Free Burned alive by Souad Page A

adored this only brother.
    I remember his wedding was an extraordinary celebration. Probably the only memory of real joy in the madness of my past. I must have been about eighteen, already old. I had even refused to go to another wedding because the girls were obviously making fun of me, nudges with the elbow, unpleasant laughter when I passed by. And I cried all the time. Sometimes I was ashamed to go into the village with my flock, afraid of the looks. I wasn’t any better than the neighbor with the defective eye whom nobody wanted. My mother allowed me to stay away from the neighbor’s wedding, she understood my despair. That’s when I dared to speak to my father: “But it’s your fault! Let me get married!” But he refused, and he hit me in the head: “Your sister must be married first! Get out!” I said it once but not twice.
    But for my brother’s wedding the whole family is happy and no one more than I. Her name is Fatma, and I don’t understand why she comes from a strange family, from another village. Was there no family near us with a marriageable daughter? My father rented buses to go to the wedding. One for the women and one for the men, the men’s in front, of course.
    We cross the mountains and every time we pass a sharp bend the women give thanks to Allah with ululations for protecting us from the ravine, which is very dangerous. The countryside resembles a desert, the road isn’t paved, it’s dry black earth and the wheels of the men’s bus stir up a huge cloud of dust in front of us. Everyone is dancing. I have a tambourine between my legs and I accompany the women’s ululations. I dance, too, with my scarf, I’m very good at it. Everyone dances, everyone is joyful, the driver is the only one not dancing.
    My brother’s wedding is a much bigger celebration than my sister’s. His wife is young, beautiful, short, and very dark. She is not a child, she is almost Assad’s age. In our village, they made a little fun of my father and mother because my brother “has to” marry a girl of mature age, and not known in the village. He should have married a girl younger than himself, it’s not normal to marry a girl your own age! And why have to go looking for her outside the village?
    She’s a very beautiful girl, and she is lucky to have many brothers. My father gave a lot of gold in exchange for her. She wears many jewels. The wedding lasts three entire days of dancing and feasting. I can see myself with my scarf and my tambourine, my heart is happy, I am proud of Assad. He is like a god to us, and this love for him that will not go away is very strange. He is the only one I’m incapable of hating, even if he struck me, even if he beat his wife, even if he became a murderer.
    He is in my eyes “Assad the ahouia, ” Assad my brother. Assad ahouia. Hello, my brother Assad. I never go to my work without saying to him: “Good morning, my brother Assad.” A real devotion. As children we shared many things. Now that he is married and he lives with us with his wife, I continue to serve him. If there is no hot water for his bath, I heat it for him, I clean the bathtub, I wash and put away his underwear. I sew them if needed before I put them away.
    It doesn’t seem right that I should serve him with so much love because he is like all the other men. Very soon after the wedding, Fatma is beaten and shames him by returning to her parents’ house. And contrary to custom, her father and mother don’t bring her back to our house by force the very same day. They are perhaps richer, more advanced than us, or as she is their only daughter, they love her more, I don’t know. I think that the scenes between my father and brother began because of that. My brother had wanted this woman from another village, he had obliged his father to give a great deal of gold, and the result was that this woman had a miscarriage instead of giving him a son, and she brought dishonor to us by returning to her family. I