I had seen Aunt Mahboub beating him out of anger. She would be so angry she would hit her own head against the wall first, and then attack him. Pieces of Uncle Qadir’s old white undershirt would fly in the air like the feathers of a dead bird.

Maman’s swearing at people ended, and now she was cursing the heavens and the earth. She wrapped me in an old sheet and left me crumbled up in a world of fear.

Chapter 20

20

Friday means the rumbling voice of the salt peddler, the basket vendor, and the loudspeaker of the truck that sells guaranteed sweet watermelons. Friday means loud television and Amir’s long yawns. Friday means changing the old faucet and fixing the broken flush. Friday means long afternoons and picking up fights.

Like a sieve, the ceiling transfers music through its bricks and mortars and iron beams. Mr. Hashemi’s daughter is dancing. You can tell by the sound of her fast steps. Amir looks at the ceiling as if he’s watching a complete orchestra up there.

Shadi asks, “Maman, do you like me better or spices?”

I say, “You.”

Shahin says, “They bought the tape player today. It’s one of those newer models.”

“Poor Hashemi, he is at the end of his rope, and they buy the latest model tape player.”

Amir has discovered a new fetish, finding contradictions in people’s lives.

“They rent their apartment, but go around in taxis. They are constantly fighting over money, but you can smell their expensive perfume in the stairways.”

“Maman, me or ants?”

“You.”

The music gets louder. Now it is not just coming through the ceiling. The walls are beating with fast foreign music.

“No matter what, we are peasants and have a village mentality. Even if they stuff every one of us inside a room, only our bodies would stay inside, our swear words would be heard outside. We hear ourselves fighting each other through the windows and the walls.”

“Daddy, do you love me more, or a stone?”

“A stone. Yes, we hear each others’ crying. Even our least important hopes and dreams pass through the cracks of the wall.”

“Daddy, what do you love more, sugar cubes or me?”

“Sugar cubes. We know whose phone is ringing. We know who sleeps until noon, and who is awake past midnight.”

“Daddy, me or a period?”

“The period, the word, the line, and the sentence.”

Shahin leaves quietly.

“Do you love me more, or Ida?”

“Ida. You haven’t run down batteries yet?”

“Do you love me or Ida’s mom?”

“That’s obvious, Ida’s mom.”

Ida’s mom is at the door. Amir whispers, “She must have sensed that we were talking about her!”

“Can I borrow a couple of onions?”

I give her a few onions and close the door.