religion or belief in God. It’s bad. Anything could happen to you.”
I look at her. Djelila shrugs.
“Promise me you won’t do it again?”
“I don’t know. I like to drink a little now and then, and I like to smoke a cigarette with my friends.”
I hold back a sigh. “What did you drink tonight?” I finally ask.
“I told you. Whiskey.”
“The whole bottle?”
Djelila nods.
“The whole bottle!”
“Alice drank more than I did,” Djelila whispers. “Then she didn’t feel well and it was getting late, so we decided to head home.”
As if I hadn’t noticed that Alice didn’t feel well.
“Promise me you won’t get drunk ever again, Djelila.”
I’m not asking her never to drink alcohol, only not to drink too much. Djelila seems to understand the nuance. Right away she nods in agreement. At the same time I tellmyself that I won’t abandon her as I did. I won’t abandon her again. I won’t ditch you ever, Djelila.
“I was scared tonight,” I say. “They could have—”
“If you’re talking about Majid,” Djelila interrupts me, folding her arms like a sulking child, “I don’t regret anything. He got what he deserved!”
“But there were five of them and you were alone! They could have … I don’t know.… You were at their mercy.”
Djelila takes a deep breath before lifting her comforter. She removes her shoes with her feet and slips into the warmth of her bed.
“Aren’t you getting undressed?” I ask.
“No, can’t be bothered. Can you turn off the big light, please?”
Djelila turns over and brings the comforter up to her shoulders.
I turn on the bedside lamp, shut off the ceiling light, and start taking off my shoes. My sister is still.
“You OK, Djelila?”
“Hmm.”
I take off my socks, jeans, and sweater, put on a large T-shirt, and remove my bra from under the T-shirt. My anger is gone. All I can see is the top of Djelila’s head. I feel like going over to stroke her hair. I feel like taking her in my arms and rocking her like a baby. I close my eyes instead.
“Sohane …”
I open my eyes. My sister has not moved. Her voice is muffled through the thickness of the down comforter.
“You’re wrong, Sohane,” Djelila says.
“Wrong about what?”
“I don’t want to be afraid of Majid or anyone else. I don’t want to live in fear. I don’t want my choices to be dictated by fear. I don’t want to be what others have decided I should be. I want to be myself. Do you understand, Sohane?”
I come up with only one answer. “It’s not a reason to drink,” I say.
Djelila shrugs slightly under the covers.
“Sleep well, Djelila.”
“Thanks. You too, Sohane.”
Djelila doesn’t utter a word to me all Sunday. She does her best to stay far away from me. She gets up late and takes a long shower. She hardly touches her breakfast, and then she helps Mom prepare lunch. She has brushed her hair, and it shines in the sunlight that floods the kitchen. She doesn’t seem particularly tired, and she welcomes Dad’s congratulations with a smile.
“So you beat them, you won your game? Brava, Djelila, brava!”
“Thanks, Dad.”
She brings him his coffee, and he’s happy to have his darling daughter take such good care of him. She takes Taïeb and Idriss for a walk, helps them finish their homework, and gives them a bath.
She seems to be elsewhere.
She goes to bed early. When I come in, she pretends to be asleep.
Monday morning, she leaves for school without even saying goodbye, and when she comes home, she dives into her homework.
The phone rings and Mom calls her. I’ll bet anything it’s Alice. Djelila stays on the phone a long while without talking much. Eventually I walk out to the corridor as if I’m going to the bathroom. Djelila quickly turns to face the wall.
She hangs up and tells Mom that the next day’s basketball practice is canceled. “Abdellatif is sick,” she says.
Tuesday, she leaves without talking to me.
I keep thinking
I look at her. Djelila shrugs.
“Promise me you won’t do it again?”
“I don’t know. I like to drink a little now and then, and I like to smoke a cigarette with my friends.”
I hold back a sigh. “What did you drink tonight?” I finally ask.
“I told you. Whiskey.”
“The whole bottle?”
Djelila nods.
“The whole bottle!”
“Alice drank more than I did,” Djelila whispers. “Then she didn’t feel well and it was getting late, so we decided to head home.”
As if I hadn’t noticed that Alice didn’t feel well.
“Promise me you won’t get drunk ever again, Djelila.”
I’m not asking her never to drink alcohol, only not to drink too much. Djelila seems to understand the nuance. Right away she nods in agreement. At the same time I tellmyself that I won’t abandon her as I did. I won’t abandon her again. I won’t ditch you ever, Djelila.
“I was scared tonight,” I say. “They could have—”
“If you’re talking about Majid,” Djelila interrupts me, folding her arms like a sulking child, “I don’t regret anything. He got what he deserved!”
“But there were five of them and you were alone! They could have … I don’t know.… You were at their mercy.”
Djelila takes a deep breath before lifting her comforter. She removes her shoes with her feet and slips into the warmth of her bed.
“Aren’t you getting undressed?” I ask.
“No, can’t be bothered. Can you turn off the big light, please?”
Djelila turns over and brings the comforter up to her shoulders.
I turn on the bedside lamp, shut off the ceiling light, and start taking off my shoes. My sister is still.
“You OK, Djelila?”
“Hmm.”
I take off my socks, jeans, and sweater, put on a large T-shirt, and remove my bra from under the T-shirt. My anger is gone. All I can see is the top of Djelila’s head. I feel like going over to stroke her hair. I feel like taking her in my arms and rocking her like a baby. I close my eyes instead.
“Sohane …”
I open my eyes. My sister has not moved. Her voice is muffled through the thickness of the down comforter.
“You’re wrong, Sohane,” Djelila says.
“Wrong about what?”
“I don’t want to be afraid of Majid or anyone else. I don’t want to live in fear. I don’t want my choices to be dictated by fear. I don’t want to be what others have decided I should be. I want to be myself. Do you understand, Sohane?”
I come up with only one answer. “It’s not a reason to drink,” I say.
Djelila shrugs slightly under the covers.
“Sleep well, Djelila.”
“Thanks. You too, Sohane.”
Djelila doesn’t utter a word to me all Sunday. She does her best to stay far away from me. She gets up late and takes a long shower. She hardly touches her breakfast, and then she helps Mom prepare lunch. She has brushed her hair, and it shines in the sunlight that floods the kitchen. She doesn’t seem particularly tired, and she welcomes Dad’s congratulations with a smile.
“So you beat them, you won your game? Brava, Djelila, brava!”
“Thanks, Dad.”
She brings him his coffee, and he’s happy to have his darling daughter take such good care of him. She takes Taïeb and Idriss for a walk, helps them finish their homework, and gives them a bath.
She seems to be elsewhere.
She goes to bed early. When I come in, she pretends to be asleep.
Monday morning, she leaves for school without even saying goodbye, and when she comes home, she dives into her homework.
The phone rings and Mom calls her. I’ll bet anything it’s Alice. Djelila stays on the phone a long while without talking much. Eventually I walk out to the corridor as if I’m going to the bathroom. Djelila quickly turns to face the wall.
She hangs up and tells Mom that the next day’s basketball practice is canceled. “Abdellatif is sick,” she says.
Tuesday, she leaves without talking to me.
I keep thinking
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