Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

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When he was young, he never left from one room to another without a bowl of freshly
peeled pomegranate in hand. His aunt, once spotting him picking them out from his bowl of
rice, deemed it to be his favorite and would always hassle those around her to “get Hamza
fdaitah pomegranate”. He never told her he sometimes just pressed it to the roof of his tongue to
get the juice and then spat the chewy shells into the grass in the garden.
The other boys would always be inside with the tutor who spoke Arabic weirdly and
made them write every sentence in Arabic followed by cursive English.
Hamza was the quickest writer, looping his letters so tightly together that after a while
the tutor would glance at his paper and say, “Bravo,” eyes crossing and going dizzy. He had a lot
of free time after discovering that trick, as he walked away from the table he felt the glares that
were directed his way from the other kids.
He munched on his pomegranate, opening his mouth and closing it loudly, just because
he could.
From that age, he already knew that one of his aunts had two husbands. His mother
corrected him when he asked, she has one and Hamza should not call them his uncles. She was
living in the family house’s guest room. It was not hard to find out, whenever he waited in the
kitchen for her and her pomegranates, people spoke of it. The chef spoke to the driver through
the window, women he never saw before passed through the hall.
“Hamza, no boy is like you,” his aunt was saying to him. She turned to the rest of the
boys, who were holding their spoons with their fists.
“You should see the mess he makes with the ruman,” his cousin said, “All over the
garden.”
Hamza kicked the boy under the table and grinned around his spoon.
Their uncle passed by his sister and reached behind her to get the laban. “Wait, ‘til you
get kids.” He was talking to the kid.
His aunt’s face seemed webbed after that. The two left to the grownups room.
When he saw her again, she was picking the pomegranate from the grass. She held her
heart when she saw him standing behind her. “Ay, where is your respect, huh?” But she soon
softened up and touched his hair.
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