‘Some still choose to live this way, prefer it even, over the pressures of city life.’
‘I can’t imagine. It must be so hard.’ Despite the romanticism of the desert, I can’t imagine living without my straightening irons, drive-through coffee, and the other trappings of life.
‘The birds weren’t bred in captivity, either. They were hunted and trapped at the beginning of the season. The men would set up the trap, dig themselves a hole in the sand and climb in and wait.’
‘Sounds a bit like fishing.’
‘The waiting, maybe. Though I imagine training a falcon would be like taming a shark, one you’re bound to day and night in an effort to subdue them, bend them to your will.’
I laugh humourlessly, imagining the pain incurred in that task.
‘My father gave me a falcon when I was thirteen,’ Kai reveals quite suddenly. As he shakes his head as though to dislodge a distant image or memory, I hold my breath, greedy for insight and loath to interrupt. ‘Most kids get a fucking dog.’ Turning his head to the window, he speaks as though to the lowering sun. ‘I released her, let her go free. All I could think was that she was trapped, like me. No point us both being unhappy.
‘Faris was livid, of course. Told me I should be more like Essam. That I needed to toughen up. I can’t tell you how that made me feel, you see, he and Essam’s father—his brother—have always been rivals. For him to say I, his only son, was less than his nephew, the guilt and hurt he made me feel... ’
‘Guilt,’ I prompt, his reflection turning inwards.
‘Yes. He told me the bird would never survive in the wild, that I’d as good as killed her myself. That she’d be picked off by a larger predator. Said if I didn’t harden up, the same could be said of me. I think that’s when I started to hate him.’
His head turns from the window and he takes my hands. ‘I found out later that by tradition, birds are released at the end of the season, set free and allowed to resume their migration pattern. Faris and his mind-games.’
I feel rather than see his minute shake of the head.
‘Maybe he acted in anger.’ I try not to sound disingenuous, but my words are hollow, feeble even. The little I know of his father doesn’t at all endear him to me at.
‘You don’t know him as I do,’ he relays without emotion. ‘He does nothing without considering all angles. The one reckless act of his life was his marriage to my mother and don’t we all know it.’
‘Looks like we’re both poor in the parent department.’ I bring his hand to my mouth and lightly kiss the palm.
‘Poor in affection, rich in pocket.’ He arches an eyebrow. ‘That’s part of the problem. Faris has so much money, it’s hard for him to believe he’s not actually God. Everything has an angle, everyone has a price.’
‘Parents, can’t live with them—’
‘And can’t kill them without going to jail and I’m just too pretty for that.’ He smiles once more, though rather sadly, returning his gaze to the window.
