Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

West Village
A quarter of a lifetime later, it was Jasem’s first day in the city. The boy was en route to
Washington for his studies, dropping in to see his father– probably under Lamya’s orders.
Hamza made reservations at a nice place in the West Village.
“Let me come pick you up,” he told his son the night before.
“For what? Just send someone,” Jasem told him. He paused. Hamza listened in on the
sounds of a paper bag being rummaged through, a gruff voice in the back asked for a straw.
“Are you driving?”
“I parked. Oh, baba–”
“Is it your car?”
“Yeah, what else?”
“Nothing,” Hamza said.
“Haya told you?”
“You think I don’t know anything?” The boy had gotten into an accident that past month,
the police fined Hamza like it had been Jasem's fault.
His son laughed. “It’s not that bad. The door closes now, it just doesn’t open.”
“Good that you won’t drive here,” Hamza had said. “I’ll send someone.”
His son, being the way that he was, left the cab at Fifth Avenue. He called Hamza, who
had been meandering around the general scope of the restaurant, and said that he was cold and
tired. Hamza found him smoking next to his bags, perched on a storefront. He was not much
taller than any other boys but by the way he held himself, most people forgot. His face was a
young boy’s, as well, but it was swathed with a neatly groomed beard. There was a softness still.
One that Hamza felt obliged to notice, the way that his shoulders hung back behind him. No one
had shown him how to draw them forward, like a tortoise shell over his chest.
“Hello!” the boy said with a grin, waving him over. He had the decency to put out the
cigarette on the windowsill behind his back.
Hamza walked over to him. He gathered his son’s shopping bags, hooking them onto his
wrists. “I don’t even know what to get angry about first.”
“That’s good,” his son told him.
“How did you even have time to buy me gifts?” Jasem seemed to stiffen before Hamza
shook his head, smiling a little. “Don’t worry, I know they’re not for me.”
38