The Sand Fish: A Novel from Dubai by Maha Gargash

Author:Maha Gargash
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780061744679
Publisher: Harper Paperbacks
Published: 2009-10-07T05:00:00+00:00

The next day at breakfast Jassem made his announcement. He would be going to India, and Hamad would stay behind to take care of them.

Noora smiled into her chest. With Jassem's departure, her mind could rest at night. She would be able to listen to the sizzle of the sea in her moon-drenched room. She knew she would still have to deal with Shamsa during the day. But those nights! What blissful nights they would be. She would be able to close her eyes and fall into a deep sleep.

After breakfast, Shamsa and Lateefa headed to their rooms (they always rested after a meal), and Jassem went to his shop. That was the routine, and Noora, too, had her habits. She would enter the men's majlis and gaze at the sea through the outer window.

Hamad entered the house, carrying a sack of rice, as she crossed the courtyard. She caught the tiny shreds at the hem of his dishdasha and thought how easy it would be to repair them. All she had to do was open the hem and fold it in, hook it in place with a neat row of stitches. All he had to do was ask. But Hamad did not look at her, just walked straight to the kitchen with his mouth drawn tight.

She kneeled by the majlis window and stared out through the bars. Although it was still early in the morning, the air she breathed in was already warm and moist, as if it had been boiled over and over before being left to simmer. In front of her was the lifeless sky of summer, bleached by a sun that sat like a hazy blob. So much glare that she had to squint at the fishermen on the shore, repairing their nets, and the sailors bent over strips of canvas on the sand, shaping and sewing them into sails. Under an open-sided barasti that made up the Koran school sat the children, swaying back and forth as they recited a verse.

Noora joined them, whispering the verse into her chest. When they stalled, she did, too, until the teacher fed them a couple of words to set them back on track. It was just what her father used to do when he taught her and Sager the Holy Koran.

A lump expanded in her throat. How patient her father had been with her. Whenever she got stuck in her studies, he would give her a stern look and instruct her to concentrate harder. And yet, with Sager, Ibrahim had been different. He used a rough branch to punish him with a whack on his left palm. The few times Sager had objected with a child's weak protest, Ibrahim had let loose another whack on Sager's right palm.

Even at that young age of six or seven, Noora had felt her brother's pain. After the lessons, she would follow him wherever he went. But Sager always shoved her away. In the end, she'd stay at a distance and watch him.

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