“I'm sure you're right.” The khala sighs. She extends her hand. “I'm Bushra.”
“I'm Shay.” The woman's handshake is warm and firm and as friendly as any of Shay's neighbors in the medina. The ones who lend her sugar from time to time. The ones she regularly checks on, inquiring about their family's welfare. The ones whose children she knows by name. People she wouldn't hesitate to assist in whatever hardship may arise, who wouldn't hesitate to assist her in return.
She searches Shay's eyes, frowning slightly. “And what about you, habibti? I saw you turning around there. Wereyoulooking for something?”
“Oh.” Shay glances toward Hind's indigo door. “I was just visiting my … Well, I recently found out that your neighbor is … um … we're related. Sort of.”
“I see.” The woman nods; her lips relax slightly. Then she frowns again, deeper this time. “But do be careful with that one. She may not have your best interests at heart.”
Shay blinks. How odd. A woman wearing a symbol of a group that wants people like hereradicatedis advising her tobe carefulof her own mother. The thing is, she seems sincere. Shay shakes her head. “Of what should I be careful, khalti?”
The woman grunts. “I don't like to speak ill of anyone, but I feel I must warn you. What Hind Hibachi and others like her do to their own bodies is their business, but she shouldn't be enticing young girls to take a drug that will ruin their lives.”
The barkeep's accusations ripple through Shay's mind. Her heart sinks. It seems the woman was right in her assertions. Shay meets the neighbor's eyes. Eyes that are clear and intelligent and no more clouded by hate than Shadi's were.
“Khalti,” she says softly. “May I ask you about the scarf you're wearing?”
The woman notches her chin upward, her eyelids lowering to half-mast. Her gaze takes on a guarded sheen. “It is a pretty design, no? It doesn't mean anything. But if it did mean something, it's probably not what you've been conditioned to think.”
Shay nibbles her lip.What had she expected the woman to say?She doesn't want to stir up trouble, but she also wants to make sure the touched one will be safe until her return.
“And you're fine with living here?” She waves her hand toward Hind's shelter. “Next door to …”
“I feel sorry for her.” The woman shrugs, then sighs, a sound that's somehow both uncertain and resolved. “But at least I know she isn't going to turn me in.”
Shay supposes that's fair. It makes sense for the Naturalists to form a temporary alliance with the outcast touched ones if they share a common threat. The idea of Hind enticing young girls to try Snow unsettles Shay. No, it disgusts her. Becauseenticeisn't the right word. She's beengroomingthem for Al-Mukhtar. Maybe Khala Bushra is right—Shay does need to be careful.
She swallows, guiltily wishing she could go back to the moment before she knew her mother might be alive and stay there in her ignorance. How can getting what she's always wanted feel so wrong? If only Ghita had been more forthright from the beginning. “Khala, do you happen to know where I could find a young boy named Badar?”
The woman's chilled expression grows warm again. “You mean my grandson?”
Khala Bushra cups her hands around her mouth like the cone of a trumpet shell and bellows Badar's name. Unlike the elusive cat, the boy comes ramblingout of a nearby alley almost immediately. He shows Shay the way back through the sprawling maze of the Bib, more slowly this time, pointing out landmarks she can use to find her way back to Hind again. It turns out there were no traps in the Bib, so why does Shay feel like she's traversed an emotional battlefield and barely made it out with her sanity intact?
Shay finds Ghita seated on the floor, cracking argan nuts open with a heavy stone. The force of the midwife's pounding suggests that either the shells are excessively thick, or she's excessively agitated, and in either case, it seems wiser to quietly help than to interrupt. They work in tense silence until the basket of nuts runs empty, by which time Sami is hungry again and the events of the day feel more like something Shay dreamed than real occurrences.
“I saved you a bowl of loubia from lunch,” Ghita says, when Shay has tidied the floor and stored the precious argan kernels in glass jars to be crushed and pressed into oil later.
“Thank you, khalti.” Shay gathers the cold dish of white beans and spicy tomato sauce that Ghita knows to be her favorite. As she sits near the midwife and baby, she wonders if Hind has eaten today. The flavorful stew in her mouth suddenly has all the taste of dry ashes. She sets the bowl aside, struggling to swallow. “There is something I wish to discuss.”
A twitch passes over the midwife's face, but her voice comes soft, drifting on the air as though her lips never moved. “Speak your mind, child.”
“I need you to tell me more about my mother, about my birth,” Shay hedges, attempting to broach the topic without making outright accusations.
“We've been through it all before.” Ghita huffs dismissively. “What does it matter now? When you have a bright future straight ahead of you?”
They had not, in fact, been through it at all. It would be much more accurate to say they had tiptoed around it, pushed it aside, and at the very most, skimmed the surface of it. Shay draws a grounding breath. “I know, and I'm so thankful for the training you have accorded me. For this wonderful new opportunity.”
The midwife wrinkles her nose. “I sense a qualifying statement.”
Shay tries to laugh, but her effort devolves into a weary sigh. “It's just … Don't you always say that knowledge of the past provides tools that help us navigate the future? I've memorized all the technical aspects of midwifery, I've practiced applying the skills, but the bond between mothers and babies still perplexes me. Maybe if I knew more …”
“What more is there to know? A mother's love is written in her blood. It's dormant, like Shawafa, until awakened by the act of giving birth, and when a new mother holds her baby, the infant feels her warmth, hears her heartbeat, and recognizes her scent. Simple, really.” The midwife's eyes are falling shut as she speaks, a mirror to the baby she's rocking in her arms.
Frustration mounts in Shay's chest. “Khalti, I talked to someone today. Someone who knew my mother. They told me things that were … confusing. That didn't match up with what I remember you telling me.”
“Is that where you were all day?” Ghita's eyes fly wide, her gentle motions coming to a halt. The baby whimpers in his sleep, and Ghita lowers her voice, returning to rocking him once more. “It's normal to have doubts about any new endeavor, but I wouldn't have staked my reputation on your success if I didn't believe in you.”
Shay shoves another spoon of loubia into her mouth, if only to keep herself from saying something she might regret. She's all too aware that any future she may have is still dependent upon the midwife's endorsement of her. But if she doesn't address this now, when will she have another opportunity to do so?
