Amala – Story Phase Three

Alright, part number three is coming up! I’ve been getting questions about my characters names and this piece reveals them. Well.. actually I believe story two reveals the name of the artist. Does it not? Alister? At any rate if you are still feeling lost this piece uses both names explicitly. This third fiction fragment is all about dialogue. Up and coming writers seem to have the unique ability to be very dull in the way they write dialogue,”He said, and then she said, and then he replied, she queried…”  You get the idea. So the objective was to avoid boring dialogue tag lines like the plague.  As always please feel free to tell me what you think!

 

 

It was a hot day. Sweat dripped from the prominent arch of Alister’s nose as he steadily worked his way though the flower garden.

“Pass me those pruning shears?”

Rania was working across the row from him, her long hair hanging limp in the heat, tendrils plastered to her cheeks. She handed them over with out a word. Concentrating on the delicate purple blossom she held cupped in one hand.

“You know we used to have these where I come from,” she said as she leaned in closer to inhale the delicate scent, “we called them Amala.” After a moment’s pause adding, “it means hope.”

Absent-mindedly she dropped the blossom and her eyes took on that far way look she gets when thinking about home. Running a gritty hand across his brow leaving a substantial muddy streak, Alister studied her face for a moment and then against his better judgment asked the question that has been burning inside him for weeks.

“What happened to… I mean how did you…?”

He realized he didn’t really know how to ask. How to ask this small beautiful girl why she looks so haunted, why she wears a simple gold band on her finger but never, not oven once mentions her family or life before just appearing on the island. Rania stared blankly through the orchard and out to the sea. Her fingers trembling slightly. Sure that she wouldn’t reply Alister returned to his pruning.

“They all died.”

The sound of her voice equally strong and sad startled him so badly he nearly sliced off his finger with the nippers he was clutching. He waited for her to continue, green eyes seeking brown.

“They killed them all. They would have killed me too, but they thought I was already dead. There was so much blood, the sea tuned red.”

Rania looked perplexed at her own words. It was hard to tell whether it was sweat or tears that ran down her face. She scuffed the dirt at her feet and mindlessly picked up the small purple flower, hope.

“All we wanted was to be free of that place. So small. So confining.  We left in my fathers fishing boat. It wasn’t much of a boat but it floated.  And then they killed us.”

It was Alister’s turn to look perplexed. He had completely forgotten about the olive tree he was supposed to be pruning and stood there, hands hanging at his sides temples pulsing as he thought. Killed them? Who? Maybe the heat is getting to her. I should take her in before she hurts herself. He had just opened his mouth to suggest they head in for iced tea when Rania continued.

“Did you know they do that? As soon as you are three miles off the coast they’ll kill you. You are automatically a threat even if you are not armed.”

The way she said it made him think that who every “they” were they were probably not armed.

She twirled the flower in her slender fingers, “We knew. But we tried any way. Anything was better than continuing to live there. Or so we thought.”

It was clear now that she was crying silently, when she next spoke her voice shook with pent up emotion, “I wish I had died with them that day, but it was apparently not Allah’s will. Which is why he has brought me to you. Do you believe that Alister?”

She turned away not bothering to wait for a reply, and continued on with her work in the garden. She was angry though and her trembling fingers kept slipping with the nippers. The flowers were taking a beating. Rania jumped when Alister laid his hand on hers and gently extracted the tool.

“Why don’t you rest for a while? Or go on a walk. If you stick to the orchard you’ll at least escape some of the heat.”

He smiled gently to reassure the quaking girl.

“I am sorry.”

“Sorry? Oh don’t worry about the flowers they’ll…”

“No not the flowers. For coming here, into your life. All messed up like I am. I know you didn’t ask for me.”

She looked down at her feet in shame. It wasn’t like her to express so much emotion. Her feelings had been dried up long ago along with the last drop of water in Gaza. Another tear splattered onto the dusty ground in the garden. Alister had the sudden urge to hug the girl but that just was not something he did. Hug people. Instead he gave her a small shove towards the trees and returned to his work, a small sigh escaping him.

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