mocked. “When she wants water, she raises her arm and he runs to get it.”
“And when…,” began a third boy before Faraj signaled him to be quiet.
“There he is,” whispered Faraj.
Noora and Sager followed his glance. Dur-Mamad was farther up the slant they were on. His nest of grizzled hair disappeared behind a rock as he stooped to pick something up. Noora turned back to the boys and sighed, amused at their childish minds, wondering why they had dropped to their knees like cautious mountain cats.
“Attack!” cried Faraj.
His voice bounced off the sheer cliff faces, and the boys darted toward Dur-Mamad screaming insults. Noora and Sagerwere about to run after them when they heard the donkey’s bray of panic. It lashed the air with a sharp kick and dashed the other way.
“The honey,” Sager cried and leaped at the donkey, clamping his arms around its mane. Noora plucked its ears and hissed a soft word of comfort. But the donkey would not listen. It kicked once more and pulled them with its weight. They staggered and let go.
Noora’s mouth dropped open as she turned back to the boys. They’d turned into an army of ruffians, closing in fast on Dur-Mamad. They were hurling stones at him. One caught his calf; another chipped his arm.
She and Sager rushed to help him, a middle-aged man who had braced himself for what was to come. He curled into the ground as the jumble of boys landed on him. Noora cringed as she watched them pull his hair and pound his back.
“Get off him.” It was intended as a bold shout, but Sager’s voice cracked between heaves of breath.
She ran as quickly as she could but had to stop when a thorn lodged deep in the softness between her toes. All the while she kept her eyes glued to the unfolding cruelty. Faraj was trying to flip Dur-Mamad over, to create a hollow into which his bullying army could wiggle, pinch the man’s cheeks, and poke his nose or eyes.
But Sager was there before they could do that. He seized Faraj by the shoulders and, pulling him up, slapped him across a cheek. Faraj fell onto the gravel.
By the time Noora reached them, the boys had wilted into submission as Sager dared them to take him on, confirming his strength with a thrust of the chest. “What devil stirred you?” he said, and walked back to Faraj. “Are you a creation of God?”
Faraj looked up at Sager, shook his head, and spat. “He’s a freak. And, anyway, he likes us to play with him.”
“You call this playing?” Noora scolded, and turned to include the other boys. “Throwing stones at the man, punching him, pulling his hair like that? Look what you’ve done to him.” She threw her arm toward Dur-Mamad, but he wasn’t there. She scanned the mountain. Nothing. Dur-Mamad had slipped away as quietly as a spirit.
Faraj pointed an accusing finger at Sager. “You slapped me!”
“And he’ll slap you again!” Noora snapped, and puffed her annoyance at the boys’ rounded eyes of anticipation. There was no guilt in them. She wasn’t sure what was infuriating her more: Faraj’s rude boldness or the boys’ eager whispers of cheer for their leader’s bravery.
“He has no right to slap me. He’s not my father,” shouted Faraj.
Noora ignored his whine and turned to the boys. “You are cowards, all of you.”
Sager joined her. With his chest pushed out, he took a few menacing steps toward them. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” he growled.
The boys retreated with bulging eyes.
“Get out of my sight before I twist your ears one by one until they fall off.”
A small boy cupped his ears and scampered past Sager and Noora. The others followed, fleeing toward the village. Faraj scrambled to his feet and, with a tear-stained face, scampered down the mountain.
Sager and Noora kept the scowls plastered to their faces as they watched the boys kick up a trail of dust in a panic of skidsand slips. Noora wondered what joy they had gotten out of terrorizing the wretched
“And when…,” began a third boy before Faraj signaled him to be quiet.
“There he is,” whispered Faraj.
Noora and Sager followed his glance. Dur-Mamad was farther up the slant they were on. His nest of grizzled hair disappeared behind a rock as he stooped to pick something up. Noora turned back to the boys and sighed, amused at their childish minds, wondering why they had dropped to their knees like cautious mountain cats.
“Attack!” cried Faraj.
His voice bounced off the sheer cliff faces, and the boys darted toward Dur-Mamad screaming insults. Noora and Sagerwere about to run after them when they heard the donkey’s bray of panic. It lashed the air with a sharp kick and dashed the other way.
“The honey,” Sager cried and leaped at the donkey, clamping his arms around its mane. Noora plucked its ears and hissed a soft word of comfort. But the donkey would not listen. It kicked once more and pulled them with its weight. They staggered and let go.
Noora’s mouth dropped open as she turned back to the boys. They’d turned into an army of ruffians, closing in fast on Dur-Mamad. They were hurling stones at him. One caught his calf; another chipped his arm.
She and Sager rushed to help him, a middle-aged man who had braced himself for what was to come. He curled into the ground as the jumble of boys landed on him. Noora cringed as she watched them pull his hair and pound his back.
“Get off him.” It was intended as a bold shout, but Sager’s voice cracked between heaves of breath.
She ran as quickly as she could but had to stop when a thorn lodged deep in the softness between her toes. All the while she kept her eyes glued to the unfolding cruelty. Faraj was trying to flip Dur-Mamad over, to create a hollow into which his bullying army could wiggle, pinch the man’s cheeks, and poke his nose or eyes.
But Sager was there before they could do that. He seized Faraj by the shoulders and, pulling him up, slapped him across a cheek. Faraj fell onto the gravel.
By the time Noora reached them, the boys had wilted into submission as Sager dared them to take him on, confirming his strength with a thrust of the chest. “What devil stirred you?” he said, and walked back to Faraj. “Are you a creation of God?”
Faraj looked up at Sager, shook his head, and spat. “He’s a freak. And, anyway, he likes us to play with him.”
“You call this playing?” Noora scolded, and turned to include the other boys. “Throwing stones at the man, punching him, pulling his hair like that? Look what you’ve done to him.” She threw her arm toward Dur-Mamad, but he wasn’t there. She scanned the mountain. Nothing. Dur-Mamad had slipped away as quietly as a spirit.
Faraj pointed an accusing finger at Sager. “You slapped me!”
“And he’ll slap you again!” Noora snapped, and puffed her annoyance at the boys’ rounded eyes of anticipation. There was no guilt in them. She wasn’t sure what was infuriating her more: Faraj’s rude boldness or the boys’ eager whispers of cheer for their leader’s bravery.
“He has no right to slap me. He’s not my father,” shouted Faraj.
Noora ignored his whine and turned to the boys. “You are cowards, all of you.”
Sager joined her. With his chest pushed out, he took a few menacing steps toward them. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” he growled.
The boys retreated with bulging eyes.
“Get out of my sight before I twist your ears one by one until they fall off.”
A small boy cupped his ears and scampered past Sager and Noora. The others followed, fleeing toward the village. Faraj scrambled to his feet and, with a tear-stained face, scampered down the mountain.
Sager and Noora kept the scowls plastered to their faces as they watched the boys kick up a trail of dust in a panic of skidsand slips. Noora wondered what joy they had gotten out of terrorizing the wretched
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