“Allah is the Greatest! Praise and glory be to You, O Allah. Blessed be Your Name, exalted be Your Majesty and Glory. There is no god but You. I seek Allah's shelter from Satan, the--”

A shot rang in the valley.

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Wafaa was perched on top of a boulder and gazed with awe at the sun eagle. She waited for the eagle to dive and snatch a snake or a rodent (or maybe her annoying baby brother Nour if she was lucky).

Wafaa was patient. She had to be. She was a photographer. She didn’t have a camera, but this wasn’t a problem. Whenever something interesting happened, she’d frame it with her fingers, blink, and the image would be recorded in her memory forever. Most of the boys already had phones. Soon it will be her turn. Either that or she will steal one. She was the witness to a covenant: the least her miserly father (or miserly god) could do was to get her a damn phone!

A distant bark made Wafaa tear her eyes from the sky and look at the wadi below. A man was looking up at her. He was surrounded by a couple dozen fat sheep and accompanied by an enthusiastic mutt the color of chocolate krembo left in the sun. The man was tall and slightly overweight and had a red keffiyeh on his head.

He waved at her. Wafaa turned to flee, slipped from her perch and tumbled head over heels through thorny bushes and sharp-edged rocks. She landed at the man’s feet and was instantly surrounded by a flock of fearless sheep who really had no idea how sheep are supposed to behave. The dog came running and gave her a big lick. Sadly, it didn’t taste like krembo.

Despite an assortment of dull and sharp aches spread evenly across her small body, Wafaa was ready to bolt. However, there was no way she could cross this ocean of wool without some shouting and kicking. She doubted the man would appreciate a stranger abusing his flock. That was his prerogative.

“By God! Are you alright?” The man’s singsong accent sounded like the sweetest music to a girl used to people who sometimes barked orders or muttered curses but mostly just stared balefully at a world that had no use for them.

“I am fine. Please let go.” Wafaa gabbled as the shepherd helped her to her feet.

The man laughed. “I am not holding you, you crazy girl. You are holding me.”

Wafaa hurriedly pulled her hand away and took one step back. A sheep bleated in protest.

The man’s smile wavered. “It’s a joke. I am sorry. A bad joke. My name is Salim. I’m from the village. My uncle is sick so I’m looking after his sheep. Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

Wafaa stopped and frowned. Why does he talk so much?

Her dour family had no use for outsiders. Strangers were generally confined to the realm of cautionary tales. On the rare occasions outsiders came to visit, the kids were kicked out of the camp. Anyone caught peeking would be punished until their butt glowed in the dark. Wafaa’s brother Mazen claimed to have hidden inside a tree and seen a guest who was as tall as a camel and had fur that changed colors like oil on the road. Wafaa was skeptical. Mazen would say anything to sound more important than he was.

She knew that at some point the man would try to convert her. Apostasy was punishable by death. Everything was punishable by death. However, she was lonely and bored and angry. Talking to him was the sort of a bad idea she just couldn’t refuse. Besides, she was a very important girl. Anyone would think twice before hurting her (outside of schedule).

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Maybe you have a concussion?” Salim tried to place a hand on Wafaa’s forehead. She recoiled and took another step back. A sheep cried with indignation and pushed the girl in the direction of the shepherd. Someone really has to teach these sheep how to sheep…

“I am fine.” Wafaa repeated. “It’s not safe to speak here.” She didn’t want the man to run away and plunge her back into a world of grim stares and baleful silences. However, she wanted to be beaten or murdered even less.

Salim looked around. Wafaa guessed he searched for wild animals, precarious rocks, Jews, or anything else that could spell disaster for a pair of Bedouin out in the wild. All he saw was endless green hills fuzzy with the spring bloom and a lazy eagle hovering beneath fluffy clouds. “Why would I be in danger? Are you chased by monsters?” Salim snickered. “Are you eloping?”

Wafaa shrugged. She didn’t know what “eloping” meant.

Salim took it as an invitation to go on talking. “Did you hear about the Israeli attack in the village last week? They took Abu Hamam and made a terrible mess in his house--”

Wafaa looked around to make sure no one was watching them. “Are you Muslim?”

“Praise be unto God, I am!” The shepherd announced proudly. His dog barked, either to affirm it was Muslim too or to offer a theological counterpoint.

“My father doesn’t like Muslims.” Wafaa regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She meant this as a warning, but soon realized it sounded more like a rebuke. Truth be told, her mother didn’t like Muslims either. She warned little Wafaa that Muslim men will try to entice her to join their false religion with sweet words and sweet candy. Wafaa’s mouth watered. She could go for something sweet right now.

Salim looked amused rather than angry. “Christian?”

Wafaa shook her head vehemently. Christ the Jew. Christ the King of Sheep. Christ the feeble liar…

“Jewish?!” Salim cried in surprise. Damn the Jews. The killers. The despoilers. The thieves of prophecy. The forever enemies. The triple cursed…

Wafaa shook her head. “Do you have something sweet?” she asked.

“No…” Salim said carefully. “But wait, if you aren’t Muslim or Christian or Jewish… By God, What are you?”

Wafaa shrugged. She wouldn’t be getting any candy after all. “I am me. This is not a good place to talk. Let’s talk somewhere else. I will tell you.”

“What? Why? I haven’t touched you. Well, I helped you up, but not touched-touched you, I mean, like a man and a woman--”

“Don’t play games.” Wafaa said sternly. “They will kill you. It will be very sad because you look like a good man.” And Wafaa wouldn’t get any candies or conversation. She would get a beating so hard she would pee herself.

“By God, you’re a weird one, but I’m consumed with curiosity. How can we meet so that it’s safe?” The man’s mock concern evinced his ignorance of the very real danger he was in. Stupid shepherd, he must have been twice her age but he behaved like a baby.

Wafaa shook her head. “Meet me on Friday morning in the shadow of the leaning wall.” She pointed at a ruined village on a nearby hillside. “No one but me goes there because it’s a difficult climb. I’m the best climber in my camp.”

Salim laughed. “Well, at least when it comes to going downhill very quickly, you’re an ace.”

“I tripped…” Wafaa protested. “You scared me!”

“By God, I was joking.” Salim raised his hands in a gesture of supplication. “And hey, you still haven’t told me your name.”

Wafaa considered this for a moment. Names had power but so was the ability to share them. If you didn’t share your name with anyone, no one had power over you but you didn’t have any power over yourself either. Wafaa decided that this wouldn’t do; everyone needed a small measure of power in the world, even little girls.

“My name is Wafaa bint Uthman bin Jaddi al-Safiru. Do not ask for more because such secrets are not for you.” Wafaa looked up for inspiration. The clouds looked like cotton candy. “Bring something sweet! And a phone!”

She was about to turn away when she remembered another thing her mother warned her about. “We are not going to kiss. Don’t even dream about it. If this is what you want, then let’s not meet at all.” Without waiting for a reply, she pushed an obstinate sheep out of the way and shot up the hill like the master climber she really was.