The Crack on carrier 17279—B (Part 5 of X).
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It is said that the day he was born, there was something “fishy” in the air – well no one would actually say what it really meant. “Pray, what was it like?”, should someone ask, they would only manage to see a shrugging shoulder, a poker face and long opening of a mouth, a big sigh and “…fishy”, in a response.
If there was a wrinkle in time to go back 20 years in an eye blink (and then to go back at all), one may feel the air pulling in land, see the parked fishing boats prancing on marshy waters and the putrid odor of fishes spreading in the atmosphere. One would see two young men and a boy galloping towards the village with ciphering face expressions. One would hear women shouting at the gate of Yahya’s shabby house, more closing in as Yahya entered (leaving Bashira and the boy outside).
Nearly out of breath and sticky in his own sweat, Yahya slowly moved through the group of village girls and doulas to reach his wife. She was unconscious. Covered in heavy blankets, she was breathing heavily, but slowly drowsing into silence.
“She is not well”, said a doula, in a heavy tone, who was sitting next to her with her palm on Yahya’s wife wet forehead. . “And the baby?” Yayha inquired without moving an eye ball away from his wife, he so loved.
. “He barely survived. But he is weak too.” said a second doula from behind him. The doula then walked to his left and sat behind her. She held a baby wrapped in a green torn cotton scarf which she carefully passed onto Yahya’s spread arms; it cooed a little.
If there was a wrinkle in time to go back 20 years in an eye blink, one should not revisit that time, because that day was “fishy”.
Maju, a boy, was born, after a fifth try, without a mother to suckle.
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