“What do the voices say?”
Hamzah shakes his head, “She doesn’t understand them. They don’t speak our language. Women, she says. Mostly women and children.” He pushes his hat back and wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “I used to laugh at her but whenever the wind is high, she has these dreams and it upsets her and now it’s getting to the animals. And me. Some nights, none of us sleep.”
Seyda looks up at him intently, “Your wife’s name?”
“Asiya.”
“Tell Asiya to wrap bread in a cloth, put milk in a glass and give it up to the voices when she hears them.”
“Bread and milk?”
“Yes.”
“Bread and milk. That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“And this,” Ferida says, rummaging in the wagon. She pulls out some herbs, wraps them in a handkerchief and throws them to Hamzah. “Boil them until the
