Part 8 (1/2)
”It's not a kite, it's a fis.h.!.+”
”It's not a fish, it's a heart!”
”A broken heart!”
We pulled the bag up. It came away in two pieces, unhinged. Abudi took them both and ran inside.
The blond policeman was still waving.
Nisrine and I stood on the balcony. When Abudi had gone, Nisrine brought a rug to shake.
He was still waving.
I waved back to him, but he didn't seem to notice.
Nisrine beat the rug.
Waving, and waving.
She hung it over the balcony rail and squinted out at the policeman, who was watching. He had spent months, waiting.
Finally, she sighed and pointed to herself. ”Is he waving at me?” Her finger touched her heart and as suddenly as it had begun, the waving stopped. He stood very still in the setting sun, hair s.h.i.+ning. Slowly, while I watched, his hand slid down from his wave, over his shoulder, onto his heart. And, if there was strangeness left between us, then this is how Nisrine and I finally, really made up.
She turned to me. ”You don't mind, do you, Bea?”
I minded. I was trying not to mind.
Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning.
”No.”
She said, ”Don't tell anyone.”
Nisrine was a maid who wanted to grow her heart, so she wouldn't miss home. I was a student who wanted to read a text, who wanted to grow my heart, too, who wanted to feel, deeply.
I had cut Nisrine's hair, but she had no choice now, except to trust me. And I had no choice now, except not to mind. Because, even though I had liked him first, we both knew who the policeman's poem was about.
Adel was touching his heart.
Nisrine was touching her heart.
She put a hand on my hand like she'd done once before, and put it over her heart, to show me-”Can you feel it, Bea?”
It had begun to grow.
LOVE BEGINS.
(RECONSTRUCTED WITH THE HELP OF ADEL'S LETTERS) ADEL CALLED AGAIN AND AGAIN to the house phone while Madame was out.
Nisrine played coy.
”h.e.l.lo, dear, how are you?”
”Fine.” (Giggling.) ”Where are you? I miss you!”
She looked at me. ”With people.”
”When can I see you?”
”I don't know. Maybe later.”
She took the children down to play in the garden, where Adel was waiting. Madame could see from the window it was empty except for a policeman, that was why she let them go. ”Don't talk to anyone,” she said, as she always did. ”Come back up if there are too many children.”
But there was just a blond policeman, who took a seat on a bench facing Nisrine. A wisp of hair had escaped from under her white veil, and he wanted to touch it. So he said instead, ”Why don't you straighten your hair?”
”I don't like to, you like it better straight?”
”Honestly, Nisrine, from the moment I saw you I loved you.”
They were two heads, close together by the bushes.
The children ran around the swing set once. Above them, Madame and I at the window were watching.
”How old are you?” Nisrine asked.
”How old do you think?”
”Don't lie.”
”Nisrine, I love you. I wouldn't lie.”
”Then, how old are you?”
”How old are you?”
”I asked first.”
”I'm twenty-one.”
”You're lying.”