The Green Bicycle by Haifaa Al Mansour Page A

straight to hell, where his soul would be forever tortured.
    â€œWhy were they so angry?” Wadjda had asked her mother one day when they were listening to his music.
    â€œTalal Maddah sang songs about love between people.” Her mother twisted her lips sadly. “You know such music is
haram
.” This meant it was forbidden. “And percussion is okay, but other musical instruments? That’s the worst!”
    It was true. The Imams thought Talal Maddah’s songs were bad and immoral. To the religious authorities, performing any type of music or art in public was a great sin, and in the end, one of the Kingdom’s greatest artists died poor and cursed. But in this moment, as Wadjda stared at the bicycle, the painful longing of Talal Maddah’s songs touched her heart. At last, she understood what he was singing about!
    Slowly, so slowly, Wadjda ran her fingers across the bicycle’s shiny chrome handles. Its wide seat gave it old-school charm. It was beautiful. It was sturdy. It looked incredibly
cool
.
    It’s also a girl’s bike
, Wadjda realized. The dropped middlebar between the handlebars and the seat—to accommodate skirts like the girls in her magazines wore—made that clear. Wadjda wrinkled her nose, confused. Why would the owner order a girl’s bike? What kind of girl would ride a bicycle around the streets of Riyadh?
    At the moment the question crossed Wadjda’s mind, she saw it all, crystal clear. This was her bicycle. She was the girl who would ride it.
    The sun’s heat had gotten slightly more bearable as the great glowing orb dropped lower on the horizon. It was getting late. Wadjda had to hurry home if she wanted any time to herself. But it was so hard to leave. Her eyes shifted back to the sign, fixing themselves on the impossible price.
    Again, the man emerged from the store. His eyes widened with surprise—he hadn’t expected Wadjda to still be standing there. For a moment, he just looked at her. She looked back, confused and intrigued. He was so much less formal than the other shopkeepers, in his choice of dress and his taste in music. Still, he didn’t look thrilled to see her. He nodded his head toward the sign, a quick motion, up and down.
    â€œIt costs eight hundred Riyals. Too expensive for you, I’d say.”
    As he spoke, a hint of a smile danced on his lips, warming his face. Then it was gone. He looked stern again, andweary, like he was tired of kids wandering around his shop all day and never buying anything.
    I’ll show you, old man!
Her wandering had a purpose. Expensive or not, the green bicycle would be hers. Wadjda tilted her chin up and set her jaw—no smiles for her, just determination. She looked at the bicycle. She looked at the shop owner. And she gave a nod of her own, a quick motion, up and down. Her eyes told him, “I’ll buy it from you. Before you know it, I’ll buy it!”
    The owner’s expression didn’t change. Slowly, Wadjda turned and walked away. Behind her, Talal Maddah’s serenade drifted down the lonely street. It filled Wadjda with thoughts of love and existence, of light in darkness—a million poetic things she hadn’t understood until this moment, when she saw her green bicycle.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T he way home took Wadjda past the massive houses in the fancy part of town. Each one was the size of a palace, a humongous structure with many floors. Fleets of shiny new cars were parked outside. Usually, Wadjda liked to imagine the many servants and workers running around in the mansions, taking care of the family.
    But tonight, she was distracted. Her mind raced, and she walked with newfound purpose. All she could see was her green bicycle, hovering in the air before her, shining like a vision in the darkening sky.
    Moving fast, she cut through the trash-strewn lots between the villas. This land had been left empty because of inheritance disputes. Sons argued