Sunlight on a Broken Column - pg. 99

They were much poorer than others in the family. Zainab's father was lazy and content with the rent he collected from his small portion of inherited land. He was short with a round paunch and cheeks that seemed like hald-filled balloons. His beard was red, his hair was white and his voice was like scraping wires.

All day he sat outside the door of his house on a staring bed, smoking his hookah and gossiping, but was galvanized into action whenever vast quantities of food had to be cooked. He was asked to supervise the cooks and organise the kitchens for every feast in the vast tribal network of the family. The more guests there were the happier he was; counting them in hundreds sent him into a state of ecstasy. He moved along the bubbling cauldrons like a magician.