Mammy buried her face in his neck. She grabbed a handful of his shirt.
For hours that night, the excitement robbed Laila of sleep. She lay in bed and watched the horizon light up in garish shades of orange and yellow.
At some point, though, despite the exhilaration inside and the crack of artillery fire outside, she fell asleep.
And dreamed. They are on a ribbon of beach, sitting on a quilt.
It's a chilly, overcast day, but it's warm next to Tariq under the blanket draped over their shoulders.
She can see cars parked behind a low fence of chipped white paint beneath a row of windswept palm trees.
The wind makes her eyes water and buries their shoes in sand, hurls knots of dead grass from the curved ridges of one dune to another.
They're watching sailboats bob in the distance. Around them, seagulls squawk and shiver in the wind.
The wind whips up another spray of sand off the shallow, windward slopes.
There is a noise then like a chant, and she tells him something Babi had taught her years before about singing sand.
He rubs at her eyebrow, wipes grains of sand from it.
She catches a flicker of the band on his finger. It's identical to hers, gold with a sort of maze pattern etched all the way around.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색