The dry winds of August stroked gently the big olive tree, and the birds flew south under the hot sunlight of that gloomy month. The bird's quill danced hither and thither with the hot dry wind, and twinkled by the golden sun beams; it went down slowly, merely avoiding the olive tree and heading for the window. Through the white box-shaped window it fell on the counter by the boy's hand.

The boy picked up the quill and gazed at its bright whiteness. It was so beautiful. He handed it to the outside world through the window, and went back to his venture.

A pot lay open on the counter; all it needed was coffee. He went for the cupboard in the other side of the kitchen and looked for coffee. The kitchen was the biggest room in the house, after his parent's bedroom, the ceiling was bright white and tanned faïence piled to the four walls whose colors matched the white tiles.

He opened the coffee-powder jar with two hands, and with a tablespoon he put three spoonfuls of coffee in the opened pot; he hesitated and added a half spoon. He put the pot on the fire, and he hoped for a delicious coffee; although he would not know because it wasn't for him. A voice came from outside the kitchen. Father called him, "Adam boy, come here." He closed the window, and went to his parent's bedroom.

"Ye, Pa!" he said apologetically as he looked at Pa, then down at the floor. Pa was stretching down on his bed, watching TV.

"Is that coffee ready yet?" he wondered. His eyes did not flinch from the TV.

"I just put the pot on fire; few minutes yet, Pa," Adam replied, smiling at him.

"Well, careful with it. Nothing worse than a hot-coffee burn," he looked at Adam reassuringly.

Adam was leaving for the kitchen when his father stopped him, "Take this. Wash it, and bring it back," his father laid a hand on the mahogany night table beside him; he picked up a tiny cup and handed it to him. Adam took the cup and laid an eye on the night table; it was all messed up with pharmaceutical medicines, big dark-brown bottles with white caps on top of them and white and blue boxes. They were with all shapes spread over the night table. This view encountered him every day as he went to his parent's bedroom. Sick people buy medicines, gravely sick people buy a lot of medicines. This thought gave him a shudder down his spine and he remembered his sick mother, she had been two months in the hospital; he visited her every chance he got with Pa; but lately Pa was tired. The hospital is at distance. And Pa's tired.

By the time he got to the kitchen, the pot lid was slowly moving up and down, and the coffee was simmering. Delicious coffee is ready. With a twice-folded handkerchief he removed the pot from the fire and put it on the ceramic counter. And, with a splash of water, he washed the tiny cup, which had a small ring of black coffee at the bottom; he had to rub it down hard with his hand, and even it was only for few stains of that black coffee that remained in the cup, he kept rubbing it until it all vanished. Two-and-a-half spoonfuls of sugar, cupful of coffee, and a little mixing with a spoon, just like Pa always drank it. He felt proud about his coffee; although he only made it several times and only to Pa, who never gave him his opinion on it.

Betty, the meowycat came through the kitchen's door. She was so little when they brought her a year ago. Adam followed her moves. She swirled back and forth in the kitchen, smelling the ground for food, then she came close to his legs. Her white hair clinged onto his black jeans, and it felt like silk when he threw a hand to pet her. Betty purred and moved smoothly around his hand. He loved Betty since the first day the brought her: her purring, her white milky hair and the tan splatters all over it; but what he mostly liked was her warm, comfortable snuggles at night, when she came on light feet and curled around his legs.

Pa always liked his coffee cold. He picked it and went out of the house, to the garden where once he had rabbits and chickens. He loved animals; not so much unproductive animals such as meowycats. His coffee mug was too small and too hot to hold it so he just laid it atop of the wall. Pa would never drink coffee without one of his cigarettes. They smell good at first when he lights them, but then the good smell vanishes away and then it hurts. Pa said it isn't good to smell cigarettes' smoke, it hurts the lungs. It turns from pinky color to black, that's what happens to it. Pinky color is healthy. And so Adam's got pinky-colored lungs, but Pa didn't, Pa had black ones, he smokes a lot of those cigarettes that smells good at first but bad afterwards. His coffee would last for hours, he didn't like drinking it with a haste, he would savor it and enjoy it; Adam made good coffee. And with that good coffee his father smoked many of them cigarettes that turned his lungs black.

Pa got back into the house with a cupful of coffee in one hand, and a half-blown cigarette in the other one, "Adam," he said, "Can I trouble you for a few moments." Adam nodded.

"Here," he handed Adam five hundred Dinars, "Go buy me a Marlboro pack, and buy yourself some chocolate." He went to his room and laid himself on his bed. Pa's tired. Adam took the five-hundred-dinar note Pa gave him and headed outside.

The mild winds shipped a breeze down through the twigs of the flower tree, and the leaves squeaked gently on the hot air. The sun was nearly at the top, and it had been sending hot beams. Adam felt it as he walked out of their small garden, both the mild breeze between the twigs of the tree and the hotness of the sunlight. He put the five-hundred-dinar note in his pocket. A Marlboro pack and some chocolates, a Marlboro pack and some chocolates... A Marlboro chocolate and some packs.

As he headed to the street he saw kids playing marbles. Some of them he knew, for they were his friends and neighbors. The others he did not recognize, he never saw them in his life. They probably came to play marbles with his friends. Two of his friends dug a small hole in the hard weather-beaten ground. One kid got down on his hands; he blew hardly with his mouth on the hole and he closed his eyes doing so. The hole had to be perfectly clean. Then the boys took two steps back with precise calculation and they draw a line with a stick. Now the game begins.

The rules of the game are easy, after they throw their marbles, the closest one to the hole plays again until the marble gets in the hole. When it does, the player have to hit the other one's marble with his, if so, he wins the game. He can hit it without getting the marble in the hole but that would be just to get the other player far away from the hole, and some kids loved to do so.

Each of them kids threw their marbles after a long quarrel on who should go first. But as soon as they did a third kid joined them. He wanted to play too, so they had to go again and play as three. The winner would take the other's marbles.

The three of them stood by the line, and one by one they threw their marbles. It was a fast game. The third kid knew what he was doing. Just as he threw his marble the first time it went directly into the hole, and the other kids were amazed. The other two marbles were not far from the hole and they were close to one another. The kid with the marble in the hole used one of the rules, which known that if other marbles were four-fingers away from each other, the striker has the right to join them together, and so, he put this rule into practice. He made four fingers with his hand, and it matched the distance between the marbles. He joined them together and he stood on his feet with his marble in hand. He made a gesturing as he hold the marble and closed one eye and left the other open like he was aiming for birds. Bang. His marble caught the two marbles on the ground. He won. But he was not happy about it, for as he was going to claim the marbles, one of them he found shattered in half.

Adam loved to play marbles, and he was good at it. He had a tall plastic bottle in the house that was full of them. He earned them by playing kids and winning. He was good at it. But now he was not drawn to it as he was before. Sometimes he went to the playground across the house and watch his friends play and win and lose, and when someone he did not know challenged him in a marble game, he would make an excuse that he didn't know how to play the game. But if someone he knew challenged him he just refused and, afterwards, left the playground. He felt that it was kids' game and he was a grownup.

He walked towards the road. The sun was coming up. Its beams were hard on the ground. Adam stood at the sidewalk and looked listlessly in the left side then the right side. His father told him once that people do not know how to drive around here and one should be careful crossing the road. But there were no cars coming or going. He walked slowly to the other side of the road. The road was covered with oil stains. He had wanted his legs' shadows to pass through the oil stains without touching them, but each time he tried it, and it failed. The shadows always had to go through the oil stains on the road.

At the other side of the road the sidewalk was connected with another playground, and this one was tiled with two-colored tiles. Red and white. Adam continued his game but not with the shadows, he trusted himself to not walk on the red tiles, only the white ones. And he did so, jumping from one white tile to another. There were men and their kids and their games in the playground. Some of them stared at him jumping.

After that Adam headed to the kiosk. He saw his neighbor standing there. They were the same age, but Adam was small and scrawny and the other boy was tall. He had a big head. His name was Alaa.

"Kive me a juice box," Alaa said. His hands were shaking as he handed over the two-hundred dinar note.

"Hi, Alaa," Adam announced, "Let me buy and we will go together."

"O.K." He said. The kiosk owner handed him the juice box and the rest of his money.

"Give me a..." Adam gazed at the owner.

"You forgot huh..." The owner said, laughing sarcastically.

"Give me a Marlboro pack," he said triumphantly, and added, "And two chocolate." He handed him the money. It was folded over and over and when the owner straightened it, it was nearly ripped apart.

"I cannot accept this. This ain't no money," the owner growled.

"That's what Pa gave me."

"Well next time tell Pa to give you real money, you hear me?" He gave him the change.

Adam took the tobacco pack and the chocolates and the money, and padded Alaa on his back. "Let's go." He handed him one of his chocolates. Alaa shook his head. He had a big head. But Adam insisted until Alaa took it.

Kids always mocked Alaa, sometimes even grownups. He had a big head, and he was tall and lean and goofy. He was sick. He had a big mark on his head that suggested he had an operation. And he needed another one. People said that he will not be surviving for long for he was too sick. But Adam did not care for what people said. He did not like it when kids made fun of him, and he did not make fun of him. He considered him to be his friend.

When Adam went back home, he heard good news.

"What do you say we go fishing," his father said. He wasn't waiting for an answer. Adam nodded his head happily.

"You know what to do. I'm going to buy us lunch while you prepare everything here."

"Okay, Pa." His father took the car keys and left.

Adam took the bread from the kitchen and went out. Through the second door of the garden he went to the sunny ground outside. He had two crusty bread baguettes in his palm; as light as they look, he struggled fixing them under his palm, and the baguettes swifted up and down.

He placed them on a sidewalk stone before the neighbor's house and cut them into two pieces each. He enjoyed the music of the bread's crunching sound.

It was midday, and the hot sunlight casted straight downward on trees and buildings, and everything that was under the charm of that sunlight had no shade. The sun beams were hot and dry and he felt the top of his head burning as soon as he stepped outside the house.

With a soft move of his hand he scrapped the bread on the rock. All we need is dough, his father's words rang on his mind. Take off the crust until the bread turns all white. He scrubbed it again and again, and turned it over, and scrubbed once more; even the hard, hidden angles where the crust laid did not survive from his scrubbing. He picked up the bread and escaped from the hot sun.

Adam went out to the garden after wearing his red hat which was dirty with mud stains, which was fine. In his hands he held the lunchbox that Pa prepared earlier; Purée and small cuts of fried chicken breast on it. Pa said they'll buy bread on their way to the lake.

Pa stepped into the garden after a while,

"You got everythin' ready here, champ?" he said. Adam nodded with a slyly smile.

"Got lunch and everythin'?" he repeated. Adam nodded again. "Well then, let's go fish!" He smiled and stroked Adam on the head.

Pa had two fishing rods forced under his palm, a small blue one that had tiny fish drawn into its end, for Adam, and the other one tall and red, for grownups: Pa. On his other hand he held a blue steel box, but Pa's box seemed to be the fishing-tool box, which had dough that Adam made earlier, and some hooks that were dangerous to play with and leads, and some cord for the rods that was also very dangerous for a toy. Pa told him many times that it could cut through one's fingers like a knife.

Pa, like all the times he went fishing, wore a supposedly white shirt with some blue unfathomable words written on it, and it was loose on the ends. The white shirt did not look much white because of the brown, big stains it had on the front as well as the back. Pa had the habit of whipping his hands on it whenever they got dirty from the fish he caught or the mud; the lake's water seemed to be a factor as well. With the white shirt he had dark blue joggings and slippers on his big white feet.

Adam stood by the car, waiting for his father to open the door with the keys. He saw himself in the side mirror; he had his gray cotton shirt on, which was specialized for fishing trips. Although it might seem that the shirt was not, as always, the perfect choice in such weather, but he went with it anyway. His joggings were also cotton; green colored, much to his admiration for it.

"I'm afraid it'll be raining this afternoon," Pa said as he popped his head up and glimpsed north at the sky.

"But the sun doesn't look going anywhere, it's so hot!" Adam dragged his hand up to his forehead and tried to look at the sun. His eyes surrendered to the brightness of it and were closed as soon. Little yellow dots popped out when he closed his eyes, and even when he opened them they seemed not to disappear.

"Yes, but if you look up there," Pa looked at him, and then pointed out to the northern side of the sky, "those are rainy summer clouds; those would bring storms."

Adam picked his head up and gazed upon where it was suggested to him. Big clouds appeared on the sky, their color was terrorizing, they looked nearly black, and they were shaped as someone had drawn them with pencil. Pa was always a weather expert, he always looked at the sky, and when he did, he would later tell him how it is going to be on the afternoon, or on the morrow, and what he said mostly always happen.

"So the trip won't be for long?" Adam asked; he was forced to ask with a disappointed tone.

"I wouldn't know for certain when the storm'll be here. We'll just go. Hopefully we'll have a good time and won't get caught in it. We better go now."

As they got in the car and his father drove down the road, Adam glimpsed again at the gray, nearly black clouds that were heading towards them. He hoped that it'll never rain. Maybe it should rain after they finish their fishing; yes it should. They should have a nice sunny fishing trip at the lake and then, when they get home, it will have the freedom to rain.

The car took its way on a route nationale. A route nationale is what the passengers take when they travel from one big city to another, Pa explained to him everytime they go on a trip. The road was nice at first. The car's engine roared slowly atop of the soft road. But after a while, the soft and flowing rhythm of that road turned harsh and mean. The road was mean to the car. She was mean to her. Adam felt peacefulness at heart when the road was soft, but when they got to the parts where it was bad, he was uncomfortable. He vibrated. The car vibrated. The road was bad. She was mean to her, and now she was mean to him and Pa.

When Adam went in the car, he always seated himself in the front, alongside his father. Although his short stature did not allow him to ride in that place, according to the law, but Pa said it was fine. 'Policemen knows us.' And so, he always had the front seat. He liked it. What he liked about it was his devotion to that seat, for every time he sat, he belted himself and laid back his head on the seat cushion.

It was a long ride. Adam pushed his head forward and glanced through the window far away to the waste lands where mountains stood side-by-side like oddly-folded paper sheets. Upon the mountains were the scary clouds. They took advantage of his inattention, now they were closer to the city than before. They are bad. The land in front of his sight lay dead, weather-beaten, with some occasional dark-green bushes here and there, shining with the beams of sunlight. But what was noticeable is the different colors of garbage thrown on this vast land that took to the mountains. Red, green, yellow specks of garbage thrown. Sometimes they were in masses. They hurt nature. They were bad.

They crossed a small house with a garden circled with fences and closet-doors and whatever there was to circle it to keep the chickens and goats inside. There were a lot of chickens. But the goats were the ones special, one was white, another was black, and the third one was brown-soaked in dirt that had faded away her true color. Two of them had small horns on their heads.

Back at the house's front door stood a woman, her clothes were ones that poor people wore. It was soaked with dirt, but her face was clean. She looked at Adam.

A few steps ahead of the house a kid was playing in the dirt, probably the woman's kid. He was down on his knees collecting gravel and shooting them in a plastic bottle. The kid lifted his eyes and looked at Adam. He had big, innocent, brown eyes, and his hair was brown too, and dirty and baked under the sunlight. The small house was a sign that they were close to the lake. Just on the edge of the horizon, a turn to the left, then slightly up towards a small hill; from there the lake was exposed to the road by-passers. The lake was vast, and it stretched as far as the eye could.

At the turn of one hill, there was another hill which was not like the others hills. This hill had plenty of green tall trees inclined toward the road, and beyond it comes a vast naked land, and the naked land stretched to the naked mountains. Adam knew nothing of the life that existed in that land, or beyond the mountains, and he wasn't sure that there was anything. He always wanted to asked his father about it but he never did, and left his question to be answered with his wild imagination. Some times he imagined that beyond the mountains were other mountains, maybe green mountains, or the same naked mountains or a big vast land that stretched into mountains too and, other times, he imagined a vast big lake beyond that mountain.

The car arrived at a red plate sign. It was rusty and its color was fading away; the words: Attention, baignade interdite, peche interdite, were written on it. But no one paid attention to those words nor to the plate.

His father turned slowly on the road where the plate sign stood. It wasn't a former road, and it was full of rocks on it. Adam and Pa jumped as the car went through that passage, and when they arrived at bump, his father put his head out the car window and pressed gently and carefully on gas. "I hope it won't touch," he mumbled.

The passage stretched for a hundred meters on after that bump and it was all full of rocks and broken glass here and there, and then there was no road to follow because there were trees that blocked the way. Adam took off the belt and went outside. There were birds on those tall oak trees and the birds chirped and flew away from the trees.

Pa took the rods from the back doors and the fishing tool-box, and Adam had the lunch box and a big carpet. They walked down toward the lake. The lake was big and it had many different entries. They saw people on the right side swimming; they are the fools, Pa called them. From that side no one fished because when the fools swam there they scared the fish away and it was no good a place to fish in. The best place to fish in was the opposite side of the lake, but they couldn't go there, it was too far and it was illegal. It was illegal to fish anywhere in the lake, but at that specific place, one can get caught by the police.

Adam trotted down behind his father, and he saw some bushes not far ahead, they were taller than any person he saw and they were taller than last year. The ground on which the bushes stood was dry and it had cracks. Last year it was underwater, he thought.

"It's getting smaller," Adam said.

"Well. That depends on how much rain we get, and this year we didn't get much. Hopefully it'll be better." Pa picked up his head and looked at the clouds, and Adam copied him. The gray clouds were closer than before. Adam frowned.

"Okay," his father announced, "this is our place." He thrust the parasol inside the wet ground near the lake, and he fixed it. Adam struggled as he tried to open the carpet, and his father helped him. They laid it on the circled-shade ground.

The world was silent, and the creaks of the water were gentle and harmless. Pa sighed in relief, and Adam sighed as well. The air was clean and so was the water. Adam lifted his joggings and dipped his feet in the water, and it was refreshing. He held the dough he prepared in his hands and, leaning over, he moistened it with small handfuls of water until the bread turned soft, and Adam kneaded it patiently.

"Careful, son. Don't go in too deep," his father said. His eyes weren't at Adam. He opened the rods and adjusted their cords neatly.

The dough now was perfect; he handed it to his father. Pa took small chunks of dough and made lozenge shapes, and fixed each one on a hook. One by one he threw the cords into the water and, with the help of some rocks, he fixed the rods.

There wasn't much fish that evening, but they managed to catch some; Adam's rod caught the biggest one and Adam was happy about it. But soon after they caught that big fish, the evening was interrupted with rain. The black clouds arrived. Adam was very sad and angry at the same time with the clouds, but since he caught a big fish, he considered it a good trip.

They escaped to the car and took the road off home. The rains were heavy, and poured vigorously the road was soaking wet, and the land had small ponds near the road, and bigger ponds far away where the hills embraced the vast land.