Where the Desert Meets the Sea

by Werner Sonne

Hana took the baby over to the car and showed her father. “She’ll die if we don’t do something soon. We have to take her with us.” She pointed at the old woman. “And the grandmother too.” The younger woman raised her hands and released a sharp cry. Hana turned to her. “We don’t want to take your baby from you. But we can’t simply let her die.” The woman lowered her head in silence. Hana searched her bag for a pencil and wrote on a scrap of newspaper from the car. “This is our address in Amman. You can find them both there.” The woman took the page and looked at Hana with embarrassment. “I cannot read,” she said. “No one in our family can.” Hana read the address to her several times, asking her to repeat it back. “And if you forget, you must find someone who can read it,” Hana said. “You will have to.” She gestured to the old woman. “Come on, we’ll move you together. Let us help.” The old woman tried to get up but slumped back down again. “I can’t,” she said, her voice breaking. Ali climbed out of the car and pulled her up using both arms. She hobbled, supported by Ali, over to the Chrysler, and slid onto the rear seat without a word. After assuring the terrified mother once more, Hana, baby Sulima in her arms, got in next to the grandmother and pulled the car door shut with difficulty. Hana cradled Sulima tight. She gently pressed the child to her belly and hoped that her own baby could feel it. It would be like this soon, when her own child was born, when she could cradle...