Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Children of Olive

Don't project. Don't cause fear where there is none.

"Come on," she said, taking Noor's hand. "Let's go home the long way today. Through the market."

They walked away from the checkpoint, cutting through the narrow streets where vendors sold vegetables and spices and knock-off electronics, where the smells of grilled meat and diesel mingled in the air, where the normalcy of commerce offered a thin shield against whatever was waiting at the gates.

The market was crowded at this hour, mothers and grandmothers haggling over the price of tomatoes, young men pushing carts loaded with bottled water and canned goods, children weaving between adult legs in games of chase that seemed impervious to the tensions of the adult world. Amal felt some of the tightness in her chest ease as they moved deeper into the press of bodies and voices. Here, surrounded by the ordinary business of living, the things Noor had said seemed less real. Less possible.

"Mama, can I have a sweet?" Noor tugged at her hand, pointing toward a stall where an old man was selling baklava and ma'amoul, the pastries arranged in careful pyramids on metal trays.

"After dinner, habibi."

"You always say after dinner."

"And I always mean it."

Noor made a face but didn't argue. This was the rhythm of their relationship —the small negotiations, the predictable protests, the love that lived in the spaces between words. Amal held her daughter's hand a little tighter as they passed a vendor selling bright plastic toys imported from China, then another selling headscarves in every color, then a butcher's stall where the smell of raw meat mixed with the sharp tang of blood.

She thought of the drawing. Of the hands that looked like they had been dipped in something dark.

She thought of the gray car on the news, and the little girl who had been approximately six years old.

A woman brushed past her, and Amal startled, her heart jolting in her chest. But it was just Um Khalil from their building, carrying a bag of eggplants and looking harried.

"Amal! I didn't see you there. How is the little one?"

"She's fine, thank God. How is your back? Did the doctor—"

"The doctor says rest. Rest! As if I have time to rest." Um Khalil shook her head, the gesture containing within it all the exhaustion and dark humor of a life spent navigating impossibilities. "Listen, have you heard about the incident on the northern road this morning? My cousin's husband works at the hospital. He says they brought in a family —a mother and children. The father was already gone."

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