Cinnamon by Emily Danby Read Free Book Online Page B

how the women started to behave differently. When the man began bringing groups of his followers there, with their long beards and loose trousers, most of the women began to cover their heads. The man would bless them during his Friday sermons and beseech the other women to join them in rejecting sin.
    Aliyah’s father visited the mosque daily. He found solace in the courtyard and his visits gave him the opportunity to catch up on the neighbourhood gossip, but the other men would avoid him, fearing his volatile temper. Even though they freely allowed their wives to work for unmarried men, the women were warned against Aliyah’s father nonetheless. The men envied him for his beautiful Ghourani wife, who was tall and wonderfully full-figured with dark eyes, slender lips and a bronze glow to her hair. Hearing her screams in the daytime when he hit her for some trivial reason, or in the evening when he took her by force, the men were of one opinion – that Aliyah’s father was unworthy of his wife.
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    A cold sweat, born of fear, seeped through Aliyah’s clothes, heightening her sensitivity to the morning chill as the gust of a passing lorry swept over her. Something about the lorry reminded her of her father. Perhaps it was the dust storm that had almost knocked her off her feet, just like her father’s tempests, which left no opposition standing.
    Aliyah stood fixed to the spot as she remembered the night when her mother had gone out into the alleyway, wailing and having torn her clothing in grief. The events of that night were crystal clear in her memory; she could still hear her elder sister’s voice.
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    Her sister had been on her way back from work in one of the factories, where they made socks, not far from al-Raml. Many such places, around the suburbs of Damascus were described as factories in exaggeration; in actuality, they were workshops running on the energy of young women working for little pay, who were happy to complete the tasks their bosses gave them without insurance since, after all, it was better to work morning and night than to loiter on the streets of Damascus in search of a late-night punter.
    Aliyah Senior was one of those young women. She was given an opportunity that many girls were not, after having almost mastered the craft. Life had been hard for her, accompanying her mother from one house to another, assisting with the cleaning, carrying heavy goods for the dainty mistresses, preparing teas and coffees and tidying the textiles workshop. Eventually, she became a skilled seamstress herself and took up her position behind a machine. Aliyah Senior worked earnestly in everything she did. It was important to please her boss, she felt, her mind focused solely on helping her mother to provide some stability for the family. Aliyah would daydream that her father might unexpectedly meet his death. It would be a relief if he went, she thought, not only because he took hold of the whole household income, but because without him her mother’s annual pregnancies would cease and life’s burdens would no longer grow. She rarely thought about buying herself a new dress, nor did she expect to receive any attention from the boys as she followed her daily route, crossing the threshold of the family’s room and walking until she reached the workshop door.
    Her calmness and nonchalance made Aliyah a dream girl to the boys who loitered in the alleyways, and yet it was the factory boss whom she let fondle her, although within certain limits. Aliyah would restrict his advances, particularly when he reached his hand between her thighs. He could pull down his trousers and she would allow him to kiss her breasts, but never to approach the danger zone – that deep part of her anatomy which, if trespassed, would bring shame on her family. Aliyah had the feeling that she was courting danger, that there was a dividing line between keeping him at bay and holding on to her job.
    As she