Free Tasting the Sky by Ibtisam Barakat Page B

tasted like treats compared with anything else we were given. Most of all, I was thankful we didn’t always have to eat lentils.
    My brothers were placed with the six- and seven-year-old children, my sister with the one-year-olds and toddlers. I was put in preschool with the other four-year-olds. My classroom had a blackboard in it and lying in its tray was a piece of chalk. “Alef!” I cried out. I ran to the board, wanting to pick him up,
hold him, take him with me. But my teacher came between us, saying that only she could use the chalk. I followed her hand, Alef swinging back and forth in it. When she was done, she put Alef on the table. He rolled off and broke into pieces.
    In this class I did not speak with Alef, but I learned about two new members of his family, Ba and Ta. They lived with him. I wished I could live with Alef, Ba, and Ta, for I felt so alone and afraid at Dar El-Tifl.
    Only the half hour of recess, when I could be with my brothers, made me feel safer. When the bell rang and the children hurried outside, my brothers and I met. I wanted to play with them, but they had games to play with those in their own classes.
    I spent much of my time bending over and looking at my brothers and the playground upside down. I imitated those who squealed with excitement as they hung from two parallel bars I could not reach.
    Things changed when a boy punched me in the face and made my nose bleed. He wanted to fight my brothers but knew they were strong and were always together. So he hit me instead. Seeing what happened, my brothers charged toward him. They caught him and dragged him to where I stood.
    They kicked him, twisted his arms, slapped his face, and muffled his mouth. They asked me to tell them when to stop. They said they would hit him until I said khalas, enough. When I finally did, the boy sat up crying. His nose was bleeding now, too. Teachers took me and the boy off the playground. We lay down side by side, held our noses to stop the bleeding, and struggled to breathe.

    The weekend following the fight, my brothers were expelled from Dar El-Tifl with no warning for having beaten up this boy and having had fights with other children. They were always ready for a fight on the playground, and Mother was too busy to keep track of all of us. So on an early February day, my brothers were sent to an all-boys orphanage in Jericho.
    Horrified, I ran after the car that took them away. But the giant school gate clanged shut as the car left. I hit the gate over and over and shouted that I wanted to go with them.
    Then I went to find Maha, who, having just learned how to walk, toddled like a duck. She was too young for me to talk to, but I felt better just sitting with her. Her teacher, though, said I must go to my own class. Now, it seemed only Alef remained in my world.
    That night, while everyone slept, I stayed awake, stiff with fear and sadness. The night monsters appeared even bigger. But suddenly I left my bed and tiptoed through my fear until I reached the steps. I walked to my classroom.
    Inside, a round moon met me, shining through the square window, its yellow light spreading like a rug under my feet. I stood in the lemony silence wondering, Will the moon tell on me? Then I walked to the blackboard and tapped on the chalk.
    â€œI need you, Alef,” I whispered. I told him what had happened and how sad I felt.
    Alef and I arrived at a plan. If it succeeded, I would be reunited with my brothers. Disobeying my teacher’s orders, I planted Alef deep in my pocket and returned to bed.
    The next day at recess I watched everyone play. I imagined
my brothers were with me. I stood aside for a long time, then ran to the classroom, where Alef and I carried out the first step of our plan. Before the bell rang and my classmates lined up to resume the school day, I tore up all the notebooks on their desks. Then I sat waiting.
    My teacher was astonished. She asked me to stand, and with a wooden pointer