“Unraveling Secrets: What Lies Beneath in Youssef Biaz’s ‘Atlas Fledgling’?”
Together, we buried it in the backyard of the duplex we shared with a local family. After we finished patting the dirt flat, I watched Baba interlock his fingers, place his hands at his midriff, and close his eyes. He recited a prayer from the Qur’an. I stood next to him, my hands on my belly just like his. A sharp autumn wind whipped the thinning black hair on top of Baba’s head. I shivered. It had only been two months since we moved from Texas back to the Atlas mountains of Morocco. The air was thin – I chased after every breath.
