tree. A breeze bathed her face and she closed her eyes, losing herself in thenoises that followed the rain. In the distance were a bubbling brook and a murmur that came and went. Was it the wind? Nearby, frogs croaked, crickets rasped, and, every now and then, the scampering whoosh of some small animal clattered the pebbles.
“Well? Are you planning to fall asleep here? Get up and help.”
Noora opened her eyes with a start. She had drifted off. There was a huge pile of chopped wood, and Sager had just picked a branch and was beginning to scrape the thorns off with his yirz . She got up and marched toward him. “There’s no point,” she said, pulling the branch out of his hand. “This wood is useless, look.” She ran her finger over the pale inner layer. It was moist. “You see? The rain has made the wood all watery inside. You’ve tired yourself for nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, through clenched teeth.
“It won’t burn well,” Noora said. “It will make smoke, and then they will come looking for you, saying that you cheated them and sold them bad wood. You know all this!” She hit her head with the soft base of her palm. “Why didn’t you think before you started?”
She smiled at his flustered face, at the tiny dots of perspiration that lined his upper lip, sluggish and clammy, like the sticky sap of some of those plump-leafed mountain bushes. And then her smile seeped out and turned into a huge grin.
Sager kicked the pile of wood, startling a toad into a mighty leap; it landed with a plop in a puddle nearby. “You let me chop and chop, and you said nothing? Why?”
“Because you won’t tell me anything. And because you’re always in a bad mood. I watched your friends giggle and laugh, but not you. No, your face dropped as long as an oar. Why are you always such a sour face?”
Sager glowered. “All right, you really want to know?”
The whites of his eyes were turning pink. She wasn’t sure she did want to know, but she threw him a defiant bob of the head anyway.
“I was just thinking, sweet sister, about your dilemma,” he said. “Getting so old now, and not married yet—all because our selfish father wants you near him. And it made me sad. And, I think, that’s why my face grew as long as an oar.” He crossed his arms high on his chest. “Yes, so sad I was, sister, to want good things for you and not be able to give them to you. I thought how nice it would be for you, to have someone who would be able to take care of you, like that rich man we were talking about. Imagine! To live in a real house, with many rooms; to eat well—dates from Basra, mangoes from India, pomegranates from Persia—to be adorned with the finest gold.” He sighed and clicked his tongue. “But now, I see, it was all wasted thought.”
They had to start over.
Noora followed her brother deeper into the valley, where the mountains drew closer together, to find dry wood. Soon they were walking through a steep-sided gorge that reminded her of the rift between them that was deepening with every passing moment. And it was all because of her. Why had she let him go on chopping that wet wood, tiring himself like that? He had spoken from his heart—she was sure of it—and she had played with his seriousness.
The air vibrated in a constant murmur as it funneled through the passage, as if whispering to her to make amends. She tugged at the donkey and called to him, “You know, we don’t really have to find wood.”
He didn’t answer, only climbed over a heap of rubble in their path. It was a section of the mountain that the rain had dissolved and sent crashing down.
“We should be looking for nests,” she continued. “ Khalti Moza told me that Zobaida loves mountain honey, that she would take it as payment.” No sooner had she clambered over the broken piece of mountain when Sager stopped and tilted his head at an angle. “Well, what do you think about—”
He raised his arm to hush
“Well? Are you planning to fall asleep here? Get up and help.”
Noora opened her eyes with a start. She had drifted off. There was a huge pile of chopped wood, and Sager had just picked a branch and was beginning to scrape the thorns off with his yirz . She got up and marched toward him. “There’s no point,” she said, pulling the branch out of his hand. “This wood is useless, look.” She ran her finger over the pale inner layer. It was moist. “You see? The rain has made the wood all watery inside. You’ve tired yourself for nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, through clenched teeth.
“It won’t burn well,” Noora said. “It will make smoke, and then they will come looking for you, saying that you cheated them and sold them bad wood. You know all this!” She hit her head with the soft base of her palm. “Why didn’t you think before you started?”
She smiled at his flustered face, at the tiny dots of perspiration that lined his upper lip, sluggish and clammy, like the sticky sap of some of those plump-leafed mountain bushes. And then her smile seeped out and turned into a huge grin.
Sager kicked the pile of wood, startling a toad into a mighty leap; it landed with a plop in a puddle nearby. “You let me chop and chop, and you said nothing? Why?”
“Because you won’t tell me anything. And because you’re always in a bad mood. I watched your friends giggle and laugh, but not you. No, your face dropped as long as an oar. Why are you always such a sour face?”
Sager glowered. “All right, you really want to know?”
The whites of his eyes were turning pink. She wasn’t sure she did want to know, but she threw him a defiant bob of the head anyway.
“I was just thinking, sweet sister, about your dilemma,” he said. “Getting so old now, and not married yet—all because our selfish father wants you near him. And it made me sad. And, I think, that’s why my face grew as long as an oar.” He crossed his arms high on his chest. “Yes, so sad I was, sister, to want good things for you and not be able to give them to you. I thought how nice it would be for you, to have someone who would be able to take care of you, like that rich man we were talking about. Imagine! To live in a real house, with many rooms; to eat well—dates from Basra, mangoes from India, pomegranates from Persia—to be adorned with the finest gold.” He sighed and clicked his tongue. “But now, I see, it was all wasted thought.”
They had to start over.
Noora followed her brother deeper into the valley, where the mountains drew closer together, to find dry wood. Soon they were walking through a steep-sided gorge that reminded her of the rift between them that was deepening with every passing moment. And it was all because of her. Why had she let him go on chopping that wet wood, tiring himself like that? He had spoken from his heart—she was sure of it—and she had played with his seriousness.
The air vibrated in a constant murmur as it funneled through the passage, as if whispering to her to make amends. She tugged at the donkey and called to him, “You know, we don’t really have to find wood.”
He didn’t answer, only climbed over a heap of rubble in their path. It was a section of the mountain that the rain had dissolved and sent crashing down.
“We should be looking for nests,” she continued. “ Khalti Moza told me that Zobaida loves mountain honey, that she would take it as payment.” No sooner had she clambered over the broken piece of mountain when Sager stopped and tilted his head at an angle. “Well, what do you think about—”
He raised his arm to hush
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