What Comes with the Dust

  Copyright © 2016, 2018 by Gharbi M. Mustafa

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Arcade Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Mustafa, Gharbi M., 1967– author.

  Title: What comes with the dust: a novel/Gharbi M. Mustafa.

  Description: First Arcade edition. | New York: Arcade Publishing, 2018.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018000587 (print) | LCCN 2018005915 (ebook) | ISBN

  9781628729498 (ebook) | ISBN 9781628729474 (hardcover: alk. paper)

  Subjects: LCSH: Yezidis—Iraq—Crimes against—Fiction. | IS (Organization)—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PR9170.I73 (ebook) | LCC PR9170.I73 M87 2018 (print) | DDC 823/.92—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018000587

  Cover design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt

  Cover photographs: iStockphoto

  Printed in the United States of America

  What comes with the dust goes with the wind.

  Prologue

  and an Ancient Yazidi Prophecy

  WHEN THE Supreme God created Ta’us Malik, the Head of the Angels, from His illumination, He instructed him not to bow to other beings. God then created the other archangels, ordered them to bring Him Akh—dust—from Ard—the Earth. From this Akh, He built Adam. God blew life into Adam with His breath and instructed the archangels to bow to His new creation.

  All the archangels obeyed except for Ta’us Malik. “How can I submit to another being? I am from Your illumination while Adam is made of dust.”

  Ta’us Malik wept for seven thousand years, and his tears of remorse filled the Seven Sacred Jars, thus quenching the fires of Hell. The Supreme God then entrusted the world to the care of the Seven Archangels led by Ta’us Malik.

  He revealed himself as a rainbow halo around the sun and then descended to Earth in the form of a magnificent peacock to endow the world with beauty and abundance.

  He landed in Lalish canyon, the heartland of northern Mesopotamia, among the Yazidis, the first people, who had inhabited the Garden of Eden. From these blessings, Ta’us Malik, the Peacock Angel, became a central figure in the religion of the Yazidis, a religion that combines elements from the ancient Mesopotamian and Persian religions as well as Judaism, Christianity, and Sufi-Islam.

  The misconception of identifying Ta’us Malik with the figure of Satan in Judeo-Christian faiths and Iblis in Islam has led to a long history of persecution of the Yazidis as Devil worshipers.

  An Ancient Yazidi Prophecy

  When Qappia Asmani, the Gate of Heaven, makes its appearance in the sky, the Fifth Age of this world will commence, beginning the era of purification of humankind on Earth. Ta’us Malik, the Peacock Angel, will instruct the holy men around the world, who will in turn deliver the message to the representatives of all nations.

  This Fifth Age will begin in a time of war that will be waged against not only the Yazidis but all of humanity. Thousands of shrieking black crows will swarm across the deserts, and rivers of innocent blood will flow. This war will force the Yazidis to abandon their homes and migrate to the four corners of the Earth.

  During this Great War, the Yazidis will be a source of enlightenment to the Muslim and Christian nations. The Lalish Temple and other ancient holy shrines will be safe havens for the displaced people who seek shelter.

  The war will be a war of ideals, pitting the spiritual against the material. The spiritual message will prevail and will be carried forward by those who survive to create a new world. This new Golden Age will be ushered in by Ta’us Malik.

  TODAY IS Nazo Heydo’s wedding day, and today she will set herself on fire. Wearing her white gown, Nazo walks toward the bathroom door. In her right hand, she clutches the handle of a kerosene jerry can. Once inside, she turns and locks the door. A cold wind whistles through the broken panes of the small window. Her body shivers as she leans against the blue tile of the wall. She removes her veil and throws it on the floor. Warm tears streak her cheeks as she raises the heavy jerry can over her head. In shallow breaths, the odor of the kerosene fills her nostrils with the fumes of despair and anguish. She pours it over herself until she is soaked in it. The kerosene washes away the layers of her caked-on makeup, leaving her face pale and sheer.

  Outside the room, she hears the chanting voices of men celebrating with the groom. She pulls the matchbox from her left-hand bridal glove. Then, she closes her eyes for a moment and listens to her heartbeat drumming in her ears.

  With focused determination, she strikes the matchstick against the box. She opens her eyes and watches the yellow flame surge upward. As she brings the flame close to her face, memories trickle through her head, only to fall away with the kerosene and the beads of sweat dropping onto her gown.

  Her mind drifts to that blazing August afternoon five months ago, when she walked into the courtyard of her family’s farmhouse on the northern outskirts of the village. Fresh white paint streaked the old mudbrick wall as Qasim, Nazo’s older brother, pressed the tip of the paintbrush against it. He had to hurry and finish painting the house walls before the new furniture arrived from Dohuk tomorrow afternoon.

  Nazo wrinkled her nose at the odor of the fresh paint coming from the open windows of Qasim’s room. She picked up her bucket and walked toward the main gate with the intention of fetching water from the nearby well. A shortage of water plagued her family in the summer months.

  “Daiky, we’re out of water again,” shouted Nazo.

  Her mother crouched on the thick mud layer of the flat roof, drying black figs in a massive plate. “That’s odd. The reservoir was full this morning. Must be that donkey again.” Eyeing the white donkey fastened to the huge mulberry tree that shaded the courtyard, she added, “I still cannot understand how a donkey learned to open the tap with his teeth. What a careless donkey! If he can learn how to open it when he’s thirsty, he should learn how to close it when he’s done.”

  Nazo could hardly suppress a mischievous giggle as she walked out through the main gate. There had indeed been enough water to meet the needs of an entire army unit. The poor donkey took the blame, but it was Nazo who had opened the reservoir tap this time. For reasons of her own, she longed to fetch more water from the Bira Zeytona well.

  The windblown dust of the Arabian Desert fell like a blood rain from the sky of the Shingal region. The sun struggled to break through, but the cloak of dust choked its golden beams to a pale red all across the horizon.

  Moments later, a cloud of dust splattered into the house and red dirt shrouded the freshly painted walls. By midafternoon the village had become a ghost town. Everyone took a siesta to escape the August heat. Swinging the handle of her bucket, Nazo hummed a Kurdish folk song as she walked up the rocky dirt track.


  By the well, Nazo sat on the swing in the shade of the big fig tree. She leaned back and pushed off with her feet. Thoughts whirled in her head, and her heart raced faster than the swing. Tomorrow, she and Azad would meet before dawn in the backyard of her house. They would carry what they could fit in their shoulder bags and run toward the next village. There, they’d blend in, find a waiting car, and set off for the Turkish border. Then Azad’s smuggler friend would help them cross the border on foot. In Turkey, he would drive them to Izmir. After that, they would board a dinghy and cross the Aegean Sea to seek asylum in Germany.

  She and Azad had to blow their dreams into the universe like feathers in a whirlwind and wait for what Fate would return—a new land and a new life, unless it had something else in store for them.

  She desperately wanted to leave the village and never look back. Her parents had arranged her engagement to her first cousin, Chato, a hotel manager from Baghdad, a few weeks before she had met Azad. With one leg a little shorter than the other, Nazo walked with a slight limp. She was born with developmental dysplasia of the hip, a genetic disorder attributed to Nazo’s parents being first cousins. Sarah, her eleven-year-old sister, was born deaf and mute. Part of her wanted to be the dutiful daughter and marry her cousin. But with every limping step, she thought about the deformed children that she would bring into the world from this marriage.

  Before she had met Azad, her life felt shallow, like swimming in her family’s mud-hole pond where she could go through the motions but never reach anywhere. In Azad’s eyes, she discovered the blue ocean. In his heart, she found a life ring.

  Azad was not any young man! For Nazo, he was a sweet apple from the forbidden tree, and she had fallen for him literally the first moment their eyes had met at the village school. While trying to break her fall, Nazo had dropped the peacock-blue porcelain vase, a gift for her father, the headmaster. His fiftieth birthday present shattered on the cement steps, and the peacock feathers it had held drifted down the stairs.

  A few drops of blood fell from her left index finger. Azad, the new substitute teacher, crouched down and squeezed her finger to compress her wound. Nazo gazed into his deep blue eyes and wished her blood would drip for eternity, so he would stay with her forever. He helped her to her feet, but Nazo’s eighteen-year-old heart remained lying on the ground.

  From that day on, delivering her father’s lunch became Nazo’s sacred mission. Around noon every school day, swinging the food basket with one hand, she walked to the school on the other side of the village. After delivering the meal to her father, she would seek out Azad. At first, she’d approach as if she were a frightened deer, but soon his bold ideas became the fabric of her dreams.

  * * *

  As Nazo kicked the swing higher, the scent of Azad’s cologne filled her nostrils. Without a word, he slipped up behind her and guided the swing to a stop. Nazo leaned back to face him, her legs still pumping the air. He reached up for her green floral headscarf and pulled it off.

  She giggled. “What are you doing?”

  He flipped her headscarf and blindfolded her. Her laughter felt silent. All her senses burned, on alert for his next move. She felt the press of his thumb across her lips. Soft hands cupped her face and softer lips kissed her closed mouth. Her brow moistened from the heat of the forbidden kiss.

  She broke free from him and yanked off the blindfold. With the exuberance of youth, she ran in a circle around the tree, teasing him. As the tips of her toes lifted off the ground, she danced to the beat of her heart drumming in her chest.

  He lunged toward her and grabbed her around the waist. This time, they both fell, tumbling behind the wall that surrounded the well. Azad paused and undressed her with his eyes before he carefully flipped her hem up. He had touched her soul long before he swept his fingertips across her stomach.

  Panting, he pinned her hands to the dusty ground. She had no power to swim against the tide of emotions that swept over her. She let herself drown under his touch. Their breaths mingled as he kissed her parted lips. The melody of her pleasure whirled on her tongue as their bodies danced together. His lips sparked an earthquake inside her, and she clung to him. Lost in new sensations, she dug her nails into his shoulder blades as he pressed himself into her for the first time.

  She burned in his soft flames and melted in the warmth of his body heat. The scene around her shifted under a pink-tinted sky. Butterfly wings fluttered across the sunbeams as if they stirred the breeze. His breath tickled her neck as he collapsed on her body. Then he lay beside her.

  Deeply in love, Nazo did not give herself in small pieces. She gave down to the marrow of her bones. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. Though a smile crept up inside her, her lower lip quivered, and hot tears raced from the corner of her eyes. She wondered why making sweet love should bring such bitter tears.

  He touched her cheek to wipe the tears from her face with the tips of his fingers.

  “Azad,” she breathed softly, “life is beautiful when we open our eyes and see its true colors.”

  “Colors?” He sighed. “Life here is like sitting inside four walls and watching the world on an old black-and-white TV.”

  Her elopement tomorrow would bring disgrace and pain to her family, and the thought became a crushing weight on her chest. “Can’t we bring colors into our lives here?”

  A cluster of black crows swooped over their heads and nestled in the tree, sending dust into the air.

  “Clouds of dust conceal the rainbow of colors in the sky here. Perhaps we could change the color of our eyes, but the world we see would be the same.”

  “Never change the color of your eyes—I see all the colors of the world through them.”

  “There are so many blue-eyed men in Germany. I can’t believe mine will be special anymore.”

  Nazo brought her face so close to his that the tips of their noses touched. She whispered, “You wouldn’t say that if you could see your own eyes.”

  They kissed one more time, then he rose and slapped the dust from his pants.

  “Don’t go!” Nazo leaned toward him, hoping that another kiss might hold him with her just a moment longer.

  “I must.” He cracked his knuckles—something he always did when he was nervous. “The Daesh keep drawing nearer to our villages. I have to check on our arrangements. By sunset tomorrow, we will breathe in a safer land.”

  “But you are my safe land.” Nazo pulled him close.

  He squeezed her hands. “Tomorrow at dawn, in the backyard of your house, I’ll howl like a wolf; that will be the signal.”

  “Oh, my cute wolf, I’ll follow you anywhere you want me to go. With you, every corner of this world will be my Heaven.”

  He kissed her one last time. Then, through tears not yet shed, she watched him go.

  Glancing around, fearful someone might have seen them, Nazo climbed to her feet. Like beating a Persian rug, she slapped the dust from her pale cream dress. She fixed her headscarf, then plopped onto the swing. Azad owned her soul, and now he had become a part of her flesh. Tomorrow morning, would he look at her the same way as before? Would her heart survive if he failed to come tomorrow?

  Azad was born to be different from the other young men in the village. As a new teacher assigned to the school from another town, Azad never tried to fit in with the village community. This intimidated the people around him, and most villagers didn’t know how to deal with him. They thought of him as a snobbish town boy who ridiculed the prevailing social habits and beliefs. The villagers were not used to a person who strayed outside the flock and stepped into their taboos. They tried to alienate him and make him feel odd, yet Nazo was swept away by his eccentric ideas and his desire to create a different path in life.

  Nazo leaned over the low concrete wall and filled her bucket. She gazed at the water in the bucket; instead of her reflection, the falling face of her mother stared at her. She shook the bucket, and the image shifted to her little sister S
arah. With a sullen face, she stood crumpling her lips with her fingers. Shaking off their expected disappointment in her, Nazo hefted the bucket onto her left shoulder and headed back to her house. As she walked, tiny streams of water splashed out of the bucket and soaked her curly hair. The back of her neck tickled as the fresh water dripped down onto her shoulders. A cloud of dust lifted off the ground and stretched out toward the horizon. The specks of dust landed on her hair and formed tiny clumps of mud.

  Today she had made her first step between Heaven and Hell. She’d stepped onto the forbidden path. Her feet sank into the quicksand of illicit pleasure, and her soul fell into the claws of guilt. Yes, she had lost her virginity, her badge of honor, but did she still have her purity? Nazo wondered.

  She prayed in her heart to Khuda Mazin, the Supreme God, and Ta’us Malik, the Peacock Angel, to grace her with forgiveness, for she knew she had committed an eternal sin.

  When she arrived home, she emptied the bucket into the small metal reservoir behind the gate. Sarah ran to Nazo, making her strange noises and flipping her hand in the air against Nazo’s face. The gesture meant she was asking about Nazo’s rendezvous. Nazo threw her arms around Sarah and kissed her forehead. Then, taking her sister aside, Nazo flashed some hand gestures that made Sarah put her hand over her mouth.

  Nazo acted as Sarah’s ears and tongue to the passing world. They conversed in a sign language of their own that no one else in the world understood. Their mother, burdened with housework and farming, had assigned Sarah as Nazo’s responsibility ever since she was a little baby. They were like one soul dwelling in two bodies. With no close female friends, Sarah became her box of secrets. The only thing Nazo could never gesture to her was tomorrow’s elopement.

  Once Nazo was in the rear room, her mother called to her and motioned for her to sit down. Nazo leaned her back against the wooden cupboard door, and her hand squeezed the edge of the foam mattress. She stared blankly at the erratic array of pictures on the wall. Then she fixed her gaze on the silk hand-embroidered picture of the holy Peacock Angel. She yearned for a spiritual renewal. Like the peacock, she needed to shed her feathers in order to regenerate ones more brilliant than before.