The Book of Disappearance: Ibtisam Azem

My mother put on mismatched shoes and ran out of the house. Her curly hair was tied back with a black band. The edge of her white shirt hung over her grey skirt. Fear inhabited her face, making her blue eyes seem bigger. She looked crazed as she roamed the streets of Ajami, searching for my grandmother. Rushing, as if trying to catch up with herself. I followed her out. When she heard my footsteps, she looked back and gestured with her broomstick-thin arm: go back!

'Stay home, maybe she'll come back.'

'But Baba is there.'


'Then go to her house, and then to al-Sa'a Square. Look for her there.'

She went frantically from house to house. So tense, she looked like a lost ant. Knocking on doors so hard I was afraid she'd break her hand. As if her fist was not flesh and bones, but a hammer. She didn't greet whoever came out, just asked right away if they'd seen my grandmother. If no one answered, she'd take a deep breath and weep before the closed door. Then she'd go on to the next house, wiping her tears away with her sleeves.

Translated from Arabic by Sinan Antoon