BAB EL SAMA

By Jashi Troasien

N O T E: Wheee! 'Nother update! score one for the J-sizzle Okay, I'll stop scaring all of you now. Thank you all SO MUCH for your kind reviews! They seriously make my day.

Okay, this chapter is REALLY short for a reason. You are supposed to feel something at the end of it.

CHAPTER TWO

When will this dark aching go away? This biting flower, with its jagged, sad tendrils enlacing my heart? This tiny snake, nestled inside my soul in a hidden place I cannot find, gnawing at me with his aciculate teeth? This longing, as though for a long lost lover? They call this homesickness. It is more than a sickness. It is a disease. And it is catching as we draw closer and closer to the "Promised Land".

It's not so awful now on the ship, though. It is not so cold and cramped...sadly. I almost wish that it was cramped and tight, for it would mean less had perished on the way here...

A cry goes up. It is a hoarse, hopeful cry like I have never heard before, in an accent I do not know.

"It's the statue! The statue!"

Gasps emerge from the people around me and people rushed to the other side of the boat. I cautiously follow, clutching my bundle like a frightened child. I peer over a pair of red-headed twins' heads and saw it.

It.

A tall, tall lady dressed in garments of green, wearing a goddess' crown upon her head...she held a torch, and it was burning stone. I stared, spellbound, just for a moment.

"America..." breathes the lady next to me. Without realizing it she grasps my arm, clutching it tightly, and mutters what sounds like a prayer in a language I do not understand.

I step away from the edge at the spiteful bark of a sailor. I return to the rear of the boat, looking back. When will I stop looking back? When will I realize I have done the right thing?

The wind picks up. It blows fast around me with a quiet whistle. I feel something tugging at my head. I drop my bundle and try to hold on to my veil. Something whispers, whispers quietly, let it go...

The gale pulls the veil from my hair, carrying it far across the sea until it drops into the frigid gray water. It slowly drifts away, a drowning flag of surrender to my home country.

It is a day and a half before we reach America. We land at the dock of Ellis Island, and are herded off the ship like cows for the slaughter. We stand in long lines for hours as medical inspectors come by, prying at our eyelids, looking down our throats, and sizing us up. I watch those who are in front of me who do not pass the tests and are pushed back on to the ship. My heart grieves for them. To come so far, to fight so long, only to be turned away. We wait, and we wait, and we wait. I see people whom I recognize embrace American loved ones, they cry and sob loudly in a relieved foreign tongue.

I see a man who looks like...he looks like my father! Has he come? My heart begins to turn towards him, and then my feet, but I am pushed to the desk of a harassed looking man who asks me many questions.

What is your name?

My name is Jazira.

What is your surname, Jazira?

...Nasheedat.

Would you like to change your name, Jazira Nasheedat?

No.

What is your age?

Nineteen.

Where is your birthplace?

Arabia.

Are you married?

Yes.

Is your husband with you?

No.

Can you read and write?

Yes.

Are you ill?

No.

Is someone coming to meet you?

...No.