The Mother of a Thousand Stories

Little People Series : II

The sound of the muezzin blasted from the loudspeakers behind him as he walked on leather sandals down the dusty street. He had dark eyes that gazed innocently from lids that were lined in shadow. At 11, he was short for his age but he made up for it by his clear will on issues.

His invisible friend, a boy that he named Sumer, walked alongside him. He had told him that he was from the days of Abraham when the tribes were together.

He was glad to be out of the house. It was the only time he could think, otherwise Sumer together with his mother did all the thinking for him. Since starting school he had grown apart from his mother but maintained a respectful obedience as required by his father.

He passed the DVD shop and saw the latest American movies displayed on posters. It was so easy for them, he thought. Their father and mother always spoke with such simple clarity of the issues.

He turned the corner and stood at the lights. In front of him the ground sloped steeply downwards with shops and outlets lining the streets as far as the eye can see. It ended in the Mediterranean sea. He avoided looking at the scene and began to manage a strange string of unnamed impulses that railed at him randomly.

The view, a vista of the city, country and by extension the world met his gaze like a thousand questions of the Sphinx. In defense, he turned his gaze to the ground and merged his identity with Sumer. On the next block, in the apparition of being someone else, he turned into the police station.

He waited at the counter until his turn and turned in the 20 dinar note he had found in front of his house. The sergeant filled a form and got him to sign it. ' Say thank you to your mother,' the sergeant announced. He came back out and walked uphill to his home. A huge relief engulfed him and he returned to his own self. The vista was behind him.