Chapter Six ~ The Machine
They would take a few provisions and go to the open hills, disappear for the whole day, sometimes for weeks and months. They often didn’t have a particular destination. To go on a sarha was to roam freely, at will, without restraint.
(Palestinian Walks, Raja Shehadeh)
I’d arranged to meet Mandy in Prison Lane. It was a special occasion – the first time I had fibbed about anything important to Mum. I told her I was going to the shop.
Mandy is allowed out anyway, but I’m not. She’s a year older than me, and she says her reading age is five years older than average. I don’t know why I like her. It’s not because she’s clever. Mandy says she likes me because I am different.
When I tell Mum I’m not clever she says “O yes you are!” but the ‘O’ sounds sicky, a talkin
