Sweetness in the Belly by Camilla Gibb

that was him I could hear breathing in the distance.

in the blue glow
    D r. Aziz’s father’s cousin’s daughter proved to be an extremely bright girl. Not only did she memorize without apparent effort, she asked surprisingly perceptive questions. Why does this chapter end here? she asked. Why does the voice in this chapter feel so far away? I could not afford to risk alienating the rest of the class by veering off into exegesis, so I tried to steer her back to the text, to get her to open herself to it, to trust in it. You will come to understand in time, I told her, if you just focus on repetition and memorization.
    I did not have answers for all her questions. I was not a Sufi philosopher like the Great Abdal or Sheikh Jami: I did not possess the wisdom and gifts that they both did as descendants of saints. I was nothing more than a dedicated student who, through sheer necessity, had been forced to become a teacher. But I relished this new role. And I was enchanted by this new student with her keen curiosity and her vague resemblance to her father’s cousin’s son.
    “If you want me to try and answer some of your questions, you’ll have to ask your father’s permission to stay after class tomorrow,” I told Zemzem. “But during class try and stop your mind from interrupting the rhythm. Do not think; experience.”
    Rahile was not about to let me offer a private lesson to the new girl. She began interrupting at the end of every verse with questions that were far less relevant than Zemzem’s.
    “I have questions too,” she declared when Zemzem remained behind after class the following day.
    “You’ll have to take turns, then,” I said. “So why don’t we begin with the question about revelation that Zemzem brought up yesterday.”
    “Because I don’t want to begin there,” Rahile said.
    “Who is the teacher, Rahile?”
    “You are the teacher.”
    “That’s right. And the teacher says where we begin.”
    I spoke about revelation, how the verses were revealed to the Prophet Muhammed, peace be upon him, through the angel Gabriel over a period of twenty-three years. This is why some of the verses feel different from others.
    “Why twenty-three years?” Rahile asked.
    “Because God had a lot to impart,” I said, growing impatient with her.
    Just then, a man pulled back the fence and entered the courtyard, and Zemzem leapt to her feet.
    “Zemzem!” he said gruffly. “What do you think you are doing?”
    Her father, I assumed. I introduced myself, apologized for delaying her.
    “You are the teacher?” He blinked repeatedly as he stood before me, his legs apart, his hands on his hips.
    “I am. And your daughter is my best student,” I said truthfully, hoping to flatter.
    Rahile harrumphed and kicked the ground.
    “She has to work, she knows she has to work!” the man exploded. “I agreed with Aziz she can come for this class in the mornings, but now she is late. Who is going to clean the house? Who is going to go to market and do the cooking? Should we live in dirt and starve?”
    Bortucan, as she always did whenever she heard a man yelling, burst into tears. I pulled her into my thigh. “I’m sorry,” I said to Zemzem’s father. “She had some questions which were a bit too advanced for the rest of the class, so I offered to answer them after the other children left.”
    “Oh, paah, paah, don’t tell me this! It is a curse to have a girl who is advanced.” He yanked her by the arm, wrenched back the fence and pushed Zemzem ahead of him into the street.
    “What about my turn?” Rahile bleated, tugging at my sleeve.
    “School’s finished for today, Rahile.”
    “It’s not fair! You gave a turn to the black one but the red one is better,” she said, pointing at herself.
    Poor Dr. Aziz, I thought. He will never prove to them that he is worthy. Even a child sees only darkness. A poor child who is relatively dark herself.

    I stepped out of the compound and slipped out of my