Our Current Issue
Volume 36 | Issue 1 | 2022
From "The American Cousin" (pp. 54-5)
by Gemini Wahhaj
“Oh, my Fahim misses me so much. He kissed me and kissed me, and he held me tight. He would not let me go when I was leaving Texas. That was so many years ago,” she would moan, making herself a betel leaf, packing the green leaf with nuts and powders. This was her one visible vice, staining her lips and tongue a deep red.
Ruma and Jhumu peered at their older cousin Fahim’s photo (they called him Fahim Bhai out of respect) in the dark bedroom where all the sisters slept. There were three sets of doors to their bedroom, one connecting to the room where their mother and grandmother slept, one leading to the dining room and the front of the house, and the other leading to the back balcony and beyond, to a backyard where they hung their clothes to dry. The windows were heavily draped with long, heavy curtains, but still, the sunlight cracked between the gaps in the curtains, through the dirty window glass, throwing shadows over Fahim Bhai’s smiling dimple in the photographs. There were many photos of Fahim, chubby in a red sweater at ten, suddenly tall and handsome with long hair at fifteen, and then older, less smiling, in a T-shirt with a graphic design and jeans, a college student posing in front of a red sports car.
About Concho River Review
Begun by novelist and short-story writer Dr. Terry Dalrymple in 1987, Concho River Review is a biannual literary journal published by the Department of English and Modern Languages at Angelo State University. Since its inception, CRR has prided itself on publishing some of the finest short fiction, nonfiction, and poetry from both emerging and established authors. Although originally designed as a forum for Texas writers, over the years its reach and interests have extended well beyond Texas and the Southwest.