I jumped from the wall, hurried across the lawn, and ran to the courtyard where the steps ended. Bertha was there, sitting under the shade of the wide, white awning, sweat dripping down the sides of her face and pooling in the dip above her enormous bosom. “Someone just arrived,” I announced. “I think it’s a child.”
Bertha sat up. “A child?” Her face first registered shock, then concern laced with what I recognized as fear. She struggled to stand and I hurried to her, holding out my arm to help her up. But Bertha clicked her tongue. “Move aside. I’ll just take you down with me if I fall, and crush you like a skinny kumquat.” She hefted herself forward, sweat dripping from the rolls of her neck. The desert climate was no friend to someone as obese as Bertha. A waft of tangy sweat and rose water met my nose. She walked to the edge of the steps that Haziq and the child were still ascending and peered over. When she turned, she shook her head. “I forget how sheltered you are, despite . . . well, despite. That’s a dwarf, not a child.”
I peered over the side where she’d just looked. I could see the top of Haziq’s thick, curly hair, and the lighter hair of the . . . dwarf. They were on the final flight, almost having reached the top. “A dwarf?” I repeated.
“A small person.”
A small person. “An adult who is made . . . small?”
“That’s right. Does anything here really surprise you anymore?”
Surprise? No. Interest? Most definitely. But not because the person was different in some way I hadn’t encountered. Who was he? How had he come to be here? What was his story? My mind raced with excitement as it did every time someone new arrived.
We both turned as Haziq and the small person turned the corner to where we both stood. The little man’s clothes were practically threadbare, and his hair long and dirty. I smelled him before he’d even come very close. He had several bruises on his face, and a healing cut on his lip. He had a basket strapped to his side that seemed far too large for his stature, though I supposed anything would. His expression was both defeated and curious. He wore no chains, though he was not free. As was the same for us all. Chains were unnecessary on Sundara however. There was nowhere to run.
The man’s dirt-smeared cheeks were flushed with exertion, but Haziq, as usual, looked cool and unaffected, as though he’d just been relaxing in the shade of a palm, rather than climbing seven flights of steps that twisted and turned under the desert sun. “Ah,” Haziq said. “The welcome committee has already arrived. Karys, Bertha, meet Ahmad.”
The little man eyed us both, turning his attention to Bertha, his gaze narrowing. “Have I been sentenced to death after all?”
Bertha made a sound of annoyance. “I have a partner, half pint.”
Ahmad turned to me but before he could say anything, the top to the basket he was carrying opened and a tiny head peeked out. I gasped, looking closer at the strange creature with the round brown eyes and funny little face. “What is it?” I asked in wonder.
“You’ve never heard of a monkey?” Ahmad asked, his face scrunching into a frown.
“Come, let us go inside and meet the others. Then we’ll get you washed up. You won’t be performing yet, but a plane arrives this evening for the others,” Haziq said.
Another plane. This one would carry the audience, showing up to watch us perform. My stomach dropped but only slightly. I didn’t like the eyes, but I had Zakai to make me smile.
As we walked to the doors of the large house, the monkey climbed quickly from its basket, up Ahmad’s shoulder and onto mine. I jumped and squealed and the monkey leaped back to Ahmad, letting out a high-pitched sound that mimicked my own, stretching its lips around its large teeth in what looked like a mischievous grin. I laughed as we walked through the door into the cool interior, then offered the creature my arm. It accepted my offer and I stroked its small brown head.
“His name is Bibi,” Ahmad said.
“Bibi,” I repeated, to which the monkey grinned, making a gentle cooing sound. “I’ve never seen a monkey,” I told him. “Or a dwarf.”
“Just so you’re clear, he’s the monkey, and I’m the dwarf.”
I laughed, and Bibi climbed from my right arm, over my shoulders to my left. I smiled, enchanted by the small, nimble creature whose expressions seemed so human.
Several others had gathered in the main room, strewn with pillows and low tables for rest and relaxation, to meet the newest member of Sundara. Yusuf, the spindly looking man with arms and legs too long for his short torso, who performed with Bertha. Together, they were the spider and the fly, and because of it, we more often called Yusuf “Spider” though Bertha’s given name fit her far better than “Fly.” Tal, Liri, and Shon were contortionists who could twist their bodies in bizarre ways that made me both want to giggle and cringe.
And then there was Zakai, standing off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, his expression bored as he considered Ahmad. I grinned at him, nodding to the monkey on my arm. He gave me a half-hearted smile and then looked away, his expression growing icy as it always did when he laid eyes on Haziq. He hated him. I disliked him too, but not with Zakai’s burning passion.
“My family,” Haziq said, sweeping his arm around. “This is Ahmad. I know you will welcome him as you do all Sundara’s new members. Show him his lovely home, make him feel welcome. Introduce him to the others who are not here at the moment.”
There was a murmur of agreement. “Very good,” Haziq said. “Zakai, there is supposed to be a minor sandstorm this afternoon. Will you cover the windows?”
Zakai glanced at me and then back to Haziq. Without answering, he turned and left the room.
“I’ll show Ahmad around,” I volunteered, as soon as Zakai left, too smitten with Bibi to give him up just yet.
If Zakai had been there, he wouldn’t have let me. Or he’d tag along. I loved Zakai, he was the other half of me, but sometimes he could be . . . oppressive. A word which meant overbearing. A woman named Yanna, who had been on Sundara the year before and had gone to school until she was fourteen, had taught me that one and many others, and I was proud of my usage, even in my own thoughts. It was a word easy to draw, especially because Zakai was bigger than I was, and I drew his face with a disapproving scowl.
“Thank you, Karys,” Haziq said, patting Ahmad on the shoulder and turning to leave. “Make sure your final stop is the showers.”
“Yes, sir,” I murmured. I was further glad that Zakai hadn’t heard me offer Haziq that kind of respect. He hated it when I did that. I hadn’t meant to, but I was distracted by Bibi, who had his small hands on my face and was cooing sounds that were both sweet and funny.
“Follow me,” I said to Ahmad as I turned back toward the door to lead him to the courtyard that featured the well, which fed into an underground water source, surrounded by date palms, fig and persimmon trees, bushes of sweetly-scented sage, and white stone benches to relax in the shade.
“I’ll go with you,” Bertha said, wincing, and struggling to keep up though we’d only walked a few paces outside the house.
I stopped, putting my hand on her arm. “Stay here and rest. I’m okay.” If she was worried about my safety with Ahmad, she needn’t be. Not only was he half my size, but he appeared as though he hadn’t had enough to eat for a long time. He looked like a street urchin. Many of those who came to perform at Sundara were, or they had been. Homeless and hungry, always struggling for their next meal. Those who were “different” struggled greatly in Forastan, I was told. It was also possible that Ahmad had gotten into debt and needed Haziq’s money to get him out. Some performers in that circumstance were at Sundara for years—more deeply in debt I guessed—while others earned their way out quickly. I’d once mentioned to Zakai that it seemed more difficult for the popular members of our family to earn their way off Sundara. Zakai said it was because Haziq did math that was in his own favor, but I didn’t know enough about math—other than that it was numbers used to describe quantities—to comment on that.