Mariam sat down. She tried to make time pass by drawing an elephant in one stroke, the way Jalil had shown her, over and over.
She became stiff from all the sitting but wouldn't lie down for fear that her dress would wrinkle.
When the hands finally showed eleven thirty, Mariam pocketed the eleven pebbles and went outside.
On her way to the stream, she saw Nana sitting on a chair, in the shade, beneath the domed roof of a weeping willow.
Mariam couldn't tell whether Nana saw her or not. At the stream, Mariam waited by the spot they had agreed on the day before.
In the sky, a few gray, cauliflower shaped clouds drifted by.
Jalil had taught her that gray clouds got their color by being so dense
that their top parts absorbed the sunlight and cast their own shadow along the base.
“That's what you see, Mariam jo,” he had said, “the dark in their underbelly.”
Some time passed. Mariam went back to the kolba.
This time, she walked around the west facing periphery of the clearing so she wouldn't have to pass by Nana.
She checked the clock. It was almost one o'clock. He's a businessman, Mariam thought. Something has come up.
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