THE TEENAGE WASHERWOMAN
OF THE BANGSHI RIVER

When Zaki first saw Nadya she was sixteen years old, washing clothes with her family by the Bangshi River, the muddy water transformed on her skin into dazzling dewy pearls that rolled down her arms towards the tips of her slender fingers. She was laughing with the children, who were trying to help her soak and beat the clothes, amused rather than annoyed by their clumsiness. While she worked, she sang little songs to entertain them, occasionally stopping to kiss the youngest infant, until the tottering little girl squirmed and giggled with mock-protest, "Na, Apa, na! Too much!" Zaki was only eighteen himself, and stood transfixed by the sight of her cold, clean arms, her carved profile cast into relief by the thick hair pulled back and wound into an untidy bun, the milk chocolate skin that melted from the back of her neck into the rough cotton sari blouse; it was as though he had wandered into a dream. The tableau was so fresh and pure in its innocence and glowing colour, that it was almost unreal; he was half expecting cartoon doves and helpful bluebirds to land on the girl's shoulders and wring her clothes with a cheerful twittering, before laying them on the flat rocks to dry.