Read Online The Green Bicycle by Haifaa Al Mansour - Free Book Online Page B

shook off her sleepiness, and started mapping out requests. Several girls had asked for bracelets from their favorite Saudi Premiere League soccer teams. Al Hilal, the team from Riyadh, was very popular. Their colors were blue and white. Al-Nassr, which played at the nearby King Fahd International Stadium and wore blue with yellow, was a safe bet, too. She’d make extras of each for some quick sales, Wadjda decided.
    Carefully unspooling the colored threads, she stretched out her legs and hunched over her knees to reach her big toes. Using them as the base for her
loom
, she wove the thread back and forth, watching the braided bracelets come into being. Her quick fingers moved faster and faster, tangling the colored threads in complex patterns.
    Lost in the task, Wadjda took a long time to realize that her stomach had started to rumble. Luckily, her mother had cooked
kapsa
the night before. At the thought, her stomach rumbled. To make
kapsa
, roasted onions, raisins, and almonds were ladled onto tender rice bursting with cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, and black lemon. This wasthen capped off with sizzling grilled chicken rubbed with blackened tomato paste. Toward the end of the month, when her salary was almost gone, Wadjda’s mother had to skip the more expensive ingredients, like almonds. It was still early, though, and the
kapsa
was full of flavor.
    I should make myself a plate,
Wadjda thought.
    The sound of the front door opening snapped her out of her fantasy. Yanking the thread from her toes, she leaped from her bed, darting to the spot just inside the kitchen where she did her homework. Before her mother made it through the door, she slid into her seat, laid out her books, and lifted her pencil. She held it over the paper and sat up straight, like the very best student in class.
    The front door slammed. Wadjda could hear her mother’s heavy breathing before she entered the kitchen. As she removed her veil, she fanned herself dramatically with her hands, trying to cool down. Her face was puffy and red, and her hair looked like Wadjda’s—all messy ribbons and tousled curls.
    â€œAlmost three hours in the car without AC! It was awful. I’m not sure how much longer I can handle it. Oh,
habibti
, I wish I could quit this stupid teaching job.” Her mother sank into a chair, took off her heavy shoes and black socks, and rubbed her feet, all with the same dramatic flair. “I swear, this commute’s going to kill me. I’d rather sell fruitdown at the hospital than make that hideous trip every single day!”
    Nodding in support, Wadjda jumped up to turn on the kitchen AC unit. She felt terrible for her mother. Each day, she came home upset about Iqbal, about his car, about the whole terrible journey to work. Iqbal charged her a lot of money, too!
He could at least fix the air conditioner in his piece-of-junk vehicle,
Wadjda thought.
    â€œIf only Iqbal blew cold air, instead of hot,
Ummi
,” she said, smiling mischievously over her shoulder.
    Her mother smiled back at her. Then, with a heaving sigh, she went to the stove to begin dinner. Wadjda loitered around the sink as her mother washed vegetables and got the plate of leftover
kapsa
from the fridge. Together, they started to prepare dinner.
    What could she do to
really
cheer her mother up? Wadjda wondered as they worked. And when was the best time for announcing her plan to buy the green bicycle? What was the best way to bring it up? Her mother was unpredictable. Sometimes an idea would catch her imagination and she’d eagerly play along, coming up with elaborate schemes and strategies. Other times, she’d frown and shake her head, and Wadjda wouldn’t be allowed to bring up her idea again.
    The bicycle was too important to mess up. Wadjda wanted to introduce it naturally into the conversation, like it was nobig deal. Of course it
was
, but she’d keep her cool while they discussed it. The cooler the better with