angel of aswan

flash fiction

One night, I woke up in the middle of the night and saw an angel sitting at the edge of my big sister Amani’s bed. I lay still under the covers, my fingers digging into the mattress. I was sixteen and very scared. I was sure it was an angel, coming to take my sister away from me. But the angel, upon seeing I was awake, gave me a long look and left. It was a promise to come back another time.

In the morning over breakfast, I told Amani of what I saw.

“An angel?” she said, unconvinced. She split a large circular pita bread in two, handing my half, as she always did. We were at the Old Vintage Hotel of Aswan, Egypt. We always visited in the summer. “I’m sure you were dreaming.”

“I was not. I’m sure of what I saw.”

Amani continued to pay no attention to me, dipping her bread into a bowl of fava beans, which was mashed into a puree and mixed with garlic, oil, and cumin. She wore sunglasses, but I could see that she was observing the handsome young men diving into the pool. She smiled, crossing her legs.

“You read too much,” Amani mumbled, making eye contact with one of the young men in the pool. He looked American, with skin the color of the inside of a white peach. I convinced Amani that we should explore the Nubian City markets, because I was anxious. But it was mostly because if I hadn’t suggested it, Amani would have gone off with the American boys and I wouldn’t know where she went.

We took a sailboat to the other side of the Nile River. The river reminded me of a crooked finger pointing south. It was hot, and the sun was beating down on us as we paced about the market. Under the sun, Amani’s skin looked sun-baked and golden. My skin looked burnt. My sister was always more beautiful than me, with long legs, tan skin, and bright brown eyes. I noticed that many of the shop owners were watching her, as they always did, as if consuming her. I should not have been surprised that God had sent an angel for her. He probably wanted her back.

“Mesah al kheir. Good evening,” I said to one of the shop owners, putting down a pair of earrings. “I would like to buy these please.”

The old man, wearing a white turban and kind smile, looked over at Amani, who was looking through the scarves. “Would your friends like anything else?”

“It’s only my sister and me,” I said. “And, no. Thank you.”

The old shop owner’s smile faded. He looked over at Amani again, then he reached down and pulled out another pair of earrings, pushing it toward me. “For free,” he said, turning away and disappearing behind the curtain.

I wondered what the old man saw that I didn’t. Perhaps the angel was following us. For days following the market, I could not sleep. I lay awake, watching the darkness of our hotel room for any movement. The nights continued to be sleepless; and I spent the days in the sun glued to my sister, until she was sick of me. She complained that I was like a shadow, following her everywhere and not having an identity of my own. I laughed in her face. As if she had her own identity.

“What would you be without the eyes of those boys?” I challenged her. “You would be a ghost, surely. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”

“And you know what to do with yourself? You spend all day reading books. They mess with your head. They make you believe things that aren’t true in the real world.” We were in the hotel room. Furious, Amani took a jacket and headed towards the door. “Don’t follow me,” she said, and left.

I knew the angel would come that night. I felt it. As I waited, I had remembered something that had happened when I was twelve and Amani was fourteen: We were in Cairo, Egypt, where our parents lived, picking up fava bean sandwiches from a nearby store. A male customer, standing to the side, was eying Amani. When we grabbed our food, he began to follow us with his eyes and then calling out to us in Arabic and saying gross, sick things.

Amani ignored him, took my hand, and pulled me towards the door. But I was so angry. I couldn’t control myself. I took a sandwich, wet with beans and vegetables, and flung it in his face. The whole world seemed to freeze around us as the guy’s eyes widened, and then Amani yelled “Let’s go!” in Arabic, and she grabbed my hand and we were out of the store. We ran fast, through all the Cairo traffic, laughing like mad women. We were two beautiful girls, and I was afraid the world would erase us.

That night in Aswan, I waited up late for my sister, hoping she would come. But the angel came first, and not finding my sister, took me instead.