The Sand Fish by Maha Gargash

Author:Maha Gargash
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

24

For days, Noora felt a vigor she thought she had lost. She swept flat the sand of the courtyard and dusted the rooms, milked the goats and brewed the tea, kneaded the dough and lit the coffee hearth. Although Jassem had not announced it yet, she looked forward to the day of his departure.

Late one afternoon, she rolled out some pink cotton material one of the women villagers had dropped off. Thanks to Lateefa, who had spread the word on what she called “the merits of the new member of the family, our third wife–goodwife,” the whole village found out early about Noora’s talent. Lateefa had described Noora as an accomplished seamstress. It was a skill she had added to the other two “most important skills” every new wife should have: well-shaped hips for childbearing and long, soft hair.

It was quiet in the courtyard. Jassem still had not returned from his shop in Leema, and Shamsa and Lateefa were out visiting. Noora was about to start cutting the material when she heard the familiar bleats of the goats at the entrance of the house. They always came back at this time after having wandered through the village all day. She sauntered to the door and let them in, shooing them toward the wire enclosure by the men’s majlis. That’s where they spent the nights, along with the chickens.

“Food for you,” she said, surprised at the singsong that embellished her voice. She poured the water from the boiled rice from lunch into their tray and added some grasses.

“Come, come and look!”

Noora had forgotten about Yaqoota. “What is it?” she retorted, regretting immediately her impatience at Yaqoota’s brusque interruption. There was no need to snap at her like that. Yaqoota stood by her whenever she could. Despite Yaqoota’s loose tongue and unpredictable ways, Noora liked to think of her as a friend of sorts in this household of agony. “What is it?” she said, gently this time.

Yaqoota grabbed Noora’s palm and pulled her toward Jassem’s room, swung her to the side of the half-open door, and bonded her finger to her mouth. “Shh…”

Noora was surprised she had not heard his return. There he was, sitting on the carpet, which filled the room with its spectacular colors and patterns that curved into leaves and flowers. He had his back to them, settled cross-legged in front of his rosewood cupboard. How well Noora knew that large, three-door cupboard. She scrutinized its every detail whenever she dusted it. Branches of delicate blooms tumbled out and over the sides of two elaborately sculpted urns crowning it. That’s where he hid the keys to it.

She watched Jassem run his fingers over the cupboard’s edges, along the delicate floral pattern with thin vines that entwined and blossomed into flowers of grace—roses, chrysanthemums, jasmine. He, too, seemed gripped by its loveliness, until he caught his reflection in its deep, brown luster. He leaned back and neatened his thinning hair. Then he stroked the stubble on his chin before letting his hands drop to his thighs.

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