I cleared my throat and Haziq looked up, the surprise in his expression morphing to interest when he saw me. “Karys.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you want?”
I entered hesitantly. I wanted to stand in front of Haziq the way I’d seen Zakai do—legs spread, arms loose, shoulders squared, but I was not Zakai, and so I laced my hands in front of me, making my shoulders small as I looked up at Haziq from beneath my lashes.
“I’m here on behalf of Ahmad,” I said softly.
Haziq frowned. “Ahmad. What is it you want with him?”
I swallowed as my eyes welled up. “Berel hurts him,” I said. “He makes him bleed.”
His sudden burst of laughter startled me. “Is that all?”
“Is that all?” I repeated. “He’s family,” I said. “And he hates what’s happening to him.”
“He’s told you this?”
I shook my head. “N-no. But I hear his yelps of pain. I see . . . that he’s injured. And it has to be stopped.”
Haziq’s eyes narrowed, he tapped his pen on the edge of the desk as he regarded me. It appeared he was both on the edge of laughter and of anger, and I held my breath as I waited to find which one he’d choose. “It’s entertaining,” he said. “It pleases the guests. Now, go pick a rose from the garden and put it behind your ear. You look lovely that way. Eat some dates. Rest in the sun. It’s a lovely day.”
Anger whipped through me, an unfamiliar emotion that Zakai usually plucked from my grasp like a poisoned flower I’d only begun to inhale. But Zakai wasn’t here now. The anger was mine and I found I liked it. Whereas fear had made me vulnerable, anger felt like a weapon, one I was ready to wield. “I demand you stop it,” I said.
A muscle in Haziq’s cheek jumped and his face grew dark. His eyes narrowed as he reached up to stroke his mustache. “You think you have power here on Sundara, little girl? You think I take suggestions from you?” His laughter was his weapon of choice and as intended, it cut me. The temporary power I’d held floated uselessly to the floor. “They’ve turned you into a little fool, haven’t they?” he hissed. “A pretty face and an empty head.”
His words pricked me too, but I was here for Ahmad and I refused to be dissuaded by my own hurt feelings. “Please,” I tried another tack. “Protect Ahmad from Berel. You are a caring and generous man we all honor and respect greatly,” I lied, knowing Zakai hated the man with the burning light of a thousand suns, and the rest of my family looked on him as a hard-shelled cockroach too big to crush under a rock.
Dark amusement lit his swarthy face. “Perhaps not an entirely empty head if you’ve begun to lie. Even if you do it poorly.” He considered me momentarily, his eyes moving from my face to my bosom, down to my feet and back up again. He grunted as if acknowledging a realization that had very suddenly crossed his mind. “You’ve grown up quite nicely, haven’t you?” He stroked his mustache again, his groin lifting very slightly out of his chair and sending a bolt of fear down my spine.
As he watched me, I pictured his thoughts like acrid smoke, weaving mysteriously through the caverns of his mind, snuffing out any light that might lie within. I had gone to his office in an attempt to defend Ahmad, and instead, I had the sudden inkling that not only had I not done that, but I’d cast myself under some spotlight I didn’t completely comprehend. “Perhaps,” he said after a moment, “there are other places where your beauty and services might garner more . . . praise. But the customers don’t come to Sundara for that. They’re here for a sideshow and so your act must stay as it is.” Sideshow? I hadn’t heard that word before and my hand itched to write it in my notebook. His palm smacked down on the desk as a form of finality. “Leave.”
I scuttled away like the cockroach I’d just thought him, a newfound disdain with myself for the weakness I’d displayed. Zakai might have been unsuccessful too, but he’d rage like a barely-contained storm, and then stalk from Haziq’s presence with his head held high.
I stopped, wrinkling my nose, wondering if Zakai’s scent was suddenly in my nose because I’d been thinking of him, or whether he remained on my skin more strongly than usual.
I looked around but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’d recently passed this way. With a final glance over my shoulder, I headed for the courtyard where Ahmad awaited me.
When I arrived, the little man was sitting on the bench we always sat upon for our lessons, Bibi at his side. Ahmad was reaching behind him to pull forth the books hidden under the wild cucumber plant, and when he turned back and caught sight of me, he smiled.
I rushed to him, kissing him on his cheek and taking Bibi in my arms as the monkey jabbered and cooed.
I set Bibi down so he could go in search of insects and Ahmad handed me a book. I glanced at him. “You look well today.”
“Compared to who?”
I let out a small laugh. “Compared to yourself several days ago.”
His expression tightened and he nodded to the book. “Read,” he instructed.
“I went to Haziq on your behalf this morning,” I said in a rush of words.
Ahmad’s gaze flew to mine. “You did what?”
I set the book down, turning to him. “I can’t bear to see you hurt anymore,” I said. “I had to try to do something. I don’t think it worked but—”
“So you put a target on my back?” he asked angrily, standing and pacing in front of me.
My face drained of blood and something thick filled my throat. I swallowed around it, going to my knees in front of him and reaching for his hands. “It’s not right. None of us like what happens here, but to be hurt! To let them watch it!” I shook my head with pain and disgust. “I had to try. I had to try to make it stop for you!”
Ahmad stared at me for so long I wondered if he would speak. “We’re all being hurt, Karys, just in different ways.”
The lump returned and again I swallowed. Perhaps Ahmad didn’t know of my love for Zakai. Perhaps he didn’t see the affection Bertha had for Spider. Perhaps he thought what was happening to him was happening to us all.
Ahmad’s expression softened, his eyes filled with a tenderness I’d only seen when he gazed at Bibi, and he squeezed my hands before returning to sit on the bench. I sat down beside him and we turned toward each other. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about your softness being a weakness.” He shook his head, his curls bouncing around his jaw. “I’m not angry. In truth? You remind me of my mother. Or at least . . . who my mother might have been when she was a girl.” He gazed out to the desert. “Tenderhearted. A dreamer.” When he looked at me again, the affection in his eyes had deepened. “Those are all assets. In a world where everything feels jagged, and there are too many sharp things to get snagged upon and torn wide open, your softness is a gift. Someday you won’t feel as if it is, but trust me when I say there are too few like you.”
“Will you tell me?” I whispered, “About your mother? Was she a . . . small person too?”
Ahmad smiled softly. “No. She was tall and willowy like an olive tree, and I suppose I was one of her pits.” He offered a small chuckle and I smiled at him, my love for my friend overcoming me suddenly and causing my heart to swell. Ahmad sighed, sitting back, stretching his short legs, and crossing them at the ankles. “Speaking of targets, I was a bullseye on my mother’s back, only it was my father who was the archer.” His gaze grew distant, and I sensed the heaviness of his heart. “She was forced to love me in secret, but she did love me and showed me in a hundred ways, big and small.” He looked at me, his eyes moving over my face. “She knew that knowledge is both a kind of freedom and a terrible prison, depending on your circumstances. And she was right. Because of what she taught me, I have felt joy, and I have suffered more greatly than I might have without it.” He paused again, looking troubled. “I’m giving you what she gave me, and perhaps you will come to hate me for it one day.”