until you are married,” he scowled. My hand inched towards the Flail and I would have struck him then, I’m sure of it, had Sabah not placed a light hand on my chest.
“Those who believe and those who are Jews and the Sabaeans and the Christians, all who believe in Allah and the Last Day and act rightly will feel no fear and will know no sorrow,” she recited with closed eyes. “Surait al-Maida brother. Do you remember, or will I have to fetch Madame Abla to hit your hands with a stick again to jog your memory?”
The slap was lightning-fast, the hand-shaped welt rising before Sabah’s eyes could even widen. Youssef leapt from his crouched position, death in his eyes and once again Omar intervened, with more purpose this time. Shielding Ismail, he grabbed Youssef by the wrist and flung him to the ground where he stayed, shocked. Omar then turned to Ismail and guided him towards the exit. The door slammed shut with a deafening crash and we were left to contemplate our mess once again. Youssef sank to the floor, head in hands.
I took Sabah in my arms and held her as her shoulders heaved and still the tears refused to materialize. Silent, dry sobs punctuated by the hardening of her fingers on my back; clenched against the futile reality. She pulled away and I tried to stop her.
“You can’t. Not while he’s like this. Please.”
Her eyes were older than immortality then, dark with the accumulated despondency of eons of human existence. She was wise and in her wisdom she found endless pain.
“I must,” she said, finding her choked voice. “Look after Benjamin tonight.” Then she was gone.