The path is rough, winding, and dim, beneath the vegetation and undergrowth. The wind
makes the tall grass slam against Laila's calves as she and Hamza climb the path, take the
turns. On either side of them is a kaleidoscope of wilciflowers swaying in the wind, some
tall with curved petals, others low, fan leafed. Here and there a few ragged buttercups peep
through the low bushes. Laila hears the twitter of swallows overhead and the busy chatter
of grasshoppers underfoot.
They walk uphill this way for two hundred yards or more. Then the path levels, and opens
into a flatter patch of land. They stop, catch their breath. Laila dabs at her brow with her
sleeve and bats at a swarm of mosquitoes hovering in front of her face. Here she sees the
low slung mountains in the horizon, a few cottonwoods, some poplars, various wild bushes
that she cannot name.
"There used to be a stream here," Hamza says, a little out of breath. "But it's long dried up
now."
He says he will wait here. He tells her to cross the dry streambed, walk toward the
mountains.
"I'll wait here," he says, sitting on a rock beneath a poplar. "You go on."
"I won't "
"Don't worry. Take your time. Go on, hamshireh. "
Laila thanks him. She crosses the streambed, stepping from one stone to another. She
spots broken soda bottles amid the rocks, rusted cans, and a mold coated metallic container
with a zinc lid half buried in the ground.
She heads toward the mountains, toward the weeping willows, which she can see now, the
long drooping branches shaking with each gust of wind. In her chest, her heart is drumming.
She sees that the willows are arranged as Mariam had said, in a circular grove with a
clearing in the middle. Laila walks faster, almost running now. She looks back over her
shoulder and sees that Hamza is a tiny figure, his chapan a burst of color against the brown
of the trees' bark. She trips over a stone and almost falls, then regains her footing. She
hurries the rest of the way with the legs of her trousers pulled up. She is panting by the time
she reaches the willows.
Mariam's kolba is still here.
When she approaches it, Laila sees that the lone windowpane is empty and that the door is
gone. Mariam had described a chicken coop and a tandoor, a wooden outhouse too, but
Laila sees no sign of them. She pauses at the entrance to the kolba She can hear flies
buzzing inside.
To get in, she has to sidestep a large fluttering spider web. It's dim inside. Laila has to give
her eyes a few moments to adjust. When they do, she sees that the interior is even smaller
than she'd imagined. Only half of a single rotting, splintered board remains of the