Harem [antikvár]

1 Rebekah of the violet eyes heard a voice that would haunt her the rest of her life. "I know she's only ten. I'll be patient." She hugged her doll and tossed on her pallet. The heat, the flies, and the soothing words of the strange man in the next room interrupted her sleep. Visitors were rare in her home. Her widowed mother left at dawn to wash other people's laundry. In the evenings, Rebekah learned from her mother to bake pistachio cookies and crispy rice, to differentiate between aromatic herbs, and to flatter the man who would one day take care of her. Rebekah pressed her ear to the makeshift wall. Her mother's cough shattered the silence. As if the cough had originated from her own lungs, Rebekah clutched her chest. "She's the prettiest girl in Persia. I'm saving her for a rich husband." Suspended between wakefulness and sleep, Rebekah heard the man's melodious persistence, promises of china dolls and lace skirts, chickpea candies and saffron halva, fantasies peculiar to her dreams. 13