“Will you tell me?” I whispered, “About your mother? Was she a . . . small person too?”
Ahmad smiled softly. “No. She was tall and willowy like an olive tree, and I suppose I was one of her pits.” He offered a small chuckle and I smiled at him, my love for my friend overcoming me suddenly and causing my heart to swell. Ahmad sighed, sitting back, stretching his short legs, and crossing them at the ankles. “Speaking of targets, I was a bullseye on my mother’s back, only it was my father who was the archer.” His gaze grew distant, and I sensed the heaviness of his heart. “She was forced to love me in secret, but she did love me and showed me in a hundred ways, big and small.” He looked at me, his eyes moving over my face. “She knew that knowledge is both a kind of freedom and a terrible prison, depending on your circumstances. And she was right. Because of what she taught me, I have felt joy, and I have suffered more greatly than I might have without it.” He paused again, looking troubled. “I’m giving you what she gave me, and perhaps you will come to hate me for it one day.”
I reached out and laid my hand upon his on the bench. “No,” I insisted. “I could never hate you.”
“I could,” I heard a familiar voice growl, my head whipping around to see Zakai behind us, his gaze moving from me, to Ahmad, and finally to the book on the bench between us. “What the hell is going on here?”
I came to my feet and so did Ahmad. “Zakai,” I breathed, moving to him and taking his hands in mine, pulling him forward into the courtyard. I’d already done something that might bring unpleasant things for Ahmad when I’d only been trying to help. I would do anything not to add to that. My mind spun with lies I might tell Zakai. But how could I? He knew me better than I knew myself. And as Haziq had pointed out, I was a poor liar. “Ahmad . . . we . . . he’s—”
“I’m teaching her how to read,” Ahmad said.
Zakai’s jaw ticked and his eyes grew tumultuous with disapproval. “She’s already good at it,” Ahmad said, and I was surprised to hear the gentleness in his voice, as though he knew the words would wound Zakai and felt regretful that they did.
Zakai’s shoulders lowered very minutely, sadness passing through his eyes. I’d lied to him. I’d hurt him and my heart grieved to know it. I quickly picked up the book and opened it, imploring Zakai with my eyes, eager to show him that what I had learned filled me with happiness, and hopeful that my joy would spur his own.
I began reading randomly, my finger skimming the lines as I worked diligently through the words. “But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing floor, into the season-less world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not nor would it be possessed. For love is sufficient unto love. And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”
I was breathless when I finished, my gaze lifting to Zakai’s. He was staring at me, a type of sadness I’d never seen on his face before. It startled me and I blinked at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, turning to Ahmad. “You know how to read,” he stated. “Do you know numbers too?”
“Yes,” Ahmad said.
“And maps?”
Ahmad frowned. “Maps must be drawn.”
“Can you draw them?”
“In the sand, yes. But they must not stay. And, Zakai, a map won’t do you any good.”
Zakai nodded solemnly. “Continue teaching her,” he said, “but please teach me too.”
CHAPTER SIX
Over the next six moons, Ahmad taught Zakai and me to read and to write, to add and to subtract. He taught us that everything could be measured and weighed and broken down into units and degrees, volumes, and periods of time. Could forever be measured, I wondered. Kindness? Love? But when I asked Ahmad these questions, he just smiled broadly and chucked me under my chin. “Not by me, Karys. Even the greatest scientists haven’t figured that one out yet, but perhaps someday you will know the breakdown of love.”
I thought about that. “Maybe love can’t be broken down,” I pondered. “Maybe love is only whole, or it isn’t love at all.”
Ahmad smiled again, but this time his smile was sad.