The Sand Fish by Maha Gargash Read Free Book Online Page A

whose voice was particularly strong. Clutching the blanched skull of the goat they had just eaten, he raised his arm above his head and barked his appreciation. As he repeated the curious howls, he was echoed by the group.
    The tribe had bonded further with an upsurge of raised fists that pulled Noora into the performance, too. Her voice had risen high, shrill as a yowling kitten, over the men’s deep grunts. It went on and on till she thought it would never end. But then the coughs of exhaustion brought it to an abrupt halt. Their voices had turned hoarse.
    Why did good things always have to end? Suddenly, Noora didn’t want to go home, where her father could turn on her again, where Sager’s scorn would only grow more bitter and ugly. She yearned to stay here, where there were people, people who did things together, who cared for one another. She wanted to watch the children play. She wanted to listen to Moza’s watery voice.
    Her windpipe felt clogged. She took a mammoth gulp, but there was too much bread in her mouth. She choked. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she coughed and coughed.
    “There, there,” said Moza, patting her back. “Why are you eating so quickly?”
    Noora spat the lumps of bread into her palm.
    “Here, drink some water,” said Moza. She had trouble lifting the earthen jug, tilting it over the tin cup she held in herother hand. And when Noora stared at her swollen joints, she said, “Old woman pain. It’s not just the fingers that won’t bend well; it’s the knees, too.”
    “I know that, khalti , don’t you remember how I rubbed them for you? Every day, I rubbed them for you.”
    “When?”
    “Never mind,” Noora said. She pulled Moza’s hand and began kneading the pain out of her joints.
    The old woman shut her eyes tight and moaned. “Will you stay with me a while, give me such relief every day?”
    Noora did not hesitate. “ Insha’ Allah , I will, khalti .”
    From outside, one of the boys shrieked. “Ha ha, keep dreaming, my friend.” It was Mohammad, and now he let out a boisterous laugh. “That wicked woman won’t even come to our village.”
    “That’s true. She complains it’s too far.”
    Now this was a new voice. Noora kept rubbing Moza’s hand and leaned back to see who it was. There was another friend who had joined the boys. Although he had his back to her, she could tell he was older. His shoulders were broader and his voice thicker.
    “It’s cruel that God gave her the healing hands,” said Saif.
    “Yes,” said Mohammad, wiping away his tears of mirth, “healing hands that work only for paying hands.”
    “Well, I’ll have to get a lot of wood,” said Sager, smiling. “And if that doesn’t bring enough money, I’ll just have to stay longer and work in a few this-and-that jobs in Nassayem.”
    “It won’t work,” said the new voice. “Zobaida Bint-Sheer does not need your little coins.” A cluster of flies circulated over the food and his arm floated over the mat. In one self-assured swoop, he shooed them away.
    “Why?” asked Sager. “Surely any coin is a good coin.”
    The man (for Noora had decided he was no longer a boy) tilted his head slightly. She could see the side of his jawbone. It had none of the roundness of the other boys’ faces. It was sharp, just like the jagged peaks of their mountains. Clinging to his chin were the dense beginnings of what promised to turn into an attractive goatee. “News says she has been busy with a new client,” he said. “A rich new client.”
    “He has come from a distant coastal village,” continued Mohammad, “nowhere near our mountains. Ten days it took him to get here.”
    “So who is he?” asked Sager.
    Noora wanted to know, too, but just then Moza snapped open her eyes and asked where she and Sager were journeying to. Noora bent forward and quickly told her how her father’s behavior had turned erratic recently. She did not mention the attack; that would have just ruffled the