Dur-Mamad. Wasn’t the harshness of their mountains enough? Maybe her father was right. Maybe they had turned wild from all that mixed blood.
She could hear their shrill objections long after the dust had settled, long after they were tucked safely in the village. Only Faraj had stopped at a safe distance from them just under Zobaida’s hill—by the donkey. “I’m telling my father on you,” he yelled. “And he’ll beat you up and never let you come to our village again.” And with that, he wrenched the yirz out of its rope holding and threw it as far as he could.
Sager and Noora gasped and dashed down.
He pulled free the water skin and emptied it into the dry earth. Then he flung it in the air.
“Stop it!”
Faraj would not. With a final tug of revenge, he pulled loose the bowl of honey. He dipped his paw and clutched the comb, raised it to the air like the blanched skull of the nadba . Then, with a final smirk of defiance, he howled his victory: “Aooo!”
Noora groaned. “No wood, no honey” she said, and bent over to pick up the water skin. “We’ve made this journey for nothing, haven’t we?” She looked up at her brother, his arm clasped tight around the donkey’s mane. “I mean, what kind of children are these?” she said.
“They’re the kind who just want to wreck everything,” he mumbled, and a vein throbbed in his temple. “Spoiled, left to grow up like animals.”
“Well, we can’t just ignore it all,” said Noora. “I mean, this Faraj boy, you said he’s the village sheikh’s son, this…this…Sheikh Khaled. Isn’t he the wise sheikh who is supposed to settle troubles? Well, maybe he should settle this trouble—a big one, I think, ganging up on that wretched man, throwing our things like that, stealing our honey. We must see this sheikh-father of his and complain.”
Sager shook his head and let out a resigned groan. “What’s the point? The honey’s gone.”
“You get stung and they gulp the sugar. That’s not fair.” She threw her arms in the air, opened her chest to the sky. She was about to screech her aggravation when she spotted Zobaida and the son peering from their hill. “They’re looking at us,” she whispered, and, dropping her arms, she began brushing the dust off her dress.
Zobaida disappeared into her hut, but her son rushed down toward them with the enthusiasm of a child. As he drew nearer, Noora thought he might pounce on them, and she instinctively stepped back. But Dur-Mamad stopped abruptly and began hissing his hellos, a large grin shrinking the whites of his eyes. His complexion was the color of soot. Dull as a foggy night, even the wobbly curls of his salt-and-pepper hair could not throw a shimmer into that face.
Dur-Mamad tried to communicate some information with haphazard flings of his arms. When she and Sager did not understand, he took a step forward and kissed Sager’s shoulder. Then he kissed the donkey’s forehead and tugged it up the hill, indicating that they should follow.
10
D ur-Mamad clutched Sager’s wrist and led him in. Then he walked back out and indicated to Noora that she should follow. Once she was in Zobaida’s hut, a whiff of rotting grass, old skin, and toenails assaulted her nose just as Dur-Mamad sealed the entrance with a thin board, leaving only a sliver of light.
“Stinky in here,” said Noora. “Why did he shut us in?”
Sager shushed her. “Show manners—we’re guests here.”
She fidgeted and shifted on her feet when something scraped her forehead. Noora lashed at it. She had crossed from bright light to dimness and had to blink hard before she could make out the dried plants hanging upside down from the roof.
“Well, where is she?” Noora whispered.
“I don’t know,” said Sager, as he settled on the floor on folded legs. “Just sit and wait.”
She sat. “What does she want?”
“I don’t know.”
They waited, and as Noora’s eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior, she
She could hear their shrill objections long after the dust had settled, long after they were tucked safely in the village. Only Faraj had stopped at a safe distance from them just under Zobaida’s hill—by the donkey. “I’m telling my father on you,” he yelled. “And he’ll beat you up and never let you come to our village again.” And with that, he wrenched the yirz out of its rope holding and threw it as far as he could.
Sager and Noora gasped and dashed down.
He pulled free the water skin and emptied it into the dry earth. Then he flung it in the air.
“Stop it!”
Faraj would not. With a final tug of revenge, he pulled loose the bowl of honey. He dipped his paw and clutched the comb, raised it to the air like the blanched skull of the nadba . Then, with a final smirk of defiance, he howled his victory: “Aooo!”
Noora groaned. “No wood, no honey” she said, and bent over to pick up the water skin. “We’ve made this journey for nothing, haven’t we?” She looked up at her brother, his arm clasped tight around the donkey’s mane. “I mean, what kind of children are these?” she said.
“They’re the kind who just want to wreck everything,” he mumbled, and a vein throbbed in his temple. “Spoiled, left to grow up like animals.”
“Well, we can’t just ignore it all,” said Noora. “I mean, this Faraj boy, you said he’s the village sheikh’s son, this…this…Sheikh Khaled. Isn’t he the wise sheikh who is supposed to settle troubles? Well, maybe he should settle this trouble—a big one, I think, ganging up on that wretched man, throwing our things like that, stealing our honey. We must see this sheikh-father of his and complain.”
Sager shook his head and let out a resigned groan. “What’s the point? The honey’s gone.”
“You get stung and they gulp the sugar. That’s not fair.” She threw her arms in the air, opened her chest to the sky. She was about to screech her aggravation when she spotted Zobaida and the son peering from their hill. “They’re looking at us,” she whispered, and, dropping her arms, she began brushing the dust off her dress.
Zobaida disappeared into her hut, but her son rushed down toward them with the enthusiasm of a child. As he drew nearer, Noora thought he might pounce on them, and she instinctively stepped back. But Dur-Mamad stopped abruptly and began hissing his hellos, a large grin shrinking the whites of his eyes. His complexion was the color of soot. Dull as a foggy night, even the wobbly curls of his salt-and-pepper hair could not throw a shimmer into that face.
Dur-Mamad tried to communicate some information with haphazard flings of his arms. When she and Sager did not understand, he took a step forward and kissed Sager’s shoulder. Then he kissed the donkey’s forehead and tugged it up the hill, indicating that they should follow.
10
D ur-Mamad clutched Sager’s wrist and led him in. Then he walked back out and indicated to Noora that she should follow. Once she was in Zobaida’s hut, a whiff of rotting grass, old skin, and toenails assaulted her nose just as Dur-Mamad sealed the entrance with a thin board, leaving only a sliver of light.
“Stinky in here,” said Noora. “Why did he shut us in?”
Sager shushed her. “Show manners—we’re guests here.”
She fidgeted and shifted on her feet when something scraped her forehead. Noora lashed at it. She had crossed from bright light to dimness and had to blink hard before she could make out the dried plants hanging upside down from the roof.
“Well, where is she?” Noora whispered.
“I don’t know,” said Sager, as he settled on the floor on folded legs. “Just sit and wait.”
She sat. “What does she want?”
“I don’t know.”
They waited, and as Noora’s eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior, she
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