Throwback Thursday: ‘The Thieving Pot’ by Lena Mahmoud

Lena Mahmoud, in ‘The Thieving Pot’, cooks up something new with an old Arabian folk tale. Tunjur is an Arabic word for cooking pot, and like any delicious mélange, this story burbles with sustenance and satisfaction — and a dash of sorrow.

Enjoy a ladleful of literary flavour with this excerpt from Issue 23, Summer 2019.

The Thieving Pot
by Lena Mahmoud

I was sure the only reason Yama didn’t want to take me to the suq was because she was ashamed of me. I had been in the family for generations as an inanimate, antique pot, but one day Yama held on to me tight and wished for a daughter. When my eyes formed, and I came to life, Yama was so stunned that she dropped me, and my newly animate body made a loud sound: tunjur! She decided that must be my name. 

Still, people in our West Bank village couldn’t decide if Yama, a single woman, was a sharmoota — a whore — or a majnoona, a lunatic. Most thought majnoona because I was a pot and had never been in her womb. She usually avoided people and their gossip, but today she needed to sell her embroidery at the suq and probably didn’t want me there so she wouldn’t look so strange. 

“Ya binti, it’s not that,” she said as she folded her material on the floor, not even looking in my direction because she was so exasperated with my begging. “You’re too young to know right from wrong, and I can’t be watching you every minute with all the haraam things they have at the godforsaken suq.” She went on with her lecture about how it was full of debauchery and thieving vendors, trying to squeeze every bit of money out of you. “I wouldn’t think of going myself, but we need more than rice and lentils under your lid, ya Tunjur.” 

Yama set me on top of the unlit stove and made the journey to the suq, telling me not to leave the house. I sat there and stared at our crumbling walls, hoping that many would like the embroidery pieces she made; everyone in our village came to have her embroider their tablecloths, wall decorations, and dresses. Sometimes she also sewed; it seemed like Yama worked endlessly. I wondered why the other families around us were able to have meat at their dinner table and keep their houses warm so easily but those things were such a struggle for us to obtain. I suppose one needed a father to live such a life; having one must somehow guarantee that like magic, the way Yama’s desire gave me thoughts, eyes, and a voice without her even being aware she could do such a thing. Yet somehow her desire couldn’t give us a better home and food; she must have not wanted these things enough. 

Hours later, Yama came back exhausted, her dark hair frizzed in a wiry crown around her head. She lay down on the floor and set the small cut of lamb beside me while she complained about the noise and the crowds she had witnessed only to sell half of her pieces. When she lifted her arm from her eyes, she noticed that I had not started cooking the meat. “Yalla, get on with it, Tunjur. My belly’s as empty as a man’s promise!” 

I stared at Yama; I was disgusted by the sight and smell of the raw meat and tried to edge myself away slowly, sure that it would come to life and attack me. “Yama, I’ve never cooked meat. I don’t know how.” The last thing I wanted was that flabby red mess cooking inside me, contaminating every crevice with its stink and slime. I didn’t understand why Yama had gone to such trouble to buy this. 

Her pupils rolled so far back in her head that I thought they might disappear as she heaved her body from the floor. “I swear I must do everything. God won’t give me an end to my work.” 

To find out what happens next, pick up your copy of Issue 23, Summer 2019 here!

Lena Mahmoud is the author of Amreekiya, named one of Foreword’s ‘Four Phenomenal Debut Novels’ of 2018 and described in Library Journal’s starred review as “relevant for people worldwide.” Lena was also a finalist for the Louise Meriwether First Book Prize and nominated for two Pushcart prizes. Her work has also appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sukoon, and A Gathering Together, among others. For more information, please visit lenamahmoud.com or follow her on Twitter @lena_mabsutina.