The Sand Fish by Maha Gargash Read Free Book Online

move on.”
    Moving on! Wasn’t that what their life—all of them—was about?
    Finally, when all else had failed, they had surrendered to their accepted wisdom.
    “Nothing we can do about it; Allah is the decider.”
    “What are we, except His subjects and slaves?”
    What a grief-stricken lot they were, slumped all around her with those long faces. They had tried so hard, but how could she snivel and whimper in front of those strangers?
    Noora signaled Sager to join his friends and, ushering Moza into the hut, tried again. “Don’t you remember how full of women your house was?”
    Finally, Moza’s sluggish eyelids turned taught. “Ah, ah, ah, I do. Now I do.” She tugged at her silver plaits with the recollection. “You stayed with me, yes. But you didn’t stay long, did you?”
    “Ten days,” Noora said.
    “Ten days?” Moza’s eyes went blank.
    This time Noora did not explain—and the old woman seemed to forget just as quickly. As they settled around the breakfast mat, Moza asked, “What news?”
    “No news, except the news of rain,” said Noora. “Lots of rain, masha’ Allah , yesterday—all in one go.”
    “Ah, the rain always comes,” said Moza, staring at the air. “When it leaves, you think it’s gone forever…but then it comes.”
    The beauty that came with the occasional rain was all any of them knew of the gentleness of nature. And now, the boys were talking about it, too. Noora had to lean back to see them through the open entrance of the hut. They were eating, bent over the palm-frond mat. Mohammad said, “We’ve had a whole week of it. It just stopped yesterday.”
    Noora took a large bite of bread and, as she chewed, fought a sudden pang of jealousy that rose in her. How unfair! Maazoolah had a full week of rain and her family had received only one day. Even the clouds blow sweeter away from our home ,she thought, and pushed the rest of the bread into her mouth.
    “Yes,” added Saif, pouring some coffee for Sager. “It came late, but it came a lot. Masha’ Allah , look at how green our plots have become.”
    Sager swallowed the bitter brew in one gulp. Then, jiggling the tiny bowl-shaped cup lightly between his thumb and forefinger (an indication that he didn’t want a refill), he glanced over his shoulder.
    Noora stretched her neck and followed his glance, catching a view of the tapering terraces. From the edges of the mountain rim, they narrowed downward, each surrounded by low, stone walls. With a base of barren rock, the Hararees yielded less grazing than the sandy deserts of the interior. The mountains held just enough soil to make the scanty cultivation possible. But Saif was right; Maazoolah’s cramped parcels of land were a shocking green.
    “That was a wonderful downpour,” said Abdullah.
    “A blessing,” added Mohammad.
    “A true blessing,” echoed Saif. “We even slaughtered two goats to celebrate. And then we performed the nadba .”
    The nadba : nobody quite knew who had made it up, but whenever it took place, every man and boy rushed to join in.
    “You should have seen us,” said Mohammad. “What a manly chorus we were around old man Abdul-Rahman. He held that goat’s skull high up and barked away.”
    “ Masha’ Allah , he still has the best voice of all,” said Saif.
    “Yes, I could feel the blood rush up and tickle my face every time he shouted hao ,” said Abdullah.
    The other boys let out a series of coordinated yaps— “Hao, hao, hao” —before collapsing into a frenzy of laughter that shaped a sad smile in Noora’s head. It was a long time ago, but those eeriecries of togetherness remained vivid in her memory. She leaned forward and chomped more of the gooey bread. It was the second piece, and still her empty stomach would not fill.
    Noora was just a little girl, young enough to be in the company of men, when her father had held her high on his shoulder to watch the nadba . The circle of men was tight around the cheerleader, a man