Don't Tell Me You're Afraid by Giuseppe Catozzella

brother and then went back to talking to his friend.
    Alì stood there frozen. Both Ahmed’s and Nassir’s eyes looked cruel, hostile, the pupils dilated.
    Yassin had been watching the whole scene from the table where he was playing cards with Aabe. “Pay attention to your brother, Nassir,” his father shouted to him from there.
    Nassir and Ahmed gave no sign that they were even present.
    They went on with their slow, mechanical gestures, as if the world around them didn’t exist, as if we were all mere shadows in their minds.
    â€œNassir! I told you not to ignore Alì!” Yassin shouted louder, rising menacingly from his chair.
    Nassir looked up in slow motion and said, in a deliberate monotone: “I saw, Aabe, I saw it. Calm down. It’s Samia’s medal. The one she won today. I saw it. Sorry, but it doesn’t interest me much. Don’t get riled up over such a little thing. Go back to your card game.”
    Yassin stared at him bitterly, then looked disheartened. He mumbled something under his breath about Ahmed and waved a hand as if to say,
The hell with him.
Then he sat down again.
    From where I was I heard him confide to Aabe: “I can’t do italone. Without my Yasmin, every now and then I feel like I just can’t do it.”
    â€œDon’t be silly,” Aabe told him. “You just have to forbid Nassir from seeing that friend of his.”
    Then Aabe called Alì, who had been standing stock still in the middle of the courtyard.
    Without saying a word, Alì came over with his head down, the medal still clutched in his hand. He seemed very little. A little child. Which, in fact, he was.
    Aabe and Yassin tried to tell him something to make him smile, but by now it was no use. His good mood had vanished in an instant. Seeing Ahmed was all it took.
    Then Aabe clapped his hands and everyone sang a traditional hymn to my victory.
    After that day, Ahmed never again showed up at our house.
    That evening, after supper, there was a big party for me. Hussein, Hodan’s fiancé, who had been sitting beside her and Hooyo all evening, had brought a sesame cake that his mother had made for the occasion. If I’d won, the cake would be to celebrate; if not, to console me.
    Hussein and Hodan were now talking about marriage; our two families had already met, and his family had indicated that he would soon ask for Hodan’s hand.
    Aabe hadn’t had to think twice.
    He liked the young man, who was already twenty, five years older than Hodan, and he also liked Hussein’s father, his daughter’s future father-in-law. A family more well off than ours. He was happy to give his consent.
    Soon Hodan and Hussein would marry.
    When I heard that, I got jealous; I didn’t want anyone to take my favorite sister away. But then I tried to understand. I saw that Hodan was happy, and I was happy for her.
    Besides, Hussein was pleasant, polite, and always well dressed; he liked me right away and called me “champion.”
    That night everyone was happy for me, but the happiest of all was Aabe, who took me aside, kissed me on the head, and whispered in my ear: “Good for you, my little one. I told you you could do it.”
    Then he got up, with the help of his ever-present cane, and limped to his room. When he came back he was holding a large black plastic bag. Inside was a pair of sneakers. White. Brand new, like none I’d ever seen before.
    I could have swooned with joy.
    I put them on and started leaping up and down like an idiot.
    Then I looked around for Alì, my coach.
    He wasn’t there.
    Yassin shook his head and nodded to their room.
    Alì had withdrawn. Again. Ahmed’s presence had that effect on him.
    At least this time he hadn’t retreated to the eucalyptus.
    I approached soundlessly, and after a while I popped in, showing off the shoes.
    Alì lay on his mattress on his stomach, his face hidden in the crook of his arm. I