The Cat at the Bottom of the Well

Eight-year-old Mayam lost her hair.

Not the slow, painful kind of shedding. But overnight, like wheat stalks cut by an invisible sickle, it scattered on her pillow, on the floor, and anywhere she had lain. Her mother said it was the shape of fear.

Mayam's home had once been a lemon-yellow house in Gaza City. Lemon yellow was her favorite color, like the sunlight on a summer afternoon, capable of melting ice cream into a sweet, sticky shape. Now, all that remained of the house was a pile of gray rubble, like a giant, weary beast, sleeping in the ruins.

She and her mother were hiding in a cellar. The cellar was deep and dark, like a dried-up well. Mayam sometimes imagined herself as a cat, a cat trapped at the bottom of a well. She looked up at the well opening, where a small circle of light represented the only thing she could see of the outside world.

"Mama, will my hair grow back?" Mayam asked. Her voice was soft, like a feather, floating in the darkness of the cellar.

Her mother didn't answer. She just held Mayam tightly, like holding a fragile piece of porcelain. Mayam could feel her mother's tears, warm, dripping onto her scalp.

"It will be longer and brighter than before," Her mother's voice, hoarse and low, was almost a whisper after a long pause.

Mayam didn't speak. She knew her mother was lying. Just like adults always said, "Everything will be alright," while reality was like a runaway train, heading into an unknown darkness.

During the day, the cellar was deathly silent. Only occasionally, a few distant explosions could be heard from the well opening, like the low growls of a monster. Mayam would curl up in her mother's arms, burying her head in her mother's embrace. She was afraid of those sounds, and even more afraid of the silence that followed.

At night, Mayam would dream. In her dreams, she had long, black, shiny hair, like a waterfall cascading down to her waist. She wore a lemon-yellow dress, running in the sunlight, chasing a colorful butterfly. The butterfly flew and flew, flying out of the well opening, disappearing into that circle of light.

She woke up, and the cellar was still dark. She touched her head, bald, like a pebble.

One day, the light at the well opening suddenly disappeared. Mayam cried out in terror, "Mama, it's dark!"

Her mother held her tightly, trembling, and said, "It's okay, it's okay, it's just... temporarily dark."

But Mayam knew it wasn't temporary. That circle of light was her only connection to the outside world, her last hope. Now, even hope was extinguished.

She imagined herself as that cat at the bottom of the well, forever trapped in the darkness. She no longer spoke, no longer dreamed, just sat there quietly, waiting.

Waiting for what? She didn't know.

Perhaps, just waiting for a dawn that would never come.

The cellar was damp and cold. Mayam felt something cold, slowly sliding from the top of her head, across her cheeks, down her neck, seeping into the empty darkness.

Was it rain, or tears? She couldn't tell.