dust-covered—but there’s something different about Zemzem. It’s hard to pinpoint—almost as if he has a sun shining above his head. Right away Gloria notices him, and she nearly falls from the ladder when he looks back at her.
At noon she doesn’t mingle with the fruit pickers the way she usually does. She needs to walk and think. Besides, she isn’t hungry. She takes off along the railroad tracks.
When she turns around, Zemzem is there, behind her.
“I saw you take off without bringing any water,” he says. “It’s not good to stay in the sun without drinking.” He hands her his flask. “Here you go.”
Gloria suddenly sits down on one of the railroad ties. She feels dizzy.
“You see?” Zemzem smiles. “You’re exhausted!”
Gloria takes the water. Her cheeks are burning.
“I saw you working,” Zemzem goes on. “Very impressive! You pick fruit faster than anyone else.”
Gloria is unable to utter a single word. They say this is what happens when you fall in love. But all of a sudden the tracks shake.
“The train!” she shouts.
She pushes Zemzem off to the side, where they fall on top of each other.
When the train shoots past them, they’re caught in a swirl of hot, metallic air. Gloria’s heart beats in rhythm with the train,
tack-a-tack-tack, tack-a-tack-tack
. It’s the most beautiful day of her life.
Every day after, they meet at noon by the tracks. They balance themselves on the rails, pretending to be tightrope walkers, and make bets on the promptness of the express train. The train is old and temperamental, but usually at lunchtime they can hear it coming.
This is how, at the end of harvesttime, after they’ve kissed 127 times and counting, they witness the Terrible Accident.
chapter five
WHEN Gloria reaches this point in the story, I am kneeling on the bed, out of the blanket, no longer tired.
“Don’t leave anything out!” I say, pounding the mattress with my fists. “Not the wounded passengers, the ripped-open cars, the fire, or anything.”
Gloria rolls her eyes and, every time, waits for me to calm down. I lie on the mattress again, under the blanket, and wait until she decides to go on.
I count up to fifty as I look at the wallpaper that’s coming unglued. I pretend to be bored, and when my breathing slows, she continues.
“Zemzem heard the train first—”
I cut her short. “His hearing was very sharp, right?”
“Very sharp, Koumaïl. He came from a faraway region, from a people of hunters, and his father—”
“Was the chief of the village! I know! He could even hear the murmur of the dead.”
“Absolutely. That’s why Zemzem heard the creaking andwhistling of the train well before I did. He squeezed my hand hard because he understood that something unusual was happening. We started to run along the tracks, and suddenly—”
“The thunder!”
“A frightening roar, Koumaïl. Like a huge explosion, followed by an earsplitting noise that made your hair stand up on your head. Then a cloud of smoke rose. When we got to the train, all out of breath and sweating—”
“Just past the curve, right?”
“Yes, where the pear trees were growing. We saw that the engine car was on fire. The other cars had come off the rails, toppled over like dominoes. People were stuck under the wreckage, screaming. Those who had managed to escape were sitting on the ground in shock, while the fire spread to the trees.”
“People were burning? You saw them?”
“No, Koumaïl, I did not see them. It was the smell that was unbearable.”
“Like barbecued pork!”
“Worse than that. I can’t describe the smell. Zemzem told me to go and tend to the wounded, and he ran toward my father’s house to get help.”
“And to get the tanker truck, more than anything else!”
Gloria nods. She knows that I never forget any detail. I could tell this story myself as if I had lived it. But I prefer to listen to it.
“I rushed to the cars at the rear and helped two men
At noon she doesn’t mingle with the fruit pickers the way she usually does. She needs to walk and think. Besides, she isn’t hungry. She takes off along the railroad tracks.
When she turns around, Zemzem is there, behind her.
“I saw you take off without bringing any water,” he says. “It’s not good to stay in the sun without drinking.” He hands her his flask. “Here you go.”
Gloria suddenly sits down on one of the railroad ties. She feels dizzy.
“You see?” Zemzem smiles. “You’re exhausted!”
Gloria takes the water. Her cheeks are burning.
“I saw you working,” Zemzem goes on. “Very impressive! You pick fruit faster than anyone else.”
Gloria is unable to utter a single word. They say this is what happens when you fall in love. But all of a sudden the tracks shake.
“The train!” she shouts.
She pushes Zemzem off to the side, where they fall on top of each other.
When the train shoots past them, they’re caught in a swirl of hot, metallic air. Gloria’s heart beats in rhythm with the train,
tack-a-tack-tack, tack-a-tack-tack
. It’s the most beautiful day of her life.
Every day after, they meet at noon by the tracks. They balance themselves on the rails, pretending to be tightrope walkers, and make bets on the promptness of the express train. The train is old and temperamental, but usually at lunchtime they can hear it coming.
This is how, at the end of harvesttime, after they’ve kissed 127 times and counting, they witness the Terrible Accident.
chapter five
WHEN Gloria reaches this point in the story, I am kneeling on the bed, out of the blanket, no longer tired.
“Don’t leave anything out!” I say, pounding the mattress with my fists. “Not the wounded passengers, the ripped-open cars, the fire, or anything.”
Gloria rolls her eyes and, every time, waits for me to calm down. I lie on the mattress again, under the blanket, and wait until she decides to go on.
I count up to fifty as I look at the wallpaper that’s coming unglued. I pretend to be bored, and when my breathing slows, she continues.
“Zemzem heard the train first—”
I cut her short. “His hearing was very sharp, right?”
“Very sharp, Koumaïl. He came from a faraway region, from a people of hunters, and his father—”
“Was the chief of the village! I know! He could even hear the murmur of the dead.”
“Absolutely. That’s why Zemzem heard the creaking andwhistling of the train well before I did. He squeezed my hand hard because he understood that something unusual was happening. We started to run along the tracks, and suddenly—”
“The thunder!”
“A frightening roar, Koumaïl. Like a huge explosion, followed by an earsplitting noise that made your hair stand up on your head. Then a cloud of smoke rose. When we got to the train, all out of breath and sweating—”
“Just past the curve, right?”
“Yes, where the pear trees were growing. We saw that the engine car was on fire. The other cars had come off the rails, toppled over like dominoes. People were stuck under the wreckage, screaming. Those who had managed to escape were sitting on the ground in shock, while the fire spread to the trees.”
“People were burning? You saw them?”
“No, Koumaïl, I did not see them. It was the smell that was unbearable.”
“Like barbecued pork!”
“Worse than that. I can’t describe the smell. Zemzem told me to go and tend to the wounded, and he ran toward my father’s house to get help.”
“And to get the tanker truck, more than anything else!”
Gloria nods. She knows that I never forget any detail. I could tell this story myself as if I had lived it. But I prefer to listen to it.
“I rushed to the cars at the rear and helped two men
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