“Jirji’s pension ain’t gonna help you very much, right?”
She gave me an annoyed look and turned away. She headed for the other end of the bar. “Don’t want your money,” she said.
I followed her. “I’m not offering money. How would you like a low-hassle job where you can live free and watch your kids all day? You wouldn’t have to pay a babysitter.”
She turned around. “What’s this all about?” Her expression was mistrustful.
I smiled. “I mean bringing Little Jirji, Zahra, and Hakim and moving into one of the empty apartments in Papa’s house. Save you a lot of money every month, Indihar.”
She considered that. “Maybe. Why would you want me in Papa’s house?”
I had to come up with some phony but real-sounding reason. “It’s my mother. I need someone to keep an eye on her. I’d be willing to pay you whatever you wanted.”
Indihar patted the bar with one hand. “Already got a job, remember?”
“Hey,” I said, “if that’s the problem, you’re fired.”
Her face lost its color. “The hell you talking about?”
“Think about it, Indihar. I’m offering you a nice home, free rent and meals, plus good money every week for a part-time job making sure my mom doesn’t do anything crazy. Your kids’ll be taken care of and you won’t have to come into this bar every day. You won’t have to take your clothes off and dance, and you won’t have to deal with the drunk jerks and the lazy-ass girls like Brandi.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll let you know, Marid,” she said. “Soon as I figure out what kind of hustle you’re trying to pull. Sounds too good to be straight, sweetheart. I mean, you’re not wearing a Santa Glaus moddy or nothing.”
“Yeah, you think about it. Talk it over with Chiri. You trust her. See what she thinks.”
Indihar nodded. She was still watching me uncertainly. “Even if I say yes,” she said, “I’m not gonna fuck you.”
I sighed. “Yeah, you right.” I went back to my table. A minute after I sat down again, Fuad il-Manhous let himself drop into the other chair. “I woke up the other day,” he said in his high-pitched, nasal voice, “and my mama says to me, ‘Fuad, we don’t have no money, go out and take one of the chickens and sell it.’ ”
He was starting one of his dumb fables. He was so desperate for attention that he’d make himself look like a total fool just to make me laugh. The sad thing was that even his most fantastic stories were based on Fuad’s actual fuck-ups.
He looked at me closely, to make sure I understood him so far. “So I did. I went out to my mama’s chicken coop and I chased those chickens around and around till I caught one. Then I carried it down the hill and up the hill and over the bridge and through the streets till I came to the Souk of the Poultry Dressers. Well, I never took a chicken to market before, so I didn’t know what to do. I stood there in the middle of the square all day, until I saw the merchants locking their money up in boxes and loading their leftover stuff onto their carts. I’d already heard the sunset call to prayer, so I knew I didn’t have much time.
“I took my chicken to one of the men and told him I wanted to sell it, and he looked at it and shook his head.
’This chicken has lost all its teeth,” he says.
“So I looked at it, and by Allah, he was right. That chicken didn’t have a tooth in its head. So I says, ‘What will you give me for it?’ And the man gave me a handful of copper fiqs.
“Then I walked home with one hand in my pocket and my other hand holding the copper fiqs. Just when I was crossing the bridge over the drainage canal, there was this fierce swarm of gnats. I started waving my hands and swatting them, and then I ran the rest of the way across the bridge. When I got to the other side, I looked and I saw that I didn’t have the money anymore. I’d dropped all the coins into the canal.”
Fuad coughed quietly. “Can I have a glass of beer, Marid?” he asked. “I’m getting real thirsty.”
I signaled to Indihar to draw one. “You paying for this, Fuad?” I said. His long face fell further. He looked like a puppy about to get a beating. “Just kidding,” I said. “The beer’s on the house. I want to hear how this story comes out.”
Indihar set a mug in front of him, then stood around to hear the rest of the story. “Bismillah,” murmured Fuad, and he took a long gulp. Then he set the beer down, gave me a quick, thankful grimace, and started again. “Anyway,” he said, “when I got home, my mama was real mad. I didn’t have no chicken and I didn’t have no money. ‘Next time,’ she says, ‘put it in your pocket.’
“ ‘Ah,’ I go, ‘I should have thought of that.’ So the next morning, my mama wakes me up and tells me to take another chicken to the souk. Well, I got dressed and went out and chased them around some more and caught one and carried it down the hill and up the hill and across the bridge and through the streets to the souk. And this time I didn’t stand in the hot sun all morning and all afternoon. I went right up to the merchant and showed him the second chicken.
“ ‘This one looks as bad as the one you brought yesterday,’ he says. ‘And besides, I’ll have to provide space far ft here in my stall all day. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you a big jug of honey in trade. It’s very fine honey.*”
“Well, it was a good trade because my mama had four other chickens, but she didn’t have no honey. So I took the jug of honey from him and started home. I’d just crossed the bridge when I remembered what my mama told me. I opened the jug and poured the honey in my pocket. By the time I climbed the last hill, it was all gone.
“So my mama was real mad again. ‘Next time,’ she says, ‘balance it on your head.’
“ ‘Ah,’ I go, ‘I should have thought of that.’ On the third morning, I got up and caught another chicken, and carried it to the souk and brought it to the merchant.
“ ‘Are all your chickens in such bad shape?’ he says. ‘Well, in the name of Allah, I will give you my supper for this bird.’ And the merchant gave me a mess of curds and whey.
“Well, I remembered what my mama told me, and I balanced it on my head. I went through the streets and across the bridge and down the hill and up the hill. When I got home, my mama asked me what I got for the chicken. ‘Enough curds and whey for our evening meal,’ I go.
“ Then where is it?’ she says.
“ ‘On my head,’ I go. She took one look and dragged me to the washstand. She poured a whole pitcher of cold water over my head and scrubbed my hair with a stiff brush. All the time she was shouting and blaming me for losing the curds and whey.
“ ‘Next time, carry it carefully in your hands,’ she says.
“ ‘Ah,’ I go, T should have thought of that.’ So the next morning, very early before the sun came up, I went out to the chicken coop and chose the nicest, fattest chicken that was left. I left the house before my mama woke up, and I carried the chicken down the hill and through the streets to the Souk of the Poultry Dressers.
“ ‘Good morning, my friend,’ says the merchant. ‘I see you have another aged, toothless chicken.’
“ ‘This is a very nice chicken,’ I go, ‘and I want what it’s worth and nothing less.’
“The merchant looked at the chicken closely and mumbled to himself. ‘You know,’ he says at last, ‘these feathers are stuck on very tight.’
“ ‘Isn’t that how they’re supposed to be?’ I go.
“He pointed to a row of dead chickens with their heads cut off. ‘See any feathers on these?’
“ ‘No,’ I go.
“ ‘Ever eat a roast chicken with feathers?’
“ ‘No,’ I go.
“ Then I’m sorry. It will cost me much time and labor to unstick all these feathers. I can only offer you this big fierce tomcat.’
“I thought that was a good trade, because the tomcat would catch the mice and rats that crept into the coop and stole the chicken feed. I remembered what my mama had told me, and I tried to carry the tomcat carefully in my hands. Just after I went down the hill and before I went up the hill, the tomcat snarled and spit and squirmed and scratched until I couldn’t hold him any longer. He jumped out of my hands and ran away.