Mesopo

Chapter 1

Words

An angry autumn wind blew across the hedges of the Gulzar Estate at number one Lexington Road. The wind grew stronger and the hedges seemed ready to take off. Outside, clouds heavy with rain were ready to burst at any moment. Only the majestic, snow-white turrets of the Gulzar Estate it- self seemed unaffected by the storm. Inside the house, and equally angry, Ankido Gulzar, a twelve-year-old British-Iraqi boy, woke to the dull and grey November morning.

Frantically, Ankido looked for a piece of paper but couldn't find one in the mess that was his room. As often hap- pened, during the night he had dreamt of new words. Only this time, the words had been rather disturbing. Angsture. Dolony. Egony. But there were also others; more comforting ones. Loveness. Newment. He couldn't make much sense of them and he was desperate to write them down before they escaped his memory. Where was the notebook he had left on his bedside table last night? Ankido stomped his feet on the floorboards. His shoulders tensed. Why was it that he could never find his things when he needed them?

He gave up his search and grabbed up a pen. He then started writing the words down on his forearm. This was not the first time Ankido had used his skin as an emergency note- book. Firstly, as he always pointed out to his grandmother, it was quicker than switching on the computer, and secondly, this way the words felt as if they were joined to some secret place inside him. He enjoyed this physical closeness to his new words. When Ankido looked down at his forearm, he smiled. His shoulders eased and the more he scribbled the more he felt the tightness around his spine relax. Ankido was aware that it was highly unusual for a twelve-year-old boy to have such a passion for words. In this sense, he thought, he was not unlike his grandmother.

A quiet knock on his bedroom door interrupted his scrib- bling. Ankido looked up as the door slowly opened. His grand- mother's tall, slender figure appeared in the doorway.

'Morning, Habubti.'

'Morning, my Word Boy.' Her kind expression turned into a glare as she noticed her grandson's forearm, by now completely covered in words. 'Ankido, what exactly do you think paper was invented for? Think of those poor, old Meso- potamians having to write on clay! Look at the state of you!'

'I know I am a tiny bit bonkers.' Ankido grinned. He knew his grandmother loved words as much as he did. It was just her usual grumbling.

'I like you bonkers.'

Habubti looked at her grandson and couldn't help smil- ing. After what had apparently been a restless night, his jet- black hair stood up in all directions. Habubti shook her head slowly. Ankido's unruly hair was not unlike his personality; smooth and even, yet uncontrollable and wild. Habubti gave a quick, hearty laugh. With every passing day, Ankido looked more and more like his father. He had his golden skin, now covered with black ink, and his father's long, straight nose. But he definitely had his mother's deep, almond-shaped, ha- zel eyes. For a moment, Habubti's face became grave and her eyes filled with tears.

She stepped into the room and, with a heavy sigh, sat on the edge of Ankido's bed. Again, she shook her head in disbe- lief as she took in the mess around her. Scattered across the floor were dirty socks, trainers, books, games, a tennis racket and a pair of rollerblades. A half-eaten apple lay forgotten on the bedside table. Carelessly thrown over the back of a chair was a mountain of smelly clothes.

A wardrobe stood against the far wall, and the doors were wide open revealing half-empty shelves. Next to it, on the far side of the room, was the fireplace. The mantelpiece was clut- tered with pictures of Ankido and his father. Ankido as a lit- tle boy sitting on his father's shoulders with a big grin on his face and a pirate's sword in one hand. Ankido and his father dressed up as astronauts at Ankido's fifth birthday party. An- kido and his father camping. They had caught a particularly big fish that day and Ankido was proudly holding it up to the camera. Habubti smiled in remembrance.