Tasting the Sky Read Online Free

my children one last time before I die.” But the darkness surrounding us was merciless.
    Father held Mother to his chest. “Mirriam, they missed,” he whispered. Miraculously, she had escaped injury, and the warmth in Dad’s voice allowed my blood to flow again through my veins.
    Mother, shocked, had nothing to say. Then, suddenly, she demanded that we leave.
    It seemed strange, but she picked up Maha and began walking toward the house. Basel, Muhammad, and I leapt
after her as my father prayed hysterically that we come to no harm.
    Inside the house, Mother snatched the pot of lentils and rice from the kitchen and wrapped it in a rag. Then she dashed into the darkness and searched for a bundle of golden bracelets that had been her dowry when she and my father married. I could hear her sigh of relief when she found them.
    Mother then commanded that we put on our shoes. But I could not find mine, and the house was black as coal. “Yamma, where are my shoes?” I cried.
    â€œFind them!” she ordered. My brothers and I obediently searched until all three of us found our shoes, then hurried outside.
    Now my parents spoke urgently. My father said that if we didn’t die that night, we’d have to sleep in the wilderness. We’d need clothes and blankets. When he came out of the house with a mound in his arms, he and Mother argued over whether or not to lock the door. They finally agreed: we would lock it and take the key with us.
    People continued to pass by our house, spreading word of impending terror. A breathless man told my father that there was no one left in his village. He and the others were going to hide in the caves, then try to cross the bridge at the border to Jordan.
    â€œWhich caves?” Father asked.
    â€œJust run with us,” the man replied before disappearing into the darkness.
    Father turned to Mother. “We must leave now,” he said. His voice was sharp like a knife.

    My brothers were ready. They held each other’s hands tightly. Mother had secured Maha between her arms. My father strained to see the road from behind the mound of clothes and blankets he carried. But in spite of my desperate attempts to obey my parents’ commands, my three-and-a-half-year-old hands were unable to lace up the one shoe I had put on. My right foot was still shoeless.
    â€œYamma, Yaba! Help me!” I cried in a hushed voice, lest I attract attention and we all die. But no one answered.
    At that moment, a new wave of fleeing villagers rushed by. As they disappeared, everything faded into stillness. And my family was gone.
    Had they just walked into the crowd and left me behind? Fear dug a hole in my heart. I could not grasp what had happened. I wanted to cry aloud, hurl their names across the darkness, but dread stifled my voice. I knew that the only hope for me was to instantly run in the same direction, leaving one shoe behind.
    As I moved, sounds of distant gunshots and screeching swelled and then subsided. I kept running. When I looked behind, I could no longer see the giant shadow of our home. The world within and around me seemed to fade into the unknown. The gravel grated sharply into my skin. Once again, I commanded myself not to feel.
    Soon, my ears detected voices. I waited cautiously, and when people approached, I attached myself to the end of their caravan.
    Settling into the rhythm of this rapidly moving crowd, I could hear voices talking about a group of neighbors they
expected to meet at the caves. The caves? My parents were heading toward caves! My heart filled with hope that my family would be there.
    But my hopes disappeared when flare bombs lit up the darkness and formed a dome of light in the sky. Silhouettes of everyone suddenly became visible. Now the warplanes could locate us. Would real bombs follow?
    Anticipating the moment of final destruction, people prayed aloud. They said that Allah is one. But as the lights and sounds of distant