dancing

His father had some business with the Sheikhs and the Sheikhs had taken them to see this. The men were leering, mouths wide open, eyes sparkling with hunger. Stars twinkled in the night sky. The air was fresh in the desert breeze. Altaf kicked a rock and sullenly looked at the woman. The images would stay with him forever. He had never seen a bare stomach before. A woman’s bare stomach. It was not like those of the men. It was not hairy and protruding. It was glistening with sweat and was flat. She was only wearing a tiny something that covered her chest. Her stomach was bare and on display. It glistened. She was so close to them, to the Sheikhs that he could smell the oil that made it gleam. His feet had been playing with a few rocks, now they were still. The woman had olive skin. Her eyes were filled with a manic glow. Her covered chest was heaving with the exertion. His stomach was flat. She twirled and danced around impossibly to some Arab music. Spectators cheered. Some jeered. The latter were mostly Arabs.

Altaf felt something stirring inside of him. He was thirteen. He had never liked girls before. They were gross. But here. But now. He felt something in his stomach. A hunger. A growling. Stirring. He imagined placing his hands on her stomach. He imagined kissing her mouth. Her lips were shiny. Covered with the same thing his mother used. Gloss, was it? Her eyes were deep and lined with kohl. The music stopped. She took a deep breath. And bowed. A smile on her face. Then she turned away from them and bowed. Longer. Why was she facing away from them. He wanted to see her face. It was so beautiful. Then in the third direction. Then the fourth. She smiled at the Sheikh his father did business with. Maybe she liked him. She had smiled an awful lot at him. Maybe she wanted to be his wife. He had money. Altaf was sure she wanted to quit this job and just relax with all the Sheikh’s money. What if he had other wives. No, but he would marry her anyways if he wanted. He could. He was allowed four. And the Sheikhs married more than one. Almost always. Altaf wondered why. His mother and father sometimes fought. They weren’t happy in just one. Why would someone have four.

Food was served at their little makeshift table. His father and the Sheikh spoke fast in Arabic. He picked at his food. His mother had not come. His father had not invited her. He had taken Altaf along to teach him, he had said. He looked around. There were some women, but few. The food was very good. The chicken tikkas almost melted in his mouth. For a few seconds, he was lost in the food. Then he returned to the night time dessert. The sky heavy above him. The sands twirling around a little. The dessert was soft and he felt he could almost fall in it. The air was cool. Other than their sounds, and the crackling of the fire, there was silence.