Where is Manar?
Book One: The Twin Star
Chapter 3: The "Chicken" That Started a War
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"Reallly?!" Manar said, her "snakes" swishing to the right as she turned her head.
"Of course, my cupcake. Have I ever broken a promise to you?" I asked, kissing her. "But, how many kisses will you give me?" I looked into her eyes.
"Wun!" she said with absolute confidence, holding up three fingers right in my face. Apparently, she followed her own private math system! "Three kisses? That's too little. I want ten!"
"Okaaay..." she agreed, then tilted her head and planted a warm kiss on my cheek. "Mwaaaa."
"That's one, sweetheart. Where are the rest?" She glanced at me sideways in a purely commercial tone: "When you bwing the Chicken."
"Hahahaha! When I bring the bike? Looks like she doesn't trust me."
"Okay, but you have to give me five kisses now, and after I bring it, you give me the other five," I bargained. She thought it over, the "snakes" rippling above her head. Having reached a conclusion, she leaned in and planted the second kiss. "Yee, mwaaaa." (That's two). "Mwaaaa." (Three). "Mwaaaa." (Four).
She stopped suddenly. "Manar, my cupcake, that's four. Where's the fifth?" I waited; the fee had to be paid in full.
"I tave you... at the beginning... wun!" she said, a look of bewilderment in her eyes.
"Cupcake, you're little and you're imagining things. You must have miscounted." (Damn! How is she this sharp at two and a half?)
"I tave you... be-fowe you... count." She was firm. She had paid in full, and I wasn't getting more.
"Sweetheart, I'm your big brother, and I'm right. You must have miscounted. Didn't I promise you the most beautiful pink bike with a bell for girls?"
"Realllyyyyyy?" The snakes danced in celebration.
"Definitely, cupcake. It'll be prettier than Hadi's daughter's."
"Prettier... than Thuda's Chicken." She repeated the words with the smile of a war victor.
"Alright, where's my fifth kiss?" She looked at me, tilted her head, and blinked like a bunny. "I tave you... thwee." She held up her tiny hand, spreading all five fingers.
"Sweetheart, how can you haggle with your big brother? Shame on you!" Damn... wasn't tricking kids supposed to be easier?
"Chicken," she said with finality, ending the debate.
"Sweetheart, if you give me a kiss now, I'll put a pink ribbon on the bike. What do you think?"
"Really?"
"For sure." Finally, she planted a kiss that was worth every penny. "Mwaaaaj... don't forget... want it... pwettier than... Thuda's Chicken."
"Alright, sweetheart. Definitely."
Damn, bargaining with children is getting harder. Or am I raising a new little demon? It doesn't matter; she's the most beautiful demon in this world.
I kept playing with Manar and annoying Alaa for half an hour. He sat near Dad and didn't budge. When Mom finished her work, he managed to escape. Run all you want today, but the days are running too. You and I, we have a date. I'm the hunter and you're the prey; you'll fall in the end.
The day passed quickly, and I didn't understand a thing from it. Time flew by, flapping its wings like an uncle who borrowed money from you — trust me, you'll never see him running.
And then came the second day.
I was sitting in my room on the floor, scrolling through social media. A post about "Seven foods to increase your child's intelligence" — the owner was selling them, of course. Another post: "How to make your wife respect you in five steps" — the writer was single, I could tell from his picture. A video of a guy explaining "The Great Conspiracy Theory" from his bedroom, anime poster behind him. I sighed and put the phone down. Even stupidity has gone corporate.
But my mind wasn't on that. My mind had its own job these days; there was a guest living — or let's say occupying — my room. He watched me most of the time, and I watched him. I tried to communicate. You know, we are beings called "Al-Anas" — the humans, the social ones, literally named for our need for company. Or that's what a normal person prefers!...
Anyway, today I'm trying again to reach out to the new tenant. "Hey, Gecko. How's it going?" I said as he watched me.
There was a slipper near me. My size-43 slipper — call it The 43. I had brought it to the room — I mean our room. Since Lonely (that's what I named him) doesn't know how to communicate, I invented a new way for us to connect.
Shooooosh!
The 43 launched from my grip at Mach 2. I'm a pro at throwing things. Thanks to my frequent training on Alaa, I don't miss. As The 43 shot forward, whistling until it broke the sound barrier, Lonely didn't lose his caution. He was watching me carefully. The moment it launched, he maneuvered with professional skill, slipped through a gap in the secondary ceiling, and vanished.
Thud!!
The 43 slammed into the wall where Wahid had been, leaving a mark right next to three others. Yes, folks. Four marks now. Don't get me wrong — I haven't lost my skill. Wahid is just the fastest gecko in the Arab world. Maybe all of Asia.
Bong, bong, bong...
The wall clock downstairs woke me from my thoughts. I got up to dress: a green and black plaid shirt and black jeans. I had left them on the bed — I don't sleep on it, I just use it for my clothes. I heard footsteps approaching. The time had come.
"Thami... come on... it'th Chicken time." Manar appeared right as the clock struck, reminding me of my promise. She had been waiting since yesterday.
"Alright, sweetheart. But before we go, come say goodbye to Wahid so he doesn't get sad." I grabbed my phone and wallet.
"No! Lonely yucky! Tfu!" she said with disgust, her snakes rising in battle positions. She tried to spit but only managed the sound. I taught her that great move so she could express what she hates. Simple social communication, folks.
"You heard her, Lonely. It seems you're not wanted by the ladies. Improve yourself — join a gym or something. Don't stay home like a creep." I said goodbye to Lonely, picked her up, gave her a few quick kisses and said, "Let's go, cupcake."
We had agreed on 10:00 AM to go buy the bike. Usually I don't go out at this hour — Iraq's proximity to the equator makes the climate unbearably hot. But it's winter now, and the weather is mild. No rain lately either. I decided to take her so she could choose it herself. Kids have their own taste, especially this little demon. She's hard to convince.
Downstairs, I greeted Wolf and found Mom waiting. "Sami, be careful and watch her well," she said without preamble, worry plain on her face.
"Alright, Mom. Don't worry. You know how carefully I look after Manar." I reassured her for the thousandth time.
"Mama, bye-bye!" Manar said before Mom could change her mind and order the bike online. What a smart little demon! Mom kissed her goodbye.
Then I noticed something strange. No movement from the "little cow" today! He never misses a chance like this. I bet he's waiting in the courtyard — no cameras there. We'll see.
"Mom, hold Manar." I handed her over and sat to put on my shoes. I opened the door — and there was Alaa in the courtyard, exactly as predicted, ready to go.
"Sami, watch your siblings well... hold Alaa's hand... watch him." From her tone alone, I understood I was taking him. No discussion. I pictured her for a second in a full army uniform. You don't argue with the General.
"No smoking near Manar, or I'll smash your head," she added, reading my mind as I reached for my pocket. A smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Understood... I won't." Her look made the words freeze in my throat. The temperature in the courtyard dropped ten degrees.
"Alaa, don't be a brat. Stay with your brother or you know what's waiting." Alaa trembled — then laughed. He got what he wanted.
We headed out. "Good morning, Auntie!" a familiar voice called. Hadi, standing by his door, watching his daughter ride her bike. Manar watched the girl like a cat watching a fish behind glass. This child really did inherit everything from my mother.
"How's it going, Sami? Where to? Not like you to be up this early." Hadi grinned with that look of barely-concealed satisfaction.
"Damn you, Hadi." The Pitbull wanted me to curse him in front of Mom.
/Slap/ "Is this how I taught you to return a greeting, you idiot?" Mom's hand landed on my head before I knew what happened. Damn, I'll have Alzheimer's before forty at this rate.
I smiled at Hadi. "Good morning, Hadi."
"We always joke around like this, Auntie, don't worry," Hadi said quickly.
"I don't care about your jokes. Manners are not optional in my house," said the General, with a face that could stop a war.
"Alright, I'm leaving. Bye." I moved fast. Arguing with Mom is a loss every single time.
"Bye. And watch your siblings." She went back inside.
Hadi walked with me, his daughter ahead on the bike with Alaa pushing her. "Damn, man. Your mom is still terrifying," he said.
"You have no idea. Why didn't you give me a heads-up before you bought the bike? You know the situation."
"Sorry, Sami. Saw it on my way home from work, bought it on the spot. Forgot about the burning competition." He glanced at Manar. "How is beautiful Manar today?" Not even a look in his direction.
"We have a miniature version of my mother," I told him.
"She really is like her. Any news on Maytham? I heard he's running with Dajja, and nothing good comes from that."
"I know Dajja is a filthy traitor. But I'm tired of telling Maytham to stay away. At least we know where to look if something happens."
"I heard they're smuggling artifacts," Hadi said, kicking an empty can off the road.
"I just hope he doesn't get himself killed. Uncle Layth came by yesterday — exhausted, worried sick. If something happens to Maytham, I think it'll finish him."
"Yeah. I saw him too. Didn't know what to say. Uncle Layth is a simple man — nothing like his lunatic son," Hadi said.
"Exactly. Anyway — how's work?" We kept talking until we reached the main street. "I'll catch you later with the guys." I flagged down the bus.
"Alaa, come here." I grabbed his hand. The bus hissed to a stop and the door opened. We got on.
"Assalamu Alaikum." Three passengers and a driver. An old man with glasses, a young guy on his phone, a heavy-set man in his forties.
I put Alaa by the window — containment strategy — and kept Manar in my lap. The bus rattled toward Al-Ashar.
"This incident is truly strange!" the old man said, his voice low. "A man from my neighborhood — just buying groceries. Dropped dead. No one near him. When they checked him, there was a burn on his neck. I could smell burnt flesh right there. Truly bizarre."
"Yeah, Grandpa," the heavy-set man replied, eyes dark with anger. "And because of the corruption, the government didn't even try to investigate."
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Author's Notes:
Regarding the "Chicken":
In the original Arabic, there's a wordplay that occurs because the word for "bicycle" (Darraja) sounds almost identical to the word for "chicken" (Dajjaja). It's a common and endearing mix-up for young children in my culture. I kept the literal translation "Chicken" so you can experience the same funny confusion Sami does — and hopefully smile at it the way we do.
Regarding the Gecko:
Sami named his gecko roommate "Lonely" — which in Arabic (Wahid) also means "The Only One." It says a lot about both of them.
Regarding "Dajja":
The name "Dajja" (ضجة) in Arabic means "noise" or "commotion." In our culture, nicknames often reflect the trouble a person brings. Keep an eye on this one.
— End of Chapter 3 —