That Other Me by Maha Gargash Read Free Book Online Page B

forced, I would probably be able to count more outbursts and sulksthan times of laughter and contentment. Now that I think about it, maybe I was only happy because I always got my own way.
    Clara had a sweet voice that often grew croaky at the end of the day as she tended to my incessant demands. Whenever she felt a tantrum brewing, she would burst into song at the top of her voice. There was a desperate force as she drove the melody out. She ended up sounding wounded, as if she’d stepped on spikes. One day my father shouted at her, accusing her of scaring me. I liked that he did that. I thought it showed his love for me.
    Baba visited us at the snow palace every other day. He would always show up after the evening prayer. Many times, he entered our apartment with his arms folded behind him. With a glowing smile, he would ask, “Who is the most beautiful girl in the Emirates?” I would hardly be able to contain my curiosity as I lunged to the right and left to catch a glimpse of the hidden surprise. How big was the toy? What color was it? How much fun would it bring me before I flung it into the basket full of other toys I’d grown bored of? “Stop jumping up and down, you little monkey!” And I’d have to force myself to stand still, with a silly grin that hurt my face. “You still haven’t answered me,” Baba would say, looking around with a confused expression on his face. “Maybe this is the wrong apartment. Is this the eighth floor? Is this flat number 815? Is this the right place?”
    â€œIt is! It is!”
    â€œAre you the most beautiful girl in the Emirates?”
    â€œI am! I am!”
    â€œAh, thank goodness. For a moment I thought this was the neighbor’s place. A kiss, please?” He would bend down so that I could kiss him on his right cheek.
    â€œAnother one.”
    â€œBaba!” I would object, but hurry to place another kiss on his left cheek.
    Satisfied, he would straighten. “Now, what could it be?” He would look up. His eyes would narrow and he would move his lips without making a sound, as if counting stars. And then, with a dramatic twirl, he’d swing his arms to the front and hand me the gift.
    A doll, crayons and a coloring book, a jump rope, a LEGO set, anything to keep me occupied so that he could be alone with my mother. I would grab it and rip open the package, then hop off to play with it in my room as he settled on the couch with a glass of what he called “apple juice for grown-ups.” Foul smelling, it soon got him slurring his words.
    I want to talk about our past, when Baba treated us like queen and princess at the snow palace, but I curb my nostalgia. Mama probably doesn’t want to hear anything more come out of my mouth. Her face is fixed in a frown as she picks up a fork and starts crushing the ful into a paste. Once more, our day is about to begin with a meal that is both breakfast and lunch: fried eggs, mashed ful, and bread and cheese, all washed down with two cups of strong, sugary tea.

6
MARIAM
    The chair is hard. I relieve the stiffness of one crossed leg by uncrossing it. I stare at the tiny specks of dust that have collected on the table, which I’d wiped with wet pieces of tissue as soon as I’d arrived. Even though the study rooms at the Emirati Students’ Club are cleaned every day, it’s impossible to keep Cairo’s pollution outside. It floats in. It leaves behind a sticky film on the metal grid of the window and collects as black grime on the beige shutters and windowsills.
    We sit at the edge of the large rectangular table. Adel fidgets and looks around. There is nothing to call his attention away from the lesson: no television, no view through the window, no pictures hanging on the walls.
    As always, I have left the door open. I speak loudly so that curious people outside the room know we are studying, and nothing more. “Pay attention to this here,” I