The Sand Fish by Maha Gargash Page A

her. “Listen,” he whispered, and pointed up at the scarred peaks. “There, there.”
    “What?”
    “A bee, there it goes.” His finger danced in the air. “There is a nest up there.”
    She shaded her eyes with her hand and stared at the blue of the sky. “What, I mention honey and suddenly you spot a bee? I can’t see a thing.” She was sure he was getting back at her.
    “There! It lifted east, then dipped south.” He hurried to the donkey. “I saw it, I saw it,” he mumbled, and grabbing the bowl and the yirz , he scrambled up the mountain with an urgency that infected her.
    Whenever he wanted to, Sager could outdo her. His powerful legs catapulted him up the steep climb. His square build lost its rigidity as he twisted, skipped, and leaped, lithe as a mountain cat. There were no trodden paths in this part of the mountain and Noora struggled to keep up. With her shayla clasped tight under her arms, she pulled the donkey into a terrain strewn with jumbles of weathered boulders, folded and crumpled into bizarre shapes. Was he making it up, seeing the bee and all, so that he could tire her? “Maybe you’re wrong,” she called up to him. “This could be a waste of time.”
    When he did not reply, she decided to say no more. Let him take charge and play his game if it made him feel good. Even if there were no nest, she would not make much of the matter. And he would continue to feel fine. Those were the thoughts that filled her head. And yet, she kept scanning the air for a bee or two.
    The dense concentration of rocks opened into a gravelly ascent, speckled with fragile grasses and tiny, yellow flowers. When Sager stopped and cupped his ear, she did the same. Holding her breath, she strained to pick up the telltale buzz of a nest. Instead, the wind blew another sound.
    Was it the cry of a child? Puzzled, she twisted her head toward the sound, but the wind changed direction again. This time, it threw the hum of bees. The surprise was as jolting as a splash of cold water. He was right!
    There was the dance of the bees. They flitted out of a shallow crevice at the top of the mountain, catching the light in chaotic twists and twirls. The nest was impressive: a long triangle, which distorted into a lumpy ball on one side at the bottom. It clung to a broken branch that had somehow wedged into the ground at a slant.
    She wanted to share the danger but held back. Better to let him feel in charge again. Maybe then he would lose that long face. Sager was already crouched next to the nest, his eyes peeking through his ghitra , which he had wrapped around his face. She watched him extend an arm and woo the jumble of striped bodies away from the nest. They parted, but the middle of the hive was dry and empty. The bees had consumed this part of the comb.
    Sager flicked a bee off his arm and tried again. With the fat of his palm, he brushed the bees on the lump at the bottom.This part of the nest glistened with moistness. Sager wasted no time and cut a clean slice with his yirz , letting the lump slip into his bowl.
    The bees objected in a furious buzz. They lifted to the air in a dense cloud of frantic movement around his head. Noora could tell he wanted to run, but they both knew that that would just excite the bees more. She followed his wary steps away from the nest, feeling both the urgency and control a thief must feel in a house with sleeping residents. The bees pursued him, carrying their final protest in spasms of flight. They delivered more stings, but Sager’s elation could not be dampened as he hugged tight their gold.
    It had worked. His mood was transformed. Even though he was holding back his smile, it seeped out of his eyes and made his face glow. He covered the bowl with a muslin cloth and roped it securely to the donkey’s back. Noora was about to compliment him on his bravery when they heard the hollers of children from not too far away. They looked at each other, puzzled.
    “I thought I heard some