FIVE
When Thuraya, the daughter of Haj al-Mahdy, would bring his lunch to the shop, she would dispel the dull repetitive routine of your work. He would invite you to partake his meal, usually a dish of macaroni or couscous, with beans and peas. Once, a plate came with two small cuts of meat on it, confirming the family had prepared a portion specifically for you.
Even though she always covered her face with the hem of her cloak, you could easily see her face when she put the plate down. You thought Thuraya’s was beautiful and innocent, like the faces of children, round and wheat-coloured, shining with happiness, sparkling with something inexplicably joyful and beatific. Perhaps it was the smile that adorned her face, or the dimples that augmented that smile. She came with a smile, left w
