Read The Orange Grove for Free Online Page A

dear, it’s too hard, I beg you, don’t cry.”
    â€œMama.”
    â€œListen to me, Amed, listen to me. I don’t want you to wear the belt.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?”
    â€œI don’t want to lose both my sons. Talk to your brother, persuade him to take your place.”
    â€œNever.”
    â€œTell him you don’t want to wear the belt.”
    â€œIt’s not true.”
    â€œTell him you’re afraid.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œOh, Amed, my child. Aziz will be happier if he dies over there! You know what’s ahead of him otherwise? He’ll die in his bed, suffering horribly. Don’t deprive him of a glorious death for which God will welcome him with all the honors due a martyr. I beg you, ask Aziz to take your place. Don’t tell anyone, above all not your father. It will be our secret unto death.”
    Amed headed back to bed like a tottering little ghost. Tamara remained sitting on the moon bench. She struggled to calm her heart. After a long time, she held out her hand to the nearest rose. She stroked its petals with her fingertips. Tamara thought she could see the flower’s heart breathing in and out. “The scent of flowers is their blood,” Shahina had said to her one day. “Flowers are generous and brave. They shed their blood without caring for their lives. That’s why they fade so fast, worn out from offering their beauty to whoever wants to lay eyes on it.” Shahina had planted this rosebush when the twins were born. It was her way of celebrating the arrival of her grandsons. Tamara quickly got up from the bench and brusquely tore off theroses. Her hands bled, scratched by the thorns. She felt horrible. That terrible thought, she’d given it voice: she’d sent her sick son to his death.
    The next day, a voice woke Amed well before his brother. To his amazement, it possessed the accents and unique rhythms of Halim’s voice. No mistake, it was really his. It spoke inside Amed without really speaking to him, as if it were a song sung by someone who didn’t need to be listened to in order to exist.
    â€œMy string has broken . . . my string has broken . . .” repeated Halim’s voice.
    For a moment, Amed thought the young man with the belt was in his room, back from the land of the dead.
    â€œMy string broke . . . it’s not the wind’s fault . . . an awful noise has broken my string . . . my ears are bleeding . . . I can’t hear anything any more . . .”
    Amed sat up in bed and looked around. He saw no one in the half light of the room. There was no one but his brother sleeping beside him.
    â€œI come close to the sun . . . I climb . . . I climb . . . it’s not the wind’s fault . . . it’s because of the noise . . . I don’t hear anything anymoreand I can’t see the earth anymore . . . the white clouds swallow me up . . . no one can see me anymore . . .”
    Amed held his hands over his ears, but the voice only got stronger.
    â€œA cruel noise has broken my string . . . I’m burning . . . alone in this huge sky . . . I’ll return no more . . . I’m burning . . . alone in the absence of the wind . . .”
    Amed got up and went to his bedroom window. Dawn. The sun’s first rays were touching the tops of the orange trees. For a long time he watched the sky turn blue. The voice calmed down bit by bit. When it had gone totally silent, he went back to bed. He heard his heart beating. He hugged Aziz tightly. He pressed his body against his brother’s, as if to merge with him.
    Had he dreamed it, or had his mother really said that his brother’s bones were melting? Had he dreamed it, or had his mother really said that it would be better for his brother if his bones exploded on the other side of the mountain? The body he was embracing suddenlyseemed so brittle . . . no, he would not let Aziz wear the belt in his place.
    Aziz woke and pushed him