Description
The sun scorches our heads, and there’s no water in my waterskin, and sweat doesn’t quench our thirst. Neither I nor the little one have anything but patience under the sun’s lash, and the milk from a udder we shared with the young, and a prophecy from a cloud that will never return. Is Kuwait a cloud promising what will never come? Or a mirage that eternal distance cannot diminish? Or a star guiding us to every path except the one that leads to it? It seems I am dying. I will find her dead on my camel’s back, at the moment the city woman and her son arrive to meet Sari, and my son meets whom?
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