The Blue Between Sky and Water Read Free Page A

cauterizing smell, like pollution, soaked the air.
    Transfixed, their legs held upright only by the fear that stiffened them, their souls limp as their dicks, two of the boys urinated involuntarily, one shat himself, and the oldest among them, Atiyeh, the one who had been most arrogant and cruel to Um Mamdouh, was stunned into a knot of silence.
    For the rest of their lives, the boys would compare their memories of that instant, and they would all agree that never had anything terrified them more, not even the Jewish gangs or later the Israeli military that came first with guns and machetes and later with incredible machines of death. They had glimpsed Sulayman in rare anger. A real djinni.

SIX
    The Quran says that Allah made the djinn from smokeless fire. Everyone knew that. Some revered the djinn, others feared them, but everyone respected and cowered at their power. And those who communicated with the djinn were avoided by some, revered by others, and feared by most.

    The next day, the parents and elders of each family convened and went to Um Mamdouh’s house, where they were welcomed in the Barakas’ small stone dwelling. The women were invited to sit on the carpet inside, while the men, including the stunned boy, received the hospitality of Mamdouh in the courtyard, where they were offered tea and dates and argileh s, or hookahs, already packed with tobacco and filled with rose water and lemons. Clearly, the family had been expecting them. Sulayman had emerged to protect their mother and, as there was no way now to contain this family secret, Mamdouh had surmised that the town would come. So, he had borrowed the argilehs from the beekeeper, who happily obliged, assuming they were for Nazmiyeh’s suitors.
    Inside their hut, little Mariam watched suspiciously as visitors arrived. Nazmiyeh served the women sweet mint tea. Her headscarf was trimmed in cheap metal coins that chimed shamelessly when she moved her head, and a brazen portion of her hair escaped for the world to see a hint of her wild copper curls. Nazmiyeh walked slowly, aware that the women were watching her. She had worn her green and orange dishdasha , the one that snugly clung to her large breasts and arrogant buttocks and thighs that fanned from a small waist. Nazmiyeh had a way of filling every room she entered, sucking up all the air.
    “Welcome to our humble home, ladies. We are honored by your presence,” Nazmiyeh finally said with a smile that allowed others in the room to breathe.
    “The honor is ours, beautiful young woman,” they said in unison.
    Nazmiyeh was not beautiful, not instantly attractive to those who looked her way. But for those who saw her, who brushed against her haughty defiance and irreverence, she was irresistible. She had walnut-colored skin that she made no attempt to lighten by keeping away from the sun. She didn’t try to straighten her coiled hair by wrapping, pulling, or ironing it for occasions, such as weddings, when women removed their hijabs for one another. Instead, she let her curls just be, enraged and arrogant as they pleased. Whatever people thought of her, she proved difficult to ignore. Indeed, she had been the object of many a fantasy in Beit Daras.
    The women of Beit Daras had come bearing gifts of fresh fruit and vegetables, olive oil, honey, and sweets. They apologized on behalf of their children, assuring Um Mamdouh, whom they respectfully addressed as Hajje Um Mamdouh, that each boy had received a hard beating and each would come in to apologize personally, if she would so allow. Hajje Um Mamdouh sat quietly and only spoke when addressed directly. She assured the women that Allah is the One who forgives, and that she had already forgiven the boys. It remained unuttered, though understood by all, that it was Sulayman’s forgiveness that was being sought and granted.
    Not until hours had passed did one of the women explain the condition of Atiyeh, the stunned boy.
    “Bring Atiyeh to me,” said the