Holding onto the rooftop's wooden railing, Aisha turned her face hopelessly to the woman who was sewing a small blue quilt. She watched the fingers of the old woman move across the rows of the sewing quilt like a restless animal. She blurted out:

"Do not say that, Granny!"

Her voice was apologetic. She thought her voice slowly overwhelmed the yard, which was narrower and darker than their roof. A gloomy feeling surfaced in her heart. And then her apologetic voice reached her Granny. After tying her two gray, thin hair braids together at the top of her head, Granny arranged her blue scarf and, in a trembling voice, said:

"You've gotten heavy and sluggish. The baby is a girl again!"

Aisha pulled her hands off the wooden railing. She stretched her waist and put her hand on her swollen stomach. She felt a pulse beneath her fingers. This feeling didn't last long. She looked feebly at Granny. She did not say anything. She turned her face away and once again looked at the dark, tiny, narrow yard.

She remembered the birth of her first daughter. She had wept a lot. She recalled how much she wanted to caress the tender, pink skin of her baby and yet she refrained. She was afraid her rough and chapped hands would scratch her face. Then she remembered Ismail, the father of her daughter. It was a horrible memory. Whenever she saw her daughter, she saw Ismail. She saw a rough, black cloak with a head protruding. A pair of eyes stared at her with disgust and hatred. A black hole shouted and hurled curses, echoing into Aisha's ear.

"I will kill you! Damn you!"

Then the black cloak scuttled over to her. The sleeves came alive. Aisha received blows on her head and face. She felt a pain on her skull. While she was watching her daughter, the black cloak was etched into Aisha's fragile mind. Now two ugly legs came out of the black cloak, which kicked her chest and her waist and her hips. Aisha moaned in pain and the black cloak moved rapidly. As Aisha stared at her daughter, she once again felt echoes of pain on her chest and her waist and her hips.

She worried that many years later another Ismail with another black cloak would come and take her daughter away from her. Then another head would emerge from that black cloak with a pair of eyes staring at her daughter with hatred and a black hole would shout and curse. The sleeves of the black cloak would move. The fists would lunge towards the small head of her daughter, and she would feel the pain all around her head. A pair of ugly legs would appear from the black cloak and would kick her daughter's chest, waist and hips. Her daughter would moan with pain and her pink skin would turn purple with stains and bruises. At this moment Aisha felt something burning inside her-- the world and the black cloak.

"How old was your daughter when she died?"

Granny's voice brought Aisha back to herself. You could say that someone else was being channeled through Aisha's tongue,

"One and a half, she was just learning to walk."

Regret filled voice and began to crawl everywhere like a millipede with its million legs. The voice crawled into their dark, tiny yard, inched upstairs, crept around their rooftop until she all but swam in it.

"…Had just started to walk. Just started to walk…to walk…"

Aisha's eye caught the window of her room. She used to put her daughter to sleep on that corner. She dried her there after her baths and when she was upset she cried there too. She remembered that whenever she heard her daughter's voice, a terrifying roar erupted from the black cloak. She could not separate the memories from each other. When she heard one, she could not help but hear the other.

"Shut up you brat!"

Aisha was afraid. She ran to grab her daughter as soon as possible but the black cloak muffled her daughter's cries. When the little girl was calm, she smiled at the black cloak, waving her tiny hands. The black cloak lowered his head, puffed his hooka, which gave a peculiar sound. Ismail's cheek's bulged with the smoke like two small balls. Granny's voice again brought her back to herself.

"Everything is finished, but there is still more lien to be washed."

Aisha glanced up. The sun came out from behind the mountain ridges in the form of little yellow rays, filling the blue sky. It was sunset. Granny's words made Aisha cry. Granny continued,

"It is autumn now. They say autumn is the harbinger of winter."

The word "winter" sent a chill down Aisha's spine. She hated winter. She remembered their yard buried with snow. Inside the house, their room seemed smaller and darker. She glued paper strips together to seal the cracks in the windows. Yet tiny skeletal fingers of cold would manage to creep in and touch them anyways. It seemed to her that the frigid room was much smaller than she remembered because Ismail, in his large black cloak, filled the room with his foreboding presence. Granny proclaimed,

"It was winter when Zebun Nesa died? Wasn't it?"

Aisha recalled her daughter's death. She remembered everything. That black cloak darkened everything. Zebun Nesa was crying all night. And every time she cried, a deep dragging voice rose from underneath the sandali,

"Shut up you brat!"

Aisha held her daughter in her lap. She did not sleep that night. All she heard was her daughter crying and her husband cursing. The man inside the black cloak cursed her father and her grandfather. Every time Aisha heard him swearing, she felt something burning inside her. The black cloak was like flint, sparking a fire inside her.

The next day, Ismail left. Aisha dried her child after bathing and she asked the neighbor's daughter to watch over Zebun Nesa in her absence. Aisha put on her chadari (burqa) and left the house. Aisha left the house for the first time without Ismail's permission. She walked with great difficulty on the snow. Snow thrown from the rooftops piled on the streets, making the streets even narrower than they already were. She reached the bazaar and stood in front of an apothecary shop. From behind the various tin boxes, a shrunken head with a black turban was visible. Panting, Aisha told him,

"My daughter is sick. She did not sleep a wink all night."

The apothecary nodded twice and, from out of his sleeves, several scrawny fingers emerged. They crawled inside big and small boxes, taking out a yellow can, then grabbing some green powder. The apothecary finally wrapped the belongings together and gave it to her and said in a thin voice,

"Put a small amount into a teaspoon. Mix it with sugar and water and then pour it into the throat."

Aisha took the small packet and paid the price. The man with a shrunken head and a black turban disappeared behind the boxes, and Aisha hurried home.

Later that night, Zebun Nesa began crying again. And once more a deep, dragging voice shouted,

"Shut up you brat!"

Zebun Nesa cried. The voice hollered again. It became dark. And Aisha did not move. And then, in the middle of the night, in the darkness, Aisha was pelted by kicks and punches on her head and her chest. Aisha pressed her daughter against her chest. There was nothing she could do. Aisha couldn't cry but shook from head to toe. Every time she was beaten like this, she shook instead of wailing. The voice yelled and she felt a burning inside her.

She quickly rose to turn on the light. Aisha ran toward the shelf, grabbed a small packet, filled a teaspoon with green powder, mixed it with a little water and sugar and poured the mixture into Zebun Nesa's throat. Zebun Nesa gradually calmed down and went to a deep sleep. Her feverish, narrow lips trembled quickly. For a moment Zebun Nesa was silent, but soon resumed crying.

Ismail yelled and cursed some more but before the darkness could swoop down upon them again, Zebun Nesa calmed down and went into a deep sleep. Aisha laid her daughter beside the window, spreading the blanket on her. She rose, switched the light off and buried herself inside the sandali. The foul air under the blanket painfully filled Aisha's lungs. Her body ached. She thought her body would be as black and blue by the next day. And she would not be able to go to the bathhouse with Asil's mother. But these worries did not matter. For the next day Zebun Nesa died. Now she was black and blue all over, and inside and out she was bruised. Aisha beat herself on the chest in anguish.

Aisha removed Zebun Nesa's skirt. Blue scars covered her stomach and one side of her body, where Zebun Nesa received kicks last night. It seemed to Aisha that Zebun Nesa resembled her now. Both were victims of the dark. Aisha caressed Zebun Nesa's cold head and face. Then she gave her many kisses. This comforted Aisha. She thought that there would be no Ismail with a black cloak beating her daughter anymore. She wiped her tears and would not cry over Zabun Nesa's death.

Granny spilled her tea over the rooftop and said, "It has gotten cold."

The cold tea mixed with the thatched earth on the rooftop created a fragrance, which reminded her of her childhood. Her father possessed this smell. He was a bricklayer. Every time she hid her head inside his sunburn hot chest, she smelled his odor. Her father pressed her hard, kissing her head, her face and her throat. His black beard tickled her. Aisha laughed. Each time she smelled this scent and her father came to mind. But then one day, her father banished her. She felt exiled from the whole world.

To be continued on January 2005 issue.