnotic wake of dark concrete pulling me to sleep.
    When I woke it was to the idling engine. We had stopped somewhere barren and very dark. I sat up from my nest among the blankets and spare tire. A tall, thin man with a wooden staff came from the night into the red brake lights. As he approached, his eyes darted toward me, though his head stayed still. I ducked back down into the blankets until Baba stepped out and greeted the tall man. They spoke in Arabic. Ma watched suspiciously in the rearview mirror, adjusting her veil nervously.
    â€œ Yalla, Sophie, hawli ,” Baba said, swinging the back door open and reaching to remove me from my nest in the trunk. Dima and I were both wary of the stranger, but Baba reassured us. “He’s okay. Go play.” We didn’t need to be told twice after weeks of playing indoors. We plunged into the fine sand, rolling around like chinchillas in a dust bath. We paused only to prick up our ears at the tense exchange that began between our parents.
    â€œI have to go back to the city for a few hours. I’ll be back.”
    â€œWhy did you bring us out here?”
    â€œDon’t worry. He is here to protect you,” Baba said, thumbing in the tall man’s direction.
    Ma’s face went long and solemn. “Is this some kind of a joke? Who is he to you? He’s a stranger!”
    â€œHe is not a stranger, he’s Bedu from Sudan.”
    â€œI don’t care who he is! You’re not leaving us here!”
    Baba was already perched back in the Land Cruiser, thobe stretched taut across his knees, one foot in the car and one foot on the sand.
    â€œYou’ll be fine.”
    He shut the door and Ma bared her teeth at Baba through the driver’s side window. “Don’t!” Ma bellowed, swear words straining behind her clenched teeth.
    She was too proud to get hysterical but was mad beyond words, hissing at him as he rolled the window up and drove away.
    When the lights of Baba’s Land Cruiser disappeared, the stars seemed brighter and the sky more vast. I hung close to Ma as I looked up at the sky, suddenly afraid that without her as an anchor I might fall up. Ma gave the tribesman a wide berth as she stomped back over to the nest, dusted us off, and drew us close. The Sudanese tribesman stared straight ahead, limned in starlight, unmoving. He and the American farm girl kept eyes askance on each other until a silent truce of mutual distrust was reached and Ma turned her attention safely to us.
    â€œThe stars are different here,” she said aloud. The light was blue on her pale face, gray on my brown arms. Dima peered sleepily out from under