The Inbetween People (26 page)

A
BLACK
cloud storms towards the sun, descending on us from the city that looms dark before us, and suddenly it is raining, the bus slows, the driver leans forward, peering through the windows, in a vain attempt to see the black road before him, and in minutes there are great driving torrents of water moving across the arid ground. The road glitters black with rain, the drops fall like tiny yellow diamonds trapped in the sharp light from the headlights of the bus. A sadness I did not anticipate has descended upon me. Until now I’d supposed that, like my father, I could simply leave without looking back. I think about Sahar, and the hours and days ahead, how she will turn to me when she sees me. I wonder about her and her leaving, for she understands nothing about it, she understands nothing about the blackness of leaving.

The rain continues to fall, but now a finger of light escapes through the barrier of clouds, breaking through and descending on the wet ground before us, and suddenly we are in the town. The fat man opposite me does not awake despite the sudden burst of light, the Bedouin woman continues to snap sunflower seeds between her teeth, the weary mother bounces the toddler up and down on her knee, strokes the face of the sleeping boy beside her. The group of teenagers chat among themselves, their laughter vibrating throughout the bus. We drive through the finger of light, the bus becomes bright, the light changes and the face of each passenger glows. Only the child sees it, the boy who still stands, leaning against a metal pole, staring out the window, he glimpses the finger of light, and he stands up straighter, in a resolute manner, and his back becomes stronger. The clouds cover the light again, and it dims, the bus grows darker, but he continues to stand erect, and after a moment he lets out a gasp, collapses into his allocated seat and holds his younger sleeping brother against him.