Dreams of Water by Nada Awar Jarrar

his first visit to Aneesa’s flat.
    â€˜Come in,’ Aneesa says. ‘Come in. I’m sorry everything is such a mess.’
    She has been packing and behind her he can see clothes and objects all over the floor and covering all available surfaces.
    He steps inside and, before taking off his coat, hands her the package.
    â€˜What is this?’
    â€˜It’s for you to take home with you.’
    She tears off the brown paper and stares at the painting.
    â€˜This is the one you brought with you from Beirut, isn’t it?’
    He nods.
    â€˜I can’t take it from you, Salah.’
    The painting has a narrow gilt frame. Beneath the glass, a wedge of beige cardboard in a rectangular shape surrounds a dark but indistinct figure whose edges trickle into the colours beyond it in bold upwards strokes of yellow, white and light brown. Through the blurriness of it, in the undetermined shapes that surround the figure in the painting, Aneesa sees a circle of wings: two, threeor four, she cannot be sure, but feathery and marvellous nonetheless. She touches the angel through the glass with the tips of her fingers.
    Salah reaches for her hand.
    â€˜It would really make me happy if you took this with you, Aneesa. Please.’
    â€˜I’ll think of you every time I look at it,’ she finally says.
    She puts the painting down and takes his coat.
    The windows are grimy and grey and the plaid coat she’s worn so often on their outings together is thrown on the floor in one corner of the room. Salah bends down, picks it up and looks at it for a moment before laying it neatly against the back of a chair. He looks up at Aneesa.
    â€˜I shall miss you, my dear,’ he says quietly. ‘It won’t be the same without you here.’
    Aneesa begins to cry.
    The bird clings to its perch. It is nervous and its feathers, green and white, are ruffled so that its head has sunk deep into its chest. Aneesa lifts the cage gently off the passenger seat next to her to look inside and then puts it down again. The car suddenly lurches forward. The bird begins to fly from one end of the cage to the other, hitting its body against the bars.
    â€˜Shush, little darling,’ Aneesa calls out in a singing voice. ‘We’ll soon be there. Settle down now.’
    She looks at the bird and thinks for a moment that she can see its heart beating in its little chest. Whatever possessed me to do this? she wonders. She remembers her parents giving her and Bassam a pair of green parakeets when they were very young. Neither of the birds hadsurvived very long. This one is blue. Hopefully it will fare better.
    At the orphanage, Aneesa makes her way to the main office and asks to see the directress. She is shown into a bizarrely furnished oblong room with long French windows on one side and a row of green velvet sofas on the other. She places the cage on the floor.
    â€˜Welcome.’ A short woman with a bouffant hairstyle and high heels walks into the room and shakes Aneesa’s hand. ‘Please sit down.’ The woman glances at the cage and then turns her attention back to Aneesa. ‘Your mother is doing wonderful work here, you know,’ she says.
    â€˜She gets a great deal of satisfaction from being with the children and I am grateful to you for that,’ Aneesa says.
    The directress’s teeth protrude slightly so that when she smiles, her closed lips stretch outwards as well as to either side of her small face, and her eyes, which are small and brown, narrow into slits. Aneesa feels a sudden affection for the woman.
    â€˜You know, of course, that my mother has taken a special interest in young Ramzi?’
    The directress nods but says nothing.
    â€˜It doesn’t concern you unduly?’ Aneesa continues. ‘He already has a family of his own, doesn’t he?’
    The directress does not reply immediately.
    â€˜How do you like your coffee?’ she asks Aneesa.
    â€˜I’m fine,