When the bus began moving again, silence overtook Warda and me. Remembering my purpose here, I said, "My family are storytellers. What do yours do?"

She looked at me and when I was sure I had asked the wrong question, she said, "We are tailors for the governor of our ward."

"Then we are not so different."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow. "How so?"

"My family often performs for the governor of our ward." I paused. "We have seamstresses and tailors in my ward but this is the first I have heard of a private one for the governor. If it would be alright, might you share your family's tale with me?"

"I am no storyteller."

"You need not worry," I assured her. "I only wish to bring home some tales after I inevitably am sent back home."

"Where would I even start?"

Now, I had her. Out loud, I said, "I have always found the beginning to be an excellent place."

"Seven generations ago, back when the Age of Man was coming to an end, my family were weavers and tailors," Warda began after a long silence. "Unlike the people of his village, my ancestor stayed with those who could not leave: the elderly and the orphans, sewing for them as everyone in his family had always done. They say that even though his hands were soft, they soon became rough from farming and hunting when few others were able."

"There's a storyteller in you yet," I smiled up at her. "So tell me, what did your ancestor do when the werewolves came?"

"He marched straight up to their army and he said, 'Only my family remain with the elderly, disabled and orphans. We do not care for any war or revolution. Only that we may live out our pitiful existences peacefully.'

"And from out of the crowd emerged the general. He walked to my ancestor and asked, 'What is your name?'

"'Mahmoud.'

"'And what is your occupation?'

"'I am a tailor by birth, Al-Khayat is both my surname and my trade.'

"'Are you married?'

"'My wife has been weak since she brought my twins into the world.'

"And then do you know what the great and grand werewolf general did?"

I shook my head, left to right, excited at the prospect of being able to bring home this tale.

Warda said, "He laughed, leaving my ancestor who was prepared for death unable to move and then the general said, 'I am in need of someone to mend my clothes. Serve me and you and your children shall carry on your name's occupation for as long as my bloodline continues."

I watched as Warda leaned back into her bus seat and then said, "What a marvelous origin story. I swear to you that it shall not be forgotten."

"Thank you, but now it is your turn. Tell me, how was it your family came to be storytellers?"

"I suppose it is only fair to return the favor." I chuckled and sat up straight, balancing my oud on my lap. "In the Age of Man when there was neither district nor ward and the lands were known by many names only remembered through poetry and tales. When there was an Egypt, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon and more names than we could possibly understand, my ancestors were scholars. Their occupation was to learn and teach the stories and ways of their ancestors, even if most of the people in the Age of Man wished to forget.

"Then news of war and werewolves came. It is said that in that time, my people were no stranger to war. They had seen the coming of war as one watches the ebb and flow of an ocean's waves. Yet this war was different than all the rest. My ancestors watched as their collogues abandoned their institutions, great nations fell and poets died and one among them had a thought." I held up a finger here, putting on a show for not only Warda but the various others sneaking secret glances at my performance.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"What was it?" Warda asked. "His thought, that is."

"He thought that he, his wife, their children and their cousins and uncles and so on were all men and women of talent. They knew the stories and songs and how to perform and dance and so on. So he gathered them all up and he told them, 'This world is going to hell. For as long as we are alive, let us give everyone the dream of happiness and memory.'

"So it was that they gathered all their books and poetry and instruments, purchasing a few caravans and some camels and horses—for by then fuel for cars was difficult to obtain—and gathered all the family. It is recorded that they traveled from nation to nation for ten years, always evading so and so army. In each place, people welcomed them and offered them food and rest."

Warda interrupted, "Why would they do that when they have less than what even the poorest man has?"

"Hope," I answered. "For you see, they were in pain and tears and suffering but whenever they saw my ancestors' caravan come in, everyone in that forsaken place could pretend that for a little while there was neither war nor suffering."

"And what happened when they got caught?"

"It was said that when there was nowhere left to run, my ancestor said, 'All plays must come to an end. Don't you all want to see the finale?'

"And with those words, everyone nodded their agreement at the one who had brought them so far, watching as he went out to meet the army they all had feared for so long. He did not cry and he did not scream and he did not beg. Rather he stood atop his caravan and said, 'Salamtikm, what brings you here on this fine morning?'

"For a while there was no one to greet my ancestor, but then one among them, taller than all the rest came out. He looked at my ancestor like he was lower than the dirt beneath his shoes and asked, 'Who on Earth are you?'

"'Gibril is my name.' my ancestor paused. 'Tell me, would you all like to see a play?'

"'Do you have any idea what is going on in the world right now?' The look of disdain was palpable on his face.

"It was at this moment that my ancestor knew the general before him was a kind man. For if he was truly cruel, why did he not kill my ancestor and all in the caravan with him? So the gears in my ancestor's brain began to twist and turn.

"Until finally, he answered, 'Why yes, there's a war, but it is in times like these that stories and plays and all that come with it are needed more than ever.'

"'Is that so?' the general said. 'Then fine, show me your play, but know that if I find your performance to be unworthy, you all will be declared liars and I will not hesitate to tear each and every one of you limb from limb.'

"My ancestor smiled. 'You will not regret it.'

"Then he descended into the caravan, calling his relatives in the accompanying ones to squeeze into the small one where he, his wife and children resided. In that tight and cramped space where they could not move, they discussed and spoke and argued about what show would please and entertain one who was only half a man."

Warda asked, "And which one did they go with?"

"No one knows." I shrugged.

"What?" Warda's face was completely flabbergasted.

"This was seven generations ago and our family records all vary. Some say he performed a rendition of "The Hunchback's Tale" from A Thousand and One Nights. Others say he did a modern comedy a poor man who fell in love with a rich man's daughter. Still others say they performed something of my ancestor's own making. Whatever the case, they set up a makeshift stage, tied down their camels and horses and performed.

"It was said the general and his men laughed and cried and were moved to the point that they could not deny the need and want for more performances. At the very very end of it, the general clapped and everyone took a bow, no one entirely sure if they would live or die. For in those days all of mankind believed that werewolves were as fickle as humans.

"Finally, the general asked, 'What is your family name?'

"'We threw it away long ago,' my ancestor replied.

"'Then I shall call you Hakawati, in honor of your language and in memory of this performance. Follow me and I swear that all present may continue telling their stories until my bloodline has come to an end." I paused before concluding, "This is my tale and now I have told it."

"How funny," Warda said.

I tilted my head to the side. "What is?"

"Although our histories differ in their origin, they both end the same."

"Yes," I laughed. "I suppose that means that we are not so different from one another."

And she laughed with me. It was just as I was beginning to think that maybe this trip would not be so bad that the bus screeched to a halt. Simultaneously, something big and loud crashed into the front of the bus, spraying streams of red all throughout the window shield.