Pigeon Stew

Malek wasn’t a thief. He knew he wasn’t. It was all a misunderstanding. He wasn’t stealing those chilis. He was just borrowing them. There was a big difference. A big difference.

But old Gulza didn’t seem to know the difference. Because if she did, she wouldn’t be dragging Malek through the streets of Durbanj right now like a common criminal. Those old hands were so strong, and she was clutching onto his wrist like a vice. How could such an old person have such a tight grip? He tried to twist free, but she just yanked him down the dusty street. It was only a matter of time now. Only a matter of time until they got to his house. To his yard. To his mother. What was Gulza going he tell her? How would Malek explain himself? He started to work the story through in his head, just to prepare.

It had all started that morning, when his mother Nouri had brought in a few pigeons from the loft. She was planning to make pigeon stew, and she needed him to go collect some ingredients. Pigeon stew was Malek’s favourite, and nobody in Durbanj made it like his mother. Nobody. Why? Because Nouri Hazim had a secret. Malek didn’t know what it was, but he loved his mother so much, and was determined to get her all the ingredients on her list.

His first stop was Babu Hamadi’s shop. His stall was usually stocked full of vegetables and spices, and so long as he wasn’t sold out or closed for the day, Malek should be able to get nearly everything he needed there. So with the list in his hand and a bag over his shoulder, he headed to Babu Hamadi’s.

On the bustling market road is where Malek first spotted Gulza. Well, he actually sort of bumped into her. Maybe he should have been watching where he was going, but that still didn’t give her any right to speak to him the way she did.

“Wallah! You almost knocked me over!” the old wench cried, and Malek shrugged.

“S-sorry Miss Gulza! I didn’t see you!” he replied.

“You need to watch where you’re going, you little scamp!”
 “Yes, I will! Sorry again!” Malek cried as he ran away, not stopping to listen to Gulza as she shouted curses and threats at him.

He rounded the corner to see Babu Hamadi’s stall, and his heart sank. The stall was practically empty.

“Your food,” Malek said, shaking his head, “Where is it?”

Babu Hamadi shrugged, “It’s the dry season, Malek. I’m almost out of everything. Hope to restock next week, but it’s slim pickings these days.”

Malek shook his head, “Do you have any onion or garlic?”

Babu Hamadi sighed, “No. What you see is all I have.”

Malek looked at the empty stall. All he could see were a few withered tomatoes, and a small clump of sad-looking carrots.

“I’ll take the lot,” Malek said.

“That will be three tayals,” Babu Hamadi replied, and Malek handed over a few coins, then stuffed the vegetables in his bag.

“Your mum making something tonight?” Babu Hamadi asked, and Malek nodded.

“Pigeon stew.”

Babu Hamadi’s eyes lit up, “Mmm. I might just make my way over there this evening. What time do you eat?”

“I’m sorry, Babu Hamadi. I can’t tell you that,” Malek said with a wry smile, then ran away.

“I’ll stop by after sundown, then!” Babu Hamadi said as Malek disappeared around the corner.

He still needed onions, garlic, chickpeas, plus fresh herbs and peppers.

Slowing to a walk, Malek scratched his head, “If Babu Hamadi doesn’t have those, where can I find them?” he mumbled to himself, trying to work out a new plan.

Then he remembered seeing his cousin Omar wheeling a load of vegetables to the storehouse earlier that week, and wondered if he might have what Malek needed. He decided to pay Omar a visit, just to see.

“Better avoid the market road, though,” Malek said, remembering that Gulza was probably still hobbling along that dusty street, ready to give him an earful.

“Lousy old crone,” Malek muttered, chucking to himself.

He arrived at the storehouse just in time to see Omar locking up.

“Omar! What-wha-what are you doing?”

“Hey there, cousin. I’m just closing up for the day. Why?”

“Why are you closing? Don’t have any more deliveries to make?”

“Deliveries?” Omar chuckled. “You trying to be funny?”

“Listen,” Malek said, stepping forward. “Do you have any onions in there?”

Omar’s smile faded, and he tilted his head down. “Malek. You know I can’t just let you in here. What would everyone else think?”

Malek peered over Omar’s shoulder at the locked door. “I could make it worth your while.”

Omar raised an eyebrow. “How much?” he asked.

Malek produced a few coins. “Three tayals?”

Omar clucked, then shook his head.

“Four?” Malek asked. “It’s all I have.”

Omar regarded Malek for a moment. “You’d better not tell anybody about this,” he said, holding out his hand. Malek discreetly placed the coins in Omar’s open palm, then followed him to the building.

Malek was dumbstruck as Omar opened the storehouse door. He expected it to be sparse, but not empty. The shelves and floor were completely bare, and the only vegetables in the room were in a neat little pile on a drying rack in the far corner.

“Where’s all the food?”

“All the food? You’re looking at it,” Omar replied, leading Malek to the vegetables. “What do you need?”

“Uhh, just a few onions, chickpeas, and a clove of garlic.”

Omar looked at Malek, then nodded toward the little pile.

“Take your pick. But leave some for the rest of us.”

Malek nodded, then rifled through the stores, taking no more than he needed.

“When is the next delivery coming?” Malek asked, and Omar shrugged.

“We were supposed to get something this week, but we’re still waiting. Just have to make do with what we have.” Omar leaned in, “Malek. Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

Malek nodded.

He helped Omar lock up, then made his way down the street once more, looking at the list.

“Last on the list is…fresh coriander and green chilis?” Malek looked around the dusty street, “Where am I supposed to find those?”

Malek’s eyes widened as he saw Gulza round the corner, grumbling to herself. He ducked down behind a large basket, trying to keep out of sight.

“Lousy good-for-nothing market. Only going to restock next week? What am I supposed to do until then?”

Malek supposed that Gulza had arrived at Babu Hamadi’s shop just moments after him, and found the stall empty. Gulza’s muttering got louder as she drew near, and Malek realized in horror that he was hiding right next to her house. She was heading home, and in a few moments would pass by the gate just on the other side of the basket he was crouched behind.

“I suppose I’ll have to make a bland Pilaf, then. Unseasoned. Unflavoured. Fifty years in this town, and that’s the thanks I get!”

Malek kept low to the ground, staying as close to the basket as he could while Gulza opened her gate, banging it behind her with a snort as she walked toward her house. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she never even looked up from her grumbling.

Malek breathed a sigh of relief as Gulza walked away, then he looked back down at the list. He had to find fresh coriander and green chilis, and he still had no idea where to look. Babu Hamadi was out of everything, and the storehouse was practically empty. Where could they be?

Malek glanced towards Gulza as she entered her house, slamming the door behind her. Then his gaze lowered slightly, to her kitchen garden. And there, along one of the rows, he saw two little sprigs of green sticking out of the rust-coloured earth.

“Hel-lo, what have we here?” Malek murmured to himself. Three little chilis hung off one of the plants, and he couldn’t be sure, but the other sprig looked an awful lot like coriander.

Malek glanced around. The streets were empty. He looked back at the garden.

“Mama needs those ingredients,” Malek mumbled. He looked into Gulza’s window. The old hag could be heard rummaging around inside.

“I only need one,” Malek said. “One of each.”

He looked at the green sprigs in the garden, then nodded to himself.

Slowly, silently, and stealthily he opened the gate, creeping into Gulza’s yard.

“I’m just borrowing them,” Malek thought to himself. “We’ll pay her back when our garden is full. Just borrowing them for the time.” Malek nodded at the thought as he moved towards the sprigs. He was right in front of the door now, and needed to move quickly.

He reached forward and pulled on one of the leaves of the little coriander plant. To his surprise, the whole plant popped out of the ground, roots and all. Malek stared at the little green plant. This wasn’t good. Perhaps he could just replant it at home, and return it to Gulza once it had filled out a little bit. His mother was a better gardener than that old crow anyways.

Malek licked his lips. He just needed the chilis. He reached out, pinching a chili carefully. Suddenly an old wrinkled hand slammed down on Malek’s wrist, clamping down.

“You little wretch!”

Malek looked up to see Gulza standing over him, fuming.

“You’re stealing my chilis! Thief!”

“No! No, I was just borrowing it! Borrowing—“

“Thief! You know what we do with thieves around here?”


Malek’s eyes widened, knowing the penalty for theft was to lose a hand.

“No, Gulza! No! Please!”

“Quiet!” she cried, and Malek fell silent.

A devilish grin spread across Gulza’s face, “No, I’ll do you one better. We’re going to hear what your mother thinks of this.”

Malek was horrified.

“No! No, Gulza. Let me pay for it!”

“Oh, you’ll pay! You’ll pay dearly!”

And with that, Gulza began to drag Malek across the yard, out the gate, and down the street. Malek hollered. He begged. He pleaded. He tried everything he could, but Gulza held him tight in her grasp. She knew exactly what she was doing, dragging Malek to the gates of doom.

When they got to Malek’s house, Gulza yelled from the street.

“Nouri! Come out here! See what your boy has done!”
 A moment passed, then Nouri Hazim emerged from the house, drying her hands.

“Gulza, what is it?”

“What is it? I’ll show you what it is! This!”

Gulza lifted the uprooted coriander plant. “Your boy was stealing my coriander! And my chilis!”

“I wasn’t stealing! I was just borrowing—“

Gulza yanked harshly on Malek’s wrist, “Quiet, you!”

Malek fell silent, and Nouri gasped.

“Malek, is this true?” she asked, looking at him.

Malek looked up at his mother, staring into her eyes. She looked both shocked and heartbroken. He couldn’t lie to her, but couldn’t look at her either.

His eyes fell to the ground. “Yes, it’s true.”

Nouri tisked, then looked back up at Gulza.

“Gulza, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for the herbs and chilis.”

“Pay for them? How? These can’t just be grown! It’s dry season! No, we’ll need to do something a bit more drastic.”


Nouri nodded. “What did you have in mind?”

Gulza’s eyes flickered, then she looked down at Malek with a wry smile.

“My floors need scrubbing, my fence needs mending, and my garden needs tending-to.”

Malek sighed, realizing that he was about to get locked into doing chores for the old witch.

“Malek would be glad to help you with anything you want for the next week—“

“Two. Two weeks.”

Malek groaned, and Gulza jerked on his wrist again.

Nouri nodded, “Two weeks. Anything else?”

Gulza looked over Nouri’s shoulder and sniffed.

“What is it you’re cooking in there?”

And that’s how Gulza came to eat pigeon stew with Malek and his mother. It was a bit strange to have the old lady sitting next to them at the dinner table, but as Malek’s mother placed a bowl of steaming stew down in front of him, he inhaled deeply, and all the world melted away as the scents of onions, garlic, chilis, and magical mystery hit his nostrils.

Malek took a pinch of fresh coriander and sprinkled it atop the chunks of carrots, onions, and meat, then he dipped a spoon into his stew and took a bite. He leaned back, closing his eyes as the flavours took him away.

It was all worth it.

This is one of several short stories set in the world of Alduna, leading up to my fantasy novel Journey to Khaldor, coming in 2026. Stay tuned—there’s more to come.