Once We Were Starlight

“Well,” Bertha said, looking from me to Ahmad, a distrusting look in her eye, “all right.” She speared Ahmad with her deep green eyes. “Be mindful of what you discuss. Karys has lived at Sundara most of her life. She’s . . . sheltered.”

“Understood,” Ahmad said.

“Bertha,” I admonished. No one was truly sheltered on Sundara, except as far as our location. Perhaps I remembered little about living anywhere else, but I heard stories from the others, I understood that our life there was anything but normal. I understood more than she thought I did. We suffered hardships and indignities. But we were lucky in some ways too.

Bertha was protective however. She was like a mother to all of us, but perhaps especially to me. When I’d started bleeding three summers before, Bertha had taught me what to do and told Haziq I needed the little white pills that prevented a baby from growing in my womb. And I was protective of her as well because she required care due to her size. It wasn’t that Bertha ate more than the rest of us. I didn’t think Haziq would have kept her at Sundara if she did. But she was very popular with the ones who watched. So much so that she was often purchased to spend time alone with them. Zakai said Bertha probably had an illness that made her the way she was, and I supposed that must be true, which made me feel so sad for her, especially when I watched her struggling just to walk to the courtyard and sit in the shade. Or when Haziq called her cruel names and laughed at the way she broke into a sweat each time she rose to her swollen feet.

“How did you come to be on Sundara?” I asked as I walked Ahmad around the four corners of the lush property. I showed him the courtyard and the well, the fruit trees and the olive grove, the goat pens, the sleeping quarters strewn with jewel-colored silk pillows and filmy white netting, as well as the large structure off to the side that housed the performance rooms. Those were rich with tapestries, and red fabric hung from every wall. Bibi stayed perched on my arm, petting my hair. Ahmad stared at the platform of the room we were in, an expression on his face a mystery to me. “My father rejected me at birth. I was kept alive only because of the love of my mother. When she died, I was cast out on the streets.” Melancholy passed over his expression and my heart mourned for what my mind conjured. Ahmad sighed and reached out a hand to pet Bibi’s head. “I won Bibi in a bet with a drunken sailor.”

“A sailor?”

He watched me silently for a moment. “A man who sails the seas. Have you heard of the sea?”

“Of course. A vast expanse of water. Like the desert, only . . . wet.”

Ahmad laughed but nodded. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me about these other places? Have you been there?” I couldn’t picture other places, not even Forastan, the place that had been described to me, the one new members of our family traveled from.

Forastan meant outside land in the language of the desert. I’d lived there once and so had Zakai, though my faint memories weren’t filled with the hunger and pain of Zakai’s. Haziq had rescued us both from certain suffering and possible death, and brought us to Sundara. But everywhere, there was a price to pay. Even when given luxury some desired freedom, drawn to the chaos of a violent and poverty-stricken land. But as for me, I’d take the familiarity and safety of the only home I truly remembered and the one place I understood. When I closed my eyes, I still saw those green shutters, but that was all. Try as I might, I couldn’t see beyond them. I could no longer feel the place I’d been before.

“No. But . . . perhaps another time.”

“All right,” I said, disappointed.

“Bibi,” Ahmad said with a flick of his finger. Bibi jumped from my arm, landing on the floor. “Dance,” Ahmad instructed and Bibi moved his little body, his shoulders bouncing and his feet doing a funny shuffling movement as the little monkey grinned. Delighted, I laughed and Ahmad chuckled, clapping his hands to which Bibi stopped dancing and took a small bow.

“You taught him to dance!”

“Yes, and then we performed on the street for spare coins. Unfortunately, I got very, very sick. The hospital wouldn’t treat me without money. The next thing I knew, Haziq was there telling me he’d pay for a doctor, but I’d be indebted to him.” He paused. “If I died, Bibi would die,” he said quietly, “and so I agreed.”

I frowned. “I see.” My mind wandered. I knew Haziq had contacts in the towns beyond Sundara. It was how he advertised for the ones who watched, the men who arrived on the airplane, and then flew back into the sky. “Do you think . . .” I asked, wondering aloud, “that Haziq has contacts who . . . who . . .”