“Go home, all of you!” she shouted. “You are too ugly for my eyes!”

The boys snickered. “Why do you not come down here and say that to our faces?”

“I do not want to get too close. You all smell like goats!” she retorted.

Daniel grabbed up a stone. “Come down here, you freak!” he shouted. He launched the stone. It cut an arc above Anna’s head, ripping through the leaves with a violent staccato. Anna gripped the branches.

“My father says you will never have breasts!” Ben shrieked while the other boys searched frantically for ammunition to hurl at their target.

Anna ducked and dodged their flying rocks. “Even monkeys throw better than that!” she said, laughing, her anger fanning her courage. She climbed higher, beyond their reach. “Is not that your mother calling you?” she shouted to Daniel.

Her mockery infuriated the boys and they scrounged the ground for stones like crazed guinea hens pecking meal. Luckily, the earth on the western ridge did not have many stones and the boys quickly tired.

“Let us untie the old man’s donkey!” one said, dashing toward the village. The others cheered the idea and followed.

Anna hurled insults after them. “Cowards!” she shouted.

When the danger had gone, she lowered herself from limb to limb on shaky legs. Pausing only to wipe away tears.

“Where have you been?” her mother asked when Anna arrived home, trembling. Mari was balanced on all fours rolling up the carpet in the main room. “Never mind,” she said when Anna did not answer. “See to the hen.”

Eager to be of help, Anna peered into the nesting box but found it empty. “No eggs today,” she said.

Her mother groaned. She dropped the carpet outside, picked up a broom, and began to sweep up the dung.

Anna lifted a pan and scooped up the piles her mother had made.

After the confrontation with the boys, she felt better just for being near her, as if her mother’s very breath was medicine and comfort.

When the floor was swept, Mari stepped outside to retrieve the carpet.

“Milk the goat,” she told her daughter.

Anna rustled the animal from its bed. She set a pail beneath its belly and dropped to sit cross-legged beside it on the floor. The goat whinnied as Anna alternately knocked her fist into its udder and tugged rhythmically on its teats.

Across the way, Mari knelt to patch a hole in the carpet. She went about her chore in silence, but Anna wanted desperately to reach her.

“Mother? Why do hens lay eggs instead of little hens?” she asked.

“I do not know,” Mari said. Her flat tone indicated that she did not want to talk. But Anna needed to talk. Needed to connect with her mother. She looked about, wondering if it might be safe to ask questions about Zahra. But when a shadow passed along the doorsill, she decided against it.