Galaxy of Light E-Book

مها أيوب

• Herausgeber: Nahdet Misr
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 249

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

تساءلت الأم بتأثر، تحاول أن تحرر ابنتها الصغيرة من الهم الكبير على سنها. لكن خديجة نفسها كانت بحاجة إلى من يحررها. نظرت لابنتها بألم شديد، وكأنها فتحت جرحًا غائرًا في أعماق قلبها، وحاولت أن تخفي آثار حزنها، لكن لم تتمكن من حجب اندفاع الدموع من عينيها كسيول مطر بعد سنوات جفاف عجاف... وتتوالى أحداث الرواية كمغامرة جميلة شيقة، تتضمن كل متناقضات الحياة، يجب أن نعيشها حتى نقدر قيمة الحياة، ودائمًا نستطيع أن نعيشها.

Leseprobe

A Novel

Galaxy of Light

Translated by

Yumna Kassim

and

Amani Elshimi

A Novel by

Maha Ayoub

General Supervision: Dalia Mohamed Ibrahim

All rights reserved © Nahdet Misr Publishing House

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage devices of systems,without permission from the publisher.

21 Ahmed Orabi St. Mohandseen. Giza

ISBN: 978 - 977 - 14 - 4648 - 4

Legal Deposit No.: 20885/2013

1st ed.: December 2013

Established By Ahmed Mohamed Ibrahim-1938

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Website: www.nahdetmisr.com

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In the name of Allah; the Most Merciful

“Have you not considered how Allah presents an example, [making] a good word like a good tree, whose root is firmly fixed and its branches [high] in the sky? It produces its fruit allthe time, by permission of its Lord.And Allah presents examplesfor the people that perhapsthey will be reminded.”

(Ibrahim: 24, 25)

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Names and events are derived from the author’s own experience. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

Dedication

I dedicate this cultural legacy to …

My father, the greatest storyteller I have known since childhood, and my supporter at every step of the way;

My mother, the strongest, most perseverant person, the one who showed me what it means to have a will of steel.

My sister, who is kinder to me than I am to myself, and to her beautiful family who I hold close to my heart;

My beloved husband, my partner in life, and the first to encourage pursue any new endeavor of mine;

My children, you light up my life;

My ancestors, my roots, and every member of my family near and far;

My healers and all those who helped me throughout my life;

My friends, editors, teachers and loved ones who helped me write this novel, despite the difficulties;

And my country, may you always be blessed and protected.

Chapter One

Difficult times are a test and good times too. Always remember that, son. Don’t be too happy and don’t be too sad …

Maria always felt that there was much more substance to her than her simple looks, frail body, name, or surroundings. Her golden, braided hair, her small-featured rounded face, and her hazel eyes all disguised an inner depth she could not define.

She was only six years old, the younger daughter in a middle-class family that was considered relatively well-to-do, at a time when resources were scarce. The country was caught up in a tangle of fear, worry, and disappointment; it was a country mobilizing for war.

The family lived in Ismailia, right on the banks of the Suez Canal. Tension was escalating every day. Army units lined up along the shore, and troops and tanks rolled in from Cairo, through the city, to the Sinai. Ismailia was constantly alert and apprehensive. People everywhere turned up the radio and listened intently on the street cafes, in their homes, and even at work. Some heard the news, others played the patriotic songs of Abdel Halim and his contemporaries. All listened to Nasser’s speeches that were a source of encouragement and reassurance. The army was prepared.

When adult talk became too terrifying, Maria would escape to her special sanctuary. In her room, she would cover her ears, and search for that voice inside her that muffled all other sounds and transported her to another state of existence. Slowly, she would find herself drawn into an open space, dark and magnificent, bursting with sparkling stars, glittering like jewels. When she felt safe and reassured, she would take her hands away from her ears, and float in the galaxy of light. “Wow, look at all these stars!” she would think. “I’m so light, I’m flying. And it’s beautifully quiet. This is the happiest moment in my life!”

She would spend what seemed like hours in her galaxy, until the sounds of reality re-emerged. Slowly, she would open her eyes, and look at her hands and kiss them … to make sure that they still moved, and that she had returned to her small body.

Her father, Shukri Elwan, had worked for the French experts at the Suez Canal Authority, since he moved back from France some 15 years earlier. It was a dream job for any man at the time. The benefits were great, and there were allowances and housing privileges too. He secured the job as a result of his merit and excellent performance on a fellowship in the faculty of arts in a university in France. He graduated top of his class and was awarded this job.

The Authority’s villas had old French architecture to match the stature of the French experts in the days when the administration was in their hands. After the nationalization of the Suez Canal in 1956, the villas were given to members of the new Egyptian administration, commensurate with each’s importance and rank.

Shukri’s job was to translate all dialogue between the French experts and the Egyptian workers. As a result of the extended time he spent doing this work, Shukri, although no engineer, gained much technical knowledge about the control room – a place no Egyptian engineer was allowed to enter. This particular knowledge later proved instrumental during the Tripartite Aggression, and afterwards when Shukri was able to direct the control engineers, helping navigate hundreds of ships across the Canal.

Overnight, Shukri Elwan became a local hero in Ismailia. He was decorated by the Chairman of the Suez Canal Authority, and by President Gamal Abdel Nasser, himself. And, he gained bigger benefits and privileges, including a beautiful villa.

Even though he was not a native of Ismailia, he enjoyed living away from the capital. He had found his niche. The social life manifested his earlier dreams, and the higher status would allow him to create his ‘ideal’ family – one that would have to measure up to his own standards and values.

He was still quite young then - a muscular, handsome and elegant fellow in his early thirties. He came from a simple, rural family of four siblings. His father, Hagg1 Abdallah, worked at the Ministry of Endowments, and, thus, had to move with the family from city to city, on a regular basis. Growing up, Shukri had found this kind of ‘unsettled’ life very distressing. He vowed to provide his future family the social status and stability he had missed.

It was why he would not listen to his mother’s constant insistence that he should get married. He had not yet found what he was looking for in a potential wife; beauty, and a good family - two things that would help him create the ideal family he imagined. He had started visualizing his ideal future the minute he returned from the fellowship in France.

Shukri Elwan had a will of steel. He was determined to fulfill his dreams. Even in swimming competitions as a college freshman, he would train during the winter in the freezing Nile waters, and swim for the longest distances, until he was awarded the Yacht Club’s gold medal three times in a row.

The news that Shukri had received the highest Medal of Honor spread across his social circles in Ismailia and Cairo. He received a surprise visit from four of his dearest school friends.

“Look at this house! What’s all this! Nice villa Shukri,” said Mohamed AbdelMabud with a hint of spite. He was interrupted by Hassan Elazazi, throwing a khamsa hand gesture in his direction to protect from the evil eye, and saying, “Allahu Akbar! Shukri deserves all good things. Did you forget how hard he worked to get that fellowship in France after college? Do you remember how Hagg Abdallah sold everything he owned to educate his son and support him until he graduated? Take it easy buddy. Shukri, you should ask Sitt Hawa, your mother, to perform one of her immunization rituals on you to protect you from this guy’s evil eyes.”

“Where are we going to celebrate our national hero tonight?” asked Mahmoud Badran, playfully. Samir Messiha stepped in with a smile and a heavy southern accent. “How about we let Shukri decide what he wants to do? We’re not here to tire him out. You know he doesn’t like to stay up late, right Shukri?”

Shukri smiled confidently. “Who said I want to go out with you guys anyway? I already have plans. I’ll pass by my parents because I miss them and haven’t checked on them in quite a while.”

Badran interrupted, “OK so you’ll have lunch with them, but what about after that? Why do I get the feeling you’re going to meet a girl?”

“Well if you’d let me finish, you might find out,” replied Shukri. “I am going to meet my cousin Leyla at Groppi’s. She’s bringing a couple of friends with her for me to see and maybe pick a wife.” Shukri turned to Badran with determination, “You, especially, are not coming with me. I want to make this decision by myself, without anyone’s influence.”

Samir Messiha ushered his friends towards the door. “Come on guys. We’ll drop Shukri off and talk on the way. Shukri has to catch that duck Sitt Hawa has stuffed especially for him.” His joking deliberately relieved his friend from the obligation to go out with the group that night.

All five young men went out to Mahmoud Badran’s car - a navy blue Fiat 1100 which, small though it was, fit all of them in. They headed to Hagg Abdallah’s house in Saray El Kubba, laughing the whole two-hour drive, as they remembered adventures and pranks from their earlier school and college days.

Shukri’s arrival home was as festive as the Eid. His youngest siblings, Naima and AbdelFatah, were overjoyed with his familiar gifts of candy and little trinkets. His mother, Hagg2 Hawa, also enjoyed her new embroidered shawl. She was known and loved for her warmth and spiritual healing powers.

Shukri bent over his father, Hagg Abdallah, clad in his robe and kaftan, and kissed his hand and shoulder. “I missed you, father. What do you say we have dinner, you and I, tonight in ElHussein? My treat,” he said proudly.

Hagg Abdallah laughed, “you also owe me two pigeons you had promised last time you were here.” Shukri threw himself into his father’s arms. This was the only place he allowed himself to express emotion.

His visit after an absence of more than two months called for a feast – a casserole of meat and okra, rice with kidneys, fried red meat and three ducks – two stuffed with rice for the children, and the other with freekeh for Shukri. Then there was the best green salad, rich with the season’s freshest vegetables, arugula, and a squeezed lemon.

Sitt3 Hawa called her eldest daughter to the kitchen, while stirring the mallow in its pot and blowing into it for added good energy. “Haneya, come take the bataw bread and don’t break it on your way. Put it in front of your father and Shukri. Tell your sister, Naima, to come take the okra casserole, too.”

Hagg Abdallah was now seated where the food would go. “My, my, my,” he said, with a watering mouth, “the meat looks delicious!” He reached out to taste it, only to hear Sitt Hawa loudly remind everybody to wait for the mallow, and recite the prayers first. “Hurry up woman! Your son Shukri is hungry.” Hagg Abdallah was unable to contain himself at the delightfully appetizing smells floating in from the kitchen.

When the whole family was finally gathered at the table, Shukri, Mohsen, Haneya, Naima, AbdelFatah, all waited for the Hagg to divide up the duck, after Sitt Hawa recites her readings. She began by reciting the name of Allah on the food, and praying for her children, with special teary blessings for Shukri.

“We seek refuge in Allah, the All-Listener, the All-Knowing, from the accursed satan” …

“We seek refuge in Allah, the All-Listener, the All-Knowing, from the accursed satan” …

“We seek refuge in Allah, the All-Listener, the All-Knowing, from the accursed satan” …

“In the name of Allah the Merciful” …

“May you be in the protection of the Ever-Living; by the power of Allah, a thousand times; there is no power but from Him, the All-Hearer, the All-Knowing.”

And Shukri began to eat, grateful to his parents for all they provided. With a healthy appetite, he indulged in the duckroast, stuffed with delicious freekeh, and the rest of the feast prepared in honor of his visit. The family then gathered in the balcony for mint tea.

“By the way, mother, I am heading out in a little bit. I’ve got an appointment.”

To which Sitt Hawa responded, “Oh Shukri but we haven’t had nearly enough of you yet…”

“Oh God, leave him alone, woman,” Hagg Abdallah interjected.

Now a little upset, Sitt Hawa objected, “I’m talking to my son.”

“I’m coming back, and I’m spending the night. I’m just going to run a little errand, and I’ll be taking the Hagg to ElHussein4 in the evening, then right I’ll come right back home to you,” Shukri said trying to comfort her.

Hagg Abdallah stood up, “I’ll go wash up and pray ‘Asr before I get too heavy. Goodbye for now, son. AbdelFatah, come so I can lean on you, my boy.”

Taking this as an opportunity to unleash the curiosity she was trying to contain, Sitt Hawa asked, “So will you tell your mother where you are going?”

With a glimmer in his eye, Shukri lowered his voice “Later, Sitt Hawa, I’ll tell you later; at night, when the Hagg has gone to sleep. I promise you. We’ll have one of those long chats we used to have.” He laughed, knowing his mother had already figured out where he was going and what he was going to do.

Sitt Hawa smiled and said “I’ll be waiting for you, dear. Don’t forget to tell Leyla I said hello.”

“How did you know?!” said Shukri in shock.

“Never mind how, hurry up or you’ll be late. Stay safe, darling, and may you find what you are looking for.”

She walked him to the door, whispered a prayer under her breath, and shut the door.

“Woman, come help me put this galabeya on. Do you ever stop talking?”

“Quit asking for stuff, man, will you? For goodness sake!”

Shukri hurried. He and his cousin Leyla had devised a plan. He would walk into Groppi, and ‘accidentally’ see Leyla and her friends, one of whom may be the bride he was searching for. He had finally decided to marry, and he only had a few days of holiday left.

Sitt Nafisa, of course, had told her sister Sitt Hawa every detail of the conversation she had overheard Leyla and Shukri having over the phone. When she asked her daughter, Leyla had said, “that was my cousin, Shukri. He is looking for a bride among my friends.”

“And are you not a bride, my dear?!” retorted her mother. Leyla had laughed. “No, mother. Shukri is like a brother to me. How many times do we have to go through this?”

Shukri took a taxi from in front of the Kubba Palace to his four o’clock appointment in Korba. The cab driver was an old man with a smiling face, snowy hair and colorful eyes. He drove towards Roxi, passed the domes of Korba and the Basilic Cathedral of Santa Fatima, and headed towards Groppi.

“You know, that’s an Armenian Catholic wedding,” the taxi driver commented on the joyful decorations lighting up the Cathedral.

“Really… how do you know?” asked Shukri.

“You see, I am from Zeitoun, and I used to work with a lot of Armenians that live in the area. I’d run a few errands for them and things like that. I’d transport their goods and merchandise, for example. I had a brilliant reputation with them too, alhamdulilah. All these foreign khawagas own the big shops in Roxi and Korba. And they all have their daughters marry in this church. They have such beautiful daughters! Pretty! Polite! They take their looks and intelligence from the khawagas, but their manners and taste from the Egyptians.”

That last comment caught Shukri’s ear. He had been too distracted and focused on arriving on time, but now he was intrigued.

“How come!” he exclaimed.

“Well they’ve been living among us for years, sir. They’ve made their mark on us and we’ve made our mark on them. We’ve mixed.”

They arrived at Groppi and Shukri, though in a hurry, did not forget to ask for the driver’s name. “Garas,” said the old man. “At your service!”

“OK, Garas, how do I reach you? I’m not from around here, and I need a driver for the next couple of days.”

“At your service, sir. I’ll wait for you at the Sawaysa Coffee House, close by. How long are you going to be?”

“About an hour. How much do I owe you?”

“Why are you in such a hurry, son? We’re going to be together for another day or two, so just go do what you need to do and I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Shukri got out of the cab, patted his hair down with some vaseline, and then wiped the rest of it off his hands. He checked his tie and then placed his handkerchief back, carefully, in the pocket of his jacket. With a dab of cologne across his neck and suit, he was now ready for the meeting.

He walked in through Groppi’s old glass and mahogany revolving door, taking in the sounds and rhythms of the comfortable assembly inside. There were those laughing, those chatting amiably, and those shaking hands in greeting. He threw a glance to his left and right, looking for Leyla and her friends amongst the crowd.

The band started playing the Waltz, urging couples to the dance floor. Few were left seated and Shukri quickly spotted Leyla, now waving him over. Only two of her friends were in her company, as agreed. With one final tie adjustment, Shukri moved swiftly, but cautiously, to her table.

With one quick look, Shukri was sure that the wife of his dreams was not seated next to Leyla. Both young women were well dressed, and appeared to have good backgrounds, but Shukri did not feel that either of them could be his wife, so he decided to say a quick hello then sit at a separate table, until the hour went by and Garas came back to give him a ride home.

“This is Shukri, my cousin … and these are Samia and Khadiga my friends. Won’t you join us for a bit?” asked Leyla eagerly, and with a slight smirk.

Moving closer, poised and confident, Shukri shook Leyla’s hand. “How are you, Leyla? I’ve missed you. What a nice coincidence!” he said while nodding politely at her friends, “Hello.”

For the most part, he had already figured the nature of each girl’s character using a combination of social and perceptive intelligence. The first - the one on Leyla’s left - was impulsive, light-hearted, and laughed too much, too easily. The second was shy, rather quiet, and didn’t know much about etiquette, judging by the crumbs of gateaux left on her plate and the sounds she made sipping her tea.

“He’s gorgeous, Leyla! Have him sit with us will you?” whispered Samia into Leyla’s ear. To which Leyla immediately and without hesitation responded:

“Why don’t you sit with us for a bit Shukri?”

Shukri politely declined the invitation with the excuse that he was waiting for someone to join him. Thankfully, Leyla understood that Shukri was not attracted to either of her friends, and so as not to embarrass him, she said “Oh, well, it was nice to see you. Please tell Auntie Hawa and Hagg Abdallah I said hello.”

Taking a seat at the first empty table next to them, Shukri ignored Samia and Khadiga’s glances, though he felt proud of his own attractive looks.

“Garcon,” he called, raising his hand. “A café au lait, please, and a packet of cigarettes – the rich kind,” he said, still ignoring, but conscious of Samia and Khadiga’s whispers for he was certain they found him charming.

His order came swiftly, and Shukri lit a cigarette, contemplating thoughts of the ideal wife. She would be a beautiful woman from a respectable family, a potential mother for his perfect children. Shukri had planned his future meticulously.

He took a sip of his coffee and casually threw a glance at the door. That’s when he saw her. She walked in and caught everyone’s eye - beautiful and attractive with soft black hair, and pale rosy skin; simple and discreet; charming without saying a word.

Shukri watched closely as she moved. He watched the direction she was moving in and half-panicked when he saw her move towards him. He looked around himself in disbelief. She came closer and her large hazel eyes met his. Shukri felt something he had never felt before. He felt like for that moment, that split second, their souls had connected.

She moved passed him, and in a sweet delicate voice said “Good evening, ladies.” For the second time that night Shukri couldn’t believe what he was seeing. She had gone straight to the table Leyla and her friends occupied and sat with them. He turned and stared at her, anxiously waiting to get Leyla’s attention. Eventually, he called out to Leyla and gestured for her to come to his table, not giving much consideration to etiquette or judgment.

“Who’s she?!” he asked in a hushed tone.

Leyla smiled, “That’s Eva-Maria Mioloni.”

“Yes, so who is she? What does she do? Where’s she from? Who’s her father?” Shukri probed her impatiently.

“She’s a student at the Conservatoire. Her mother is Armenian and her father is Italian. They own the Mioloni jewelry stores in Korba… but don’t even think about it! They’re moving to Italy next week! They’re even selling their stores!”

“On no but … I have to! Oh, God I’m so confused. She’s the one, she’s the one Leyla,” Shukri now muttered. He did not even hear Leyla when she excused herself and told him that they would be leaving.

In the time it took Leyla and Shukri to finish their conversation, Eva-Maria had disappeared from her table, leaving Shukri distraught at not having been introduced to her. A couple of moments later, Leyla and her friends walked out of Groppi, swinging the revolving door round and round, like a game of roulette. They only thing on Shukri’s mind now was that Eva-Maria was leaving and he had no idea when or how he would ever see her again. How beautiful she was! Such delicacy and finesse!

Garas came to take him home. For the length of the ride, Garas shared memories of how he had come to Cairo from ElZeitoun. But Shukri was not listening. He was too busy replaying Eva-Maria’s “Good evening” over and over in his head. Had she even noticed him?

When they got to his parents’ house in Qasr El Kubba, Shukri asked Garas to come pick him up at 11am the next morning to take him to Banque Misr. He would be picking up the reward money that President Nasser had granted him.

Shukri climbed up the stairs of the apartment building his parents lived in. It was a hundred years old. The staircase was made of limestone and had darkened by virtue of age and use by generations and generations of residents. The architecture was stunning, with majestic high ceilings, and solid walls. Each floor had two apartments separated by a long hallway with blue, red and yellow tiles, arranged into old Islamic mosaic shapes. This too had darkened, as a result of continued weekly washing and scrubbing. Even the metal railing had aged with red and copper spots of rust, visible on the intricate designs of the metalwork. Guarding each apartment was a two-fold French front door made of beech wood and glazed windows covered by fer forgé.

Sitt Hawa’s father, Shukri Bashir, had left them this apartment when he died. He was a relatively well-off cotton merchant, of Turkish descent. He married Sitt Hawa’s mother in Sharqia, then left and married another. He had a habit of doing that such that the joke was he had a wife or divorcee in every village, town and city. When he died, his inheritance was divided between all his wives and children, and Sitt Hawa inherited the apartment. Her family moved there when Hagg Abdallah retired from his job as a government employee at the Ministry of Endowments.

Shukri Elwan felt tired going up the stairs. The swimming and long distance champion who never ran out of energy, was now dazed and worn-out. He had never felt this way, except once in France. He was dragging his heavy feet, and breathing hard when finally he got to their apartment on the third floor. Um Michele, their age-old neighbor, opened her door. She was a good woman and a faithful wife. Every morning, she went to church to light a candle and pray for her late husband, Ishaq Efendi. She dressed in black since the day he died, and fasted until her sullen features turned blue with sadness. Her grief for his loss had become part of her existence.

“Hello my dear Shukri,” she said; “Shukri, Shukri, Shukri,” her pet parrot repeated, somewhere in the background.

“Kuku stop!” she ordered before the parrot immediately went silent.

“How are you Tante Um Michele? And how are Nura and Michele?” Shukri inquired fondly.

“They send their greetings. They’re both married now and always busy.”

“Would you like me to take you to church? I know this is when you usually light a candle for Ishaq Effendi, may he rest on peace.”

“Do pray for him, my dear, but no thank you - just help me down one floor, please.”

Shukri noticed a tear in her eye. She had remembered the man she loved. Her side-parted hair was tucked at the nape of her neck, just as she had worn it at her beloved husband’s funeral. Now, a decade later, she still honored his memory and preserved her mourning rituals. But, she had aged. She moved with difficulty and wore rheumatism socks on her feet. Yet, she insisted that Shukri only help her to the second floor and that she would carry on by herself. “Shukri, darling, you’ve helped me down the broken step. Now, go on ahead to your mother, God bless you both, and say hello to her for me. And please remind her not to forget the incense she promised to get me from ElHussein, would you?” Um Michele laughed softly. “Your mother and I have been good friends for a very long time. I’ve known her ever since Hagg Shukri, your grandfather, may he rest in peace, lived here with her mother. We were in pigtails then! Oh, how time changes everything! Come on, my dear, I’ve kept you long enough.”

Shukri found Um Michele’s words very touching. He was taken by her loyalty and life-long love for her husband; something of what he had felt today for Eva-Maria, he thought.

He knocked on the door to his mother’s apartment, and heard her voice from inside. “Haneya get the door! I’ve got dough on my hands. Haneya! Haneya answer me! Someone’s knocking at the door.”

“Mama, I’m giving AbdelFatah a bath. Have Naima open the door,” came Haneya’s response. Shukri couldn’t help but smile, waiting outside. His mother lived in a world of her own; a kingdom of her own, but, still, one that was inherently small and simple. Shukri was indignant towards his family’s social status, but nevertheless found solace and comfort in their lifestyle.

He heard footsteps coming towards the door and locks unbolt as his little Naima opened the door. She was in her nightgown and small glasses, with her damp blonde hair neatly pulled back in pigtails. “It’s Abeh5 Shukri Mama! Did you get me anything, Abeh?”

Shukri, of course, had come prepared. He fished a packet of caramel candy out of his pocket. “Here you go,” he said smiling at his sister before she ran off, “share it!”

“Good evening Sitt Hawa … Is The Hagg ready?” He had promised to take his father to ElHussein.

“Good evening, dear,” Sitt Hawa responded eagerly, leaving the dough to greet her eldest son. With one look, she noticed that something was not quite right. “Why do you seem a little pale, son, like someone’s put you under a spell?”

“Nothing mother, I’m just a little tired.”

“Are you keeping secrets from your mother. I know when something is wrong,” she said sweetly.

“Yes. I’m looking for something I lost. It’s gone and I won’t find it again.”

Sitt Hawa looked her eldest son in the eye, and in a few moments was able to tell the reason why Shukri was upset.

“By the way, Um Michele asked me to remind you of the incense you promised her,” Shukri mumbled trying to change the subject.

“Yes, I’ll get them the next time I go to ElHussein. I’ll probably go tomorrow, inshallah.” Sitt Hawa understood.

Shukri went to find his father. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. This outing was, specifically, to make his father happy, and he wasn’t going to burden him with his own sadness. “Hagg, are you ready?” he asked politely from outside his father’s bedroom door.

“Almost. Just a little patience … patience is the key to release, my son. Sitt Hawa! Would you come help me put this cloak on?”

Too focused on the cookies she was baking and the dough she was fermenting, and thinking about how she was going to help Shukri, Sitt Hawa’s response came as, “Oh put it on yourself Hagg! I’ve got dough on my hands!”

“What dough! Am I to leave your son Mr. Shukri waiting? That won’t do!”

Sitt Hawa sighed. “All this yelling and shouting will ruin the baking. Now, don’t come complaining of a stomachache when you eat the cookies. I won’t have us yelling so close to food.” She then started to quietly recite the name of Allah and the Verse of the Throne on to the dough all over again.