Star of Light (4 page)

Kinza was sitting as usual with her face turned toward the eastern mountain, waiting for the sun to rise. Zohra sat cross-legged, turning the heavy wheel that crushed the corn.

Hamid crouched down beside her and touched her arm. “Mother,” he whispered, “I heard last night. Is it the old beggar who is to have Kinza?”

His mother turned toward him, and her calm, steady gaze rested on him for a moment, as if she were making a decision. He was a thin little boy, small for his age, but very tough—and his love for Kinza was very strong.

“So my husband thinks,” she replied, “but I say that it shall not be. I will not have Kinza starved in those cruel streets. No, Hamid, you must take her somewhere else. You can save her if you wish.”

“Me!” echoed Hamid, amazed. But the look he gave his mother was reassuring—full of bravery and willing courage.

Hamid Agrees to Help

L
isten,” said Zohra, and Hamid’s eyes never left her face as she spoke. All his life he would remember what she said to him that day.

“Four years ago,” she said, “your father took me to the tomb across the mountains. We left you children with your grandmother, but I carried your little brother Absalom on my back, because he was only a baby. After we had visited the tomb, your father wanted to go on to the town farther on. All day long we walked, from sunrise to sunset, in the burning heat. By the time we reached the town, my feet were cut and blistered and Absalom was crying and feverish. His eyelids were swollen and stuck together, and he could not look at the light.

“Next morning, your father went off to the market
to trade, but I sat holding my baby, shading his eyes from the light and brushing the flies off him. As I sat there, a woman from the town came up and began chatting to me, and she noticed the child.

“‘Your baby is sick?’ she asked.

“‘Yes,’ I replied, and turned his face so that she could see.

“She got up quickly. ‘Come quick,’ she said. ‘There’s an English nurse—she’ll give you good medicine and heal your baby. She healed my little boy when he rubbed prickly-pear thorns into his eyes.’

“I hung back. ‘I have no money,’ I said.

“‘It doesn’t matter,’ replied the woman. ‘She is a holy woman and heals without money because she loves her saint. He is a good saint and has mercy on the poor.’

“‘But,’ I objected, ‘the English are rich and live in grand houses. She will not receive me.’

“‘But she lives in one of our houses,’ answered the woman, ‘and those who go to her for healing are mostly poor. None are ever turned away—I tell you, she receives them in the name of her saint.’

“So I followed, feeling afraid, but eager for medicine that would cure my baby’s eyes. She led me down a narrow back street to a house with an open door. There were people coming out of that door— poor people like me, with babies tied on their backs. Some of them carried bottles of medicine and none of them looked afraid.

“We were only just in time, for the room was nearly empty. The nurse was tall and fair. I had never seen anyone like her before. She spoke kindly
to everyone, and I saw her take little children up in her arms as though she loved them. As I watched her, my fear went away, and when everyone else had gone I went up to her and held out Absalom. She took him in her lap and examined his eyes. Her hands were very gentle. He didn’t even cry.

“She asked me many questions about him, and then she gave me medicine for his fever and ointment for his eyes. While she fetched them I looked at a picture on the wall. It was the picture of a man with a kind face, holding a little child in His arms, and lots of other little children were clinging to His robe, looking up at Him.

“I asked her who that man was, and she said He was called Jesus, and He was sent from God to show us the way to heaven. She told me a lot about Him, how He healed the sick, and made blind people see, and loved everyone, whether they were rich or poor, grown-ups or children. I know she loved the man in the picture and wanted to be like Him—and that was why she gave me medicine and was kind to Absalom.”

Zohra paused, and then went on speaking very slowly. “I think, for the sake of the man in the picture, she would shelter Kinza, and so you must carry Kinza to her. You must start tonight when the moon is full, and you must walk all night and hide by day, for Si Mohamed will certainly search for you.

“But he need not know you are gone till tomorrow night. I will send Rahma out early with the goats before he’s awake and tell him you’ve taken them. He never bothers to look at Kinza in any case, and
I’ll put a pillow in her cradle in case Fatima glances in. By the time he comes home from work, it will be dusk, and he cannot send out a search by night, nor will I tell him where you’ve gone. By the next day, you will be nearly there.”

Hamid’s eyes were bright with fear and excitement, but he only said, “How shall I know the way?”

“I’ve thought of that,” replied his mother. “There is only one road you can take. You must follow the river to the top of the valley and then you must climb the mountain. It is very high, but you must reach the top. Below you will see another river in a valley, and if you follow the road along the bank, you will at last reach a big main road with traffic. If you start walking up this road, it may be that a truck driver will give you a ride, for the town lies about fifty kilometers along it up in the mountains. If you cannot get a ride you must walk it, and may God help you.”

“And when I get there?” breathed the little boy.

“When you get there,” said his mother, “you must find the house of the English nurse. Do not ask, but just watch. She lives in a street behind the market and opposite the doorway of the inn. Her house is the last one on the street. Go to her, tell her all our story, and give her Kinza. She will know what to do next.”

Hamid looked doubtful. “But what if she doesn’t want Kinza?” he asked.

His mother shook her head. “She won’t turn her away,” she replied confidently. “She told me her saint in the picture never turned anyone away. For
the sake of her saint, I know she will receive Kinsa and be good to her. Now, you must go back to your goats and I must finish the grinding, or Fatima will be angry. Think about what I have told you. I’ll bake extra loaves of bread for you to carry on your journey.”

Hamid got up to go back to his goats, feeling like someone in a dream. The world was really just the same as it had been yesterday, but to the eyes of the little boy it seemed different. Yet in spite of his fear about the journey, he never thought of refusing to go.

He whistled softly, and a few young goats grazing nearby came up and pushed their noses into his lap. He suddenly knew he loved them and would be sorry to leave them. He wondered when he would see them again, and for the first time he began to think about his own future, as well as Kinza’s. He certainly could not come back for a long time. His stepfather would be much too angry.

He led them home early that evening and sat quietly down beside his mother and Rahma, who were busy spinning wool. Both were working hard because Fatima was sitting by watching, and neither spoke when Hamid joined them.

Hamid’s young heart ached. Except when his mother had gone on the five days’ pilgrimage to the tomb, he had never spent a night in his life away from her. Now he must leave her for a long time. Her silent love flowed out to him, comforting and strengthening him.

The evening dragged on and the light faded. Tonight everything felt different. For the first time in his life,
Hamid was not hungry when the family gathered around the supper bowl, but he forced himself to eat in case Si Mohamed should notice. Then without a word he went out and lay down by the door and waited, battling with his fears and thoughts until his stepfather had lain down and the moon had risen.

He watched his stepfather fall asleep at last, and listened until his breathing became heavy and regular. Yes, he was sleeping deeply, snoring in his dreams. Only a little longer now. Hamid crept to the edge of the mattress and waited, with his eyes fixed on the mountain. On silent feet he stepped through the doorway and slipped behind the granary.

The old dog cocked its ear and rattled its chain, and Hamid held his breath. If the dog should bark, the whole plan would be ruined. He flung himself down beside it, burying his face in its mangy coat, fondling its ears, and wordlessly begging it to be silent. It turned its large head and licked the child’s face, puzzled but loyal.

So he crouched waiting, with his arms around the dog’s neck, listening for his mother. He jumped when she appeared with Kinza in her arms.

In complete silence she tied Kinza to his back. The baby wondered what was happening, but, trusting them completely, she laid her head down on her brother’s shoulder and fell fast asleep again. Then Zohra tied two loaves of bread on his other shoulder, took both his hands in hers and kissed them. He in turn pressed her fingers to his lips and clung to her for a moment. Then she gently sent him on his way and stood watching as he passed through the gate.
Not a word had passed between them. Then, content with what she had done, she went back to her hut— to the empty cradle and the anger of her husband. And Hamid, like a small boat cut loose from its moorings and swept out into unknown seas, set off along the moonlit path.

Adventures on the Way

U
phill, downhill, along the river path, Hamid trudged on, becoming more and more exhausted. Kinza seemed to weigh heavier and heavier on his back. He remembered all he had left behind—his mother, Rahma, the thatched hut and charcoal fire, the goats, and the dog with the torn ear. He felt afraid of the unknown he was walking toward, but he knew he must keep going.

At last, exhausted, he reached a cornfield and, hiding himself and Kinza among the tall stalks, they fell asleep. Kinza woke before Hamid and, crawling out from the prickly cornstalks, she started to explore. She heard the sound of a grindstone and, with a cry of delight, she toddled toward it. Grindstones meant mother—and food and shelter and comfort.

A woman sitting at the door of her hut heard the cry and looked up. She could hardly believe her eyes! Coming toward her was the strangest little figure she had ever seen—a tiny child in a cotton gown, her outstretched hands groping, her face lifted to the light. Her black, tangled curls had straw sticking out all over them like a halo.