A few hours after the maghrib athan, the moon lit the dark night sky. Everyone gathered outside with their families. Their low whispers, their tiny conversations, their lighthearted jokes, their unfettered laughter, and the little kids chasing each other and getting chastised by their parents.
" Hurry up" Abbas motions with his hand for me to come outside.
"I'm trying, I can't find my hijab," I said running from one corner to another trying to find my prayer hijab so it can fully cover my arms.
"Here," he says, pulling me closer to his chest and covering over my head with his shameez. I felt my cheeks turn red, I tried my best not to look at him so he wouldn't see. Yet I feared my heartbeat was so loud that it could be heard through my chest.
"instead of the yard we can just go to the roof" he suggests looking up as we walk up the narrow staircase, his broad figure slouching in an attempt to keep me draped.
We make it to the roof, and both of our rapid heartbeats can be felt. It was just the moon, us, and every heavy breath we took. My head against his chest, I wondered if I could make my heart beat synchronously with his. if we could maintain the same heart rhythm. I look up to see Abbas smiling at the sight of the moon. His smooth brown hair perfectly lined. His olive skin outlining his hazel eyes. To me, the moon didn't seem as noticeable as him. I never paid much attention to it either until Abbas would gaze at it with fascination, I never really understood why and I still don't but I enjoy watching it with him. I felt a cold breeze wrap around my body.
"It's beautiful isn't it," he says looking down at me and tightening his grip around my shoulder. One corner of his mouth lifts, this which may not even be considered a smile to some, coming from Abbas I've learned is his way of smiling. i used to think he was faking a smile, but i learned that this was his natural smile.
"I shift my gaze from him to the moon and look back at his eyes nodding silently. The breeze blew and my hair scattered everywhere, compared to him my curly hair was completely out of place. I move my hand to tuck it behind my ear.
"it's really pretty," Abbas says glancing at me again
"It is" I replied this time
he stares at me, and caresses my cheek with his cold palm, tucking the rest of my hair behind my ear and planting a kiss on my forehead, "I was talking about your hair ya asal" he whispered grinning and I could feel his smile near my ear
(asal--> honey)
I let out a slight laugh of embarrassment, feeling the heat around my ear emerging, and wrapped my arms around him tighter, truth is I didn't believe him. I was criticized growing up with red curly hair.
I used to keep my hijab on at gatherings and parties because I knew anyone who saw my hair color would make fun of me. They lied to me that I had been possessed by a Jini and that's why my hair color was red, knowing that I dreaded every red curl on my head, I would prostrate and cry asking Allah to change my hair color or remove the Jini that "possess me" I would constantly dye my hair black but it only made me look like a bigger fool putting on a costume.
Everyone I knew had brown or black hair which formulated another rumor that I was adopted, but my mother told me I got it from my great grandmother. I wished she was alive maybe I could've asked how did she deal with it, did she ever change it.
"I've never met someone with red hair like yours except once," jihad says pulling me away from my current thoughts
"who," I asked curiously, taking every opportunity to grasp any tiny detail of his past
"it was a boy I met, at the time I was 9 and he was 7, I was buying Khat for my father, he would send me out to buy it for him from souk Al Khat (market for Khat). If he didn't get good khat no one would hear the end of it. I used to enjoy going only because I would often meet this boy. his name was Ali, he had striking confidence and a unique hair color, just like yours. He would be the one selling the Khat. He used to work for his father. I didn't talk to him much the first few times, he would speak a lot and was eager to meet new people. I remember as I was buying from him the boys in his neighborhood pestered him, they went around calling him "gazzari"(Arabic for carrot, in this case, they're saying he's a carrot).
"Did he do anything?"i hate that name, Gazzari? i was called that too and i hate it.
"He said "Alhamdulillah I'd rather be a carrot than a donkey" he put a tiny smirk around his face
"liar" I nudge him
"He didn't care, I asked him "aren't you going to do something", he told me that there was nothing he could do. He believed that he was born to stand out for a reason. I thought he was interesting, he didn't let those kids get to him and I had enough of them, when one of the three boys came close to him and pulled his hair, I jumped to fight him.
He plunged in after me and we all broke into a fight. We got beat bitterly but the other guys had it worst. I didn't know the redhead had it in him but he surprised me that day. Afterward, we sat on the dirt too sore to move a limb. I asked him why he never fought them before, he said that if he had let his anger control him his hair might have flared up in a fire like yours when you're mad."
"no, he didn't," I said looking away laughing at his remark.
"he said that patience and controlling anger is much harder than putting on a fight. anyone can throw a punch but not many can hold themselves back. he said "just watch, we'll meet one day and I'll be the top of the mercenary"
That day I found out that both I and he despised khat yet we were both involved in it. He said his dad had been forcing him to sell it and mine was forcing me to buy it. "
I tried to hold back my question, thinking what if he doesn't want to talk about it, "Abbas" I attempt to stop myself, he stares down at me
"you don't have to answer but I'm curious, why don't you eat khat?"
"do you like it?" he shifts, adjusting his posture
"no, I hate it but I just wanted to know since almost all men do it"
his eyes fell on mine and his grip got tighter "I don't think that all men do it, me and Ali both made a deal that neither of us would ever eat khat."
"did he keep his deal?"
"I don't know, that day my father was mad enough that I didn't bring the khat, I didn't realize when I was fighting that the money fell out of my pocket and Ali offered to give me the khat but I knew he wouldn't be let off easy with his dad."
"and were you let off any easier?"
he let out a sigh, "I like to think that I was, I never got to see him again. When I asked about him one day, they told me he and his father left, some said they went to Eden others didn't care because the other khat dealers at the souk had better khat."
He stops talking and we fall silent again. He rarely talked about his father but from his stories, it seemed like it's better not to know. I looked up at him again and he wasn't watching the moon anymore, he was watching the little kids running around. I couldn't decipher the look on his face, I wondered if he wanted kids or maybe he doesn't.
the little kids get in a fight and the little girl starts crying. Their brother breaks the fight between them, taking the little girl in his arms and holding the boy's hand taking them inside.
what was he thinking about? he looked like he was recalling something or yearning for something
Before I could say anything, he pulls me in, turning me to face the door hastily. "You might catch a cold, we should head inside, plus it's time for isha, we should get ready to pray."
(khat--> is a leafy green plant that contains stimulants, it's grown in Yemen. It's considered to be a drug, some say it's like coffee others say it's like narcotics. In Yemen kids ages 6 and over, eat it.)
YOU ARE READING
A silent cry
Historical Fiction"and after all this time of waiting the devil would reach out to me and whisper, he's dead and you are here, how much longer will you wait, how much longer would you deny the truth, at some point, I was afraid that he would unlock my ribcage and sen...
