Chapter Three
Loula
In the morning, I felt something nibbling at my nose, and I immediately opened my eyes and screamed. I stared at my attacker. The little lamb looked at me with big, black eyes, startled as much as I was. Relieved that it was not someone or something that threatened my life, I slowly stood up and looked around for its owner. And sure enough in a distance, I saw him. The shepherd, a thin, young lad, was coming my way, and behind him followed a small herd of sheep.
The young man, who did not look a day older than twenty years of age, walked up to me, smiled, and asked, "What is your name my lady?"
"Nadia." I quickly answered. I could not tell him my real name.
The young man bowed before me, allowing his hair that was pulled back in a ponytail to sway forward as he introduced himself.
"My name is Abdul." He said.
"What are you doing out here by yourself? Where is your chaperone?" He looked around suspiciously with his big, black eyes.
"I do not have one. I am all alone," I said too quickly without thinking. What if he alerted the villagers and they seized me and took me as a prisoner? I feared the worst.
"My lady, I will tell no one you are here. Please do not fear," he said innocently enough.
"Can you please help me, lad? I am lost and hungry, and I am scared." I hoped he would come to my aid.
It only took Abdul a few minutes of thinking before he announced cheerfully, "Well, you can come home with me. My mother and I hardly ever have visitors, and I know my mother would be delighted to meet you."
I believed him. His proposal sounded very inviting. They have no idea who I am, so they will not alert the palace.
So I eagerly accepted his invitation. Besides, had I not accepted, there was nowhere else for me to go. I followed Abdul as he herded the sheep toward his home. From a distance, I saw the little shack they called home. It was very small but looked warm and inviting. I waited patiently for Abdul to bring all the sheep to the stable, and then we went inside his home.
His mother greeted us at the door with a welcoming smile, exposing crooked, decayed teeth as she stepped aside for us to enter. Her gray eyes sparkled with curiosity as she closed the door and walked up to me. Her long, thick braid that hung low beneath her waist swayed as she tipped her head to the right and checked me out from head to toe.
Nervously, I threw her a smile and said, "Hello, my name is Nadia."
Abdul's mother wiped her hands on her worn-out apron, took my hands in hers, and held on to them. She seemed pleased that I was in their home.
"Please sit and break bread with us. We do not have much, but what the good Lord has given us, we will share with you." She gently pulled me to the wooden table in the middle of the tiny room and motioned for me to sit.
Not wanting to offend her in any way, I pulled out the wooden chair and sat on it. I looked around the small room and noticed it was almost bare of furnishings. There was a table with three chairs and two beds, one on each side of the room. There was a woodstove to cook on with and a sink with the only window in the room above it that was decorated with an old, cotton curtain. They did not have much, but they seemed like good people.
After washing his hands, Abdul helped his mother set the table. A hot bowl of potato soup and a slice of freshly baked bread was placed in front of me, and there was a slice of cheese and a glass of milk too. I devoured everything. I was starving. I sat quietly at their table while mother and son ate their food in silence, and when they were done, Abdul's mother removed the dishes from the table and dumped them in the sink. Abdul sat proudly in his chair, smiling at me.
The day wore on with the three of us sipping tea and listening to Abdul's mother telling us tales from long ago. Her words fascinated me. Clearly, she enjoyed telling her colorful stories, and she had us captivated as we gave her our undivided attention. I did not even notice that the sun had gone down and it was almost time for dinner until Abdul announced that he was going to the stable to check on the livestock while his mother quickly busied herself with dinner preparations.
The table was set once again with the leftover potato soup and a repeat of everything else we had for lunch, and it really did not matter to me because, by this time, I was starving again. Anything that was edible was just fine with me. We ate our dinner, and though it wasn't much, it was tasty. I was grateful for everything that Abdul and his mother offered me.
