connects to her body—in fact, she’s
frantically twitching there, trying to lift the wing and fly. So I
wrap another strip of cloth over the wing and then under the dove’s
belly, over her back, twice, three times, till I’ve reached the end
of the strip and tied it to the other pieces of cloth. Now she’s
not able to move that wing at all, and her shrill coos have dulled
to a whimper. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and hesitate before adding,
“I’m sorry, Aliye .” The name means “high one,” and I mean it as a promise, or
at least a hope, that one day she’ll fly high again.
I ask Shai to open the cage door so I
can return Aliye, but as soon as I’ve closed the door behind her,
the bird lets out the most woeful, pitiful, pathetic cry of a coo
you could ever imagine. “She wants out!” Shai says. “She wants to
be held!”
“ She didn’t seem so happy
to be held before,” I grumble. “I think she’s just too smart, and
she knows now she has a name she can demand special
treatment.”
Even before I’ve finished speaking,
Aliye has begun throwing her body against the bars once more. She
may not be able to move her wing any longer, but it will never heal
if she keeps abusing it like that. “Too smart,” I mutter again. I
reach for the dove once more, and she quiets. Already she seems to
be growing used to my arms—or perhaps she just prefers them to the
cage.
Still, navigating the ark proves much
more difficult while holding an injured bird, and I’d swear the
floor’s swaying has grown even stronger. By the time I’ve made it
back to my blanket, I’m so dizzy and exhausted that I nearly
collapse onto the floor.
***
I wake from a dream of
blue butterflies and white birds to my father’s gruff voice.
“Daughter,” he says, “has your stomach settled?” I open my eyes to
find him peering down at me, his own eyes wide with hope even as
his mouth closes tight, the taut curve of it grim and worried and
perhaps even resentful. As I wake fully I realize my mother’s
sitting upright beside me, her own expression stern. Please your father, that
look says.
So I sit up and answer, “Yes, Father,
I am much better,” though my gut sends up a wave of protest at the
lie.
“ Good.” He sighs, his gaze
straying to the dove perched in her own nest of a blanket beside
me. I know he sees the bird, but he makes no comment, saying only,
“Nahala, my wife, and Neima, my daughter”—Why is he being so
formal? He’s procrastinating, I decide, putting off what he doesn’t
want to say—“I know you are—have been—ill, and I hate to ask this
of you. But we need your help. There are too many animals to care
for, and the smell below has become unbearable. If we could just
clean up some of that animal waste—”
“ Of course, Father,” I
say, with a twinge of guilt that I’ve been neglecting my duties
and, if I hadn’t been prodded, would have continued to do
so.
But Father shakes his head, puts a
hand up to stop me, and goes on, “I never thought I’d have to ask
my wife and daughter to work when you’re unwell, but—”
I sigh. He is so good , and it only makes
me feel worse.
“— but your uncles and
grandfather and I must spend our time working on the ark itself,
checking the walls and shoring up the weak spots. Even the smallest
leak could be devastating. I’m sorry—”
Now I’m perplexed. “Surely we could
deal with one little leak. And how can there be weak spots, with
all the work you’ve done?” Father’s face turns harder, and,
unaccountably, my heart beats faster. “In any case, in a few days
the waters will recede, right?” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop.
“And we’ll be able to leave—”
“ Neima!” my mother says
sharply, “don’t question your father.”
I barely hear her, though, for
Father’s face has gone harder still, and paler, till it resembles a
weathered stone: he’s realized he’s said too much. My body feels
heavy, as though the ark
frantically twitching there, trying to lift the wing and fly. So I
wrap another strip of cloth over the wing and then under the dove’s
belly, over her back, twice, three times, till I’ve reached the end
of the strip and tied it to the other pieces of cloth. Now she’s
not able to move that wing at all, and her shrill coos have dulled
to a whimper. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and hesitate before adding,
“I’m sorry, Aliye .” The name means “high one,” and I mean it as a promise, or
at least a hope, that one day she’ll fly high again.
I ask Shai to open the cage door so I
can return Aliye, but as soon as I’ve closed the door behind her,
the bird lets out the most woeful, pitiful, pathetic cry of a coo
you could ever imagine. “She wants out!” Shai says. “She wants to
be held!”
“ She didn’t seem so happy
to be held before,” I grumble. “I think she’s just too smart, and
she knows now she has a name she can demand special
treatment.”
Even before I’ve finished speaking,
Aliye has begun throwing her body against the bars once more. She
may not be able to move her wing any longer, but it will never heal
if she keeps abusing it like that. “Too smart,” I mutter again. I
reach for the dove once more, and she quiets. Already she seems to
be growing used to my arms—or perhaps she just prefers them to the
cage.
Still, navigating the ark proves much
more difficult while holding an injured bird, and I’d swear the
floor’s swaying has grown even stronger. By the time I’ve made it
back to my blanket, I’m so dizzy and exhausted that I nearly
collapse onto the floor.
***
I wake from a dream of
blue butterflies and white birds to my father’s gruff voice.
“Daughter,” he says, “has your stomach settled?” I open my eyes to
find him peering down at me, his own eyes wide with hope even as
his mouth closes tight, the taut curve of it grim and worried and
perhaps even resentful. As I wake fully I realize my mother’s
sitting upright beside me, her own expression stern. Please your father, that
look says.
So I sit up and answer, “Yes, Father,
I am much better,” though my gut sends up a wave of protest at the
lie.
“ Good.” He sighs, his gaze
straying to the dove perched in her own nest of a blanket beside
me. I know he sees the bird, but he makes no comment, saying only,
“Nahala, my wife, and Neima, my daughter”—Why is he being so
formal? He’s procrastinating, I decide, putting off what he doesn’t
want to say—“I know you are—have been—ill, and I hate to ask this
of you. But we need your help. There are too many animals to care
for, and the smell below has become unbearable. If we could just
clean up some of that animal waste—”
“ Of course, Father,” I
say, with a twinge of guilt that I’ve been neglecting my duties
and, if I hadn’t been prodded, would have continued to do
so.
But Father shakes his head, puts a
hand up to stop me, and goes on, “I never thought I’d have to ask
my wife and daughter to work when you’re unwell, but—”
I sigh. He is so good , and it only makes
me feel worse.
“— but your uncles and
grandfather and I must spend our time working on the ark itself,
checking the walls and shoring up the weak spots. Even the smallest
leak could be devastating. I’m sorry—”
Now I’m perplexed. “Surely we could
deal with one little leak. And how can there be weak spots, with
all the work you’ve done?” Father’s face turns harder, and,
unaccountably, my heart beats faster. “In any case, in a few days
the waters will recede, right?” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop.
“And we’ll be able to leave—”
“ Neima!” my mother says
sharply, “don’t question your father.”
I barely hear her, though, for
Father’s face has gone harder still, and paler, till it resembles a
weathered stone: he’s realized he’s said too much. My body feels
heavy, as though the ark
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