The Long Way Back Page 2

  Madiha’s hand went up quickly to brush her cheek. The round shape of her face showed up indistinctly and her mother couldn’t tell if she was really crying. She was about to repeat her question when Madiha whispered, “Why do I have such a hard time? And the girls, too? We’re so unlucky!”

  Nuriya moved the frying pan off the ring. “Listen to me! Why are you complaining? You’re living in your father’s house with your family, aren’t you? You should be grateful. Your father’s alive and in good health, thank God. And there are your brothers, too, God bless them. As for that man Husayn, he’ll get what’s coming to him. Just leave him to get on with it. You’re sensible, Madiha, and you know how much I love you. You’re my only daughter.” She embraced her gently and kissed her damp cheek. She thought her daughter was acting like a five-year-old who had seen nothing of life and its hardships, and this worried her.

  “I know all that,” whispered Madiha again. “But I’m living in limbo, and I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Patience is a virtue,” quoted her mother briskly “It’s not the first time he’s come back. This is just the way things have turned out for you, dear, and you never know when your luck will change.”

  She turned to put the frying pan back on the ring, while Madiha went on in a firm voice, “No, Mum. I want to see him this time. He came back to see the girls, I know, but I’ve made up my mind to settle things with him face to face. We don’t need him. I’ve got a job and a regular salary, and my daughters and I have a roof over our heads, thanks to Father. He has to know I’m not just sitting waiting for him in case he feels like coming back to me. That time’s passed.”

  Madiha was interrupted by the voice of her daughter Suha. “Mum. Mum. I’m hungry. Bibi Umm Hasan says are we getting something to eat this evening or not?”

  “Yes, of course we are, Suha. It’s just about ready. Have you finished your homework?”

  “I have. Sana hasn’t though. Grandpa says she’s lazy and good for nothing.”

  Sana could be heard shouting from their room: “That’s a lie, Mum. I have finished. Grandpa never said anything about me. Suha’s a liar.”

  “I’m not a liar. Grandpa did say you’re lazy.”

  “When?” asked Sana.

  This bickering didn’t make Nuriya feel any happier. She wanted to get dinner over so she could talk to her daughter in peace and try and find out what exactly she was planning to do.

  “Have you put the food out, Madiha?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then send Suha to fetch her Uncle Midhat. What’s he doing up on the terrace in this cold weather? I wonder if Karumi’s eating somewhere else?”

  She looked at Madiha setting the white crockery out on the table. The kitchen had got hot and she could feel the sweat collecting on her forehead and running down between her breasts. All her misgivings returned with a vengeance as she watched her daughter moving about mechanically like a puppet with no mind or spirit of its own, then stepping out of the murky kitchen, wiping her face with the palm of her hand and calling, “Suha. Suha.”

  The child answered from a distance, and her mother told her to go up on to the terrace and tell her uncle dinner was ready. Her voice trembled as she spoke, and it occurred to Nuriya that her daughter had suddenly aged.

  Nuriya came out of the bedroom, leaving her husband to smoke his last cigarette.

  A dim light shone on the gallery and lit up part of the big alcove where the family often sat. The dark sky was studded with stars and smudged here and there with white clouds. She stood leaning on the worn wooden balustrade. The courtyard of the house was as dark as the mouth of a well. It was true her son Abd al-Karim was back late so regularly that it was beginning to look suspicious. She saw a light in his brother Midhat’s room and went towards it. She was tired. It was an effort to lift her feet, and she wished she could go to sleep like her husband in the warm bed next to him. He hadn’t understood why she wanted to go to the girls’ room, but assumed that she felt like watching the late film on the television.

  She put her head round the door of Midhat’s brightly-lit room but there was nobody there, She heard a voice from the other side of the courtyard. “I’m here. Do you want something?”

  She turned quickly, but could not make out the shadowy figure at first. He was looking in her direction. She could just see him with difficulty in the faint light. “Midhat, my dear. What are you doing outside?”

  “Having a walk,” he answered testily.

  “That’s fine, dear. Take your time. Aren’t you cold?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Fine. Don’t get annoyed, dear.”

  She was afraid to ask him why his brother stayed out late every night. He grew impatient if he talked to her for long, although she was sure he loved her. She watched the short figure moving slowly away as she walked laboriously along the gallery. He had some of her father in him, especially his edginess. God preserve him from ending up like her father!

  She could hear the noise of several different voices raised in conversation in her daughter’s room before she opened the door There was only a miserable light in the large, high-ceilinged room and the walls were in dark shadow. She saw her mother, Umm Hasan, and her sister-in-law, Safiya, sitting on the iron bedstead watching television. Madiha was lying on one of the big beds near her two sleeping daughters. She was in time to hear her sister-in-law finishing her story: “Our orchard used to be where the Unknown Soldier is buried. It went from the Soldier down to the river, and you could walk along beside the river right up to the neighbor’s house. It was a huge orchard, my dear, a wilderness! A donkey could get lost there for four days!”

  “What donkey?”

  She stopped short and appeared to be considering Umm Hasan’s question, then went on, “What do you mean, what donkey? A donkey that was around at the time.”

  Nuriya sat down on the bed next to her daughter. ‘Are the children asleep?” she asked.

  Madiha nodded. She was undeniably pale, and in among the waves of her black hair threads of white gleamed. Although Nuriya saw that she was looking attentively at her aunt, she questioned her again, in an undertone: “Are you tired, Madiha?”

  She sighed deeply and nodded her head again, so Nuriya was none the wiser. Madiha was leaning on her elbow, resting her cheek on her hand.

  “Why are you staring at your aunt? Are you fed up with her stories?”

  Madiha smiled faintly. “I’m looking at her red hair. Every week she puts henna on it. Why does she bother?”

  Nuriya turned to look at her husband’s sister. She was a little bundle of bones crowned by a thick mass of white hair stained with henna. She didn’t hate her any more after all these years, and anyway Safiya was afraid of her and avoided crossing swords with her. She seemed to have given up her claims on her brother at last, although she still clung firmly to the image of her noble ancestors, and never tired of talking about them.

  “My father was very tall, God rest him,” she was saying now “We children didn’t take after him. We took after out mother. She was short, God rest her soul. He was extremely tall. He had to duck when he went through doorways. And his legs! I can see them now, sticking out over the end of the bed when he slept on the terrace. What a figure! He was so handsome! Like the moon on the fourteenth day. A face, they used to say like a circle of bread, so round and fair. And when he walked, he positively undulated! Sayyid Ismail bin Hajji Abd al-Razzaq. A man to be reckoned with! With his navy blue suit and the gold watch gleaming on his chest, you couldn’t miss him. And his fez always slightly at an angle.”

  “Aren’t you hungry, Safiya?” interrupted Umm Hasan.

  “Why, what’s the time?” asked Safiya, after a moment’s pause.

  “They haven’t had the call to prayer yet.”

  “Which one?”

  “The evening prayer.”

  “You’re showing your age, Umm Hasan. They gave the call to prayer a couple of hours ago when that windbag was
singing the praises of her crazy leader on television.”

  “Do you think I watch television?”

  Nuriya noticed the slight smile returning to Madiha’s lips as she listened to her aunt and grandmother talking. It must be past ten o’clock, otherwise her mother wouldn’t be mentioning food again.

  “If you’re hungry, Mother,” she said to her, “there’s a bit of bread and cheese in the kitchen. Shall I go down and get it?”

  “Don’t bother, Nuriya. I’ll go and see if there are any sesame pastries left. Karumi brought me some a couple of days ago, God bless him. Lovely ones!”

  “I’m starving, too,” said Safiya. “Come on, my dear. Let’s go and see what we can find.”

  The two of them went off slowly and unsteadily, holding on to each other, leaving the door open behind them. The fresh night air of springtime blew gently in on Nuriya. Silence closed around the big house, and she felt her body drooping with tiredness. She saw her daughter’s eyes were closed and spoke gently to her: “Madiha. Go to bed if you’re falling asleep.”

  Madiha sat up on the bed and rubbed her eyes, then tucked the covers firmly round the two sleeping children.

  “Were you dozing? Go to bed, dear. I’m going now. I thought there might be something on television.”

  “There’s nothing on but trashy films, or songs and speeches.”

  Madiha slid down under the covers and pulled them up to her chin. Her mother didn’t know whether to cross-examine her about her husband Husayn or leave it for another time. She told her that she hadn’t mentioned seeing Husayn to Madiha’s father, but Madiha’s only response was a faint grunt. Arranging the covers around her and the two children, Nuriya whispered, “Madiha. Listen. You’re not to do anything without telling me first. Do you understand? I don’t want to be kept in the dark next time. Madiha ... She’s fast asleep. I’m wasting my time.”

  She got up and switched off the lights, then left, closing the door behind her. She couldn’t see Midhat on the gallery. There was a slight chill in the air and the sky was clear. He must have gone back to his room. Her mother and Aunt Safiya were talking in abnormally loud voices in their room nearby She hesitated. She didn’t want to intrude them, but wasn’t ready to sleep, despite her tiredness. They were sitting cross-legged, each on her own bed, nibbling at sesame pastries, which they first softened in a glass of water on the floor between them, In the red glow of the light they were talking, both at the same time and with unaccustomed fervor. Her mother turned to address her as soon as she walked through the door: “It’s Nuriya. Please come in. See what you think.” Safiya had gone quiet and was concentrating on eating, while Nuriya’s mother kept talking: “Nuriya, you know Maliha, who’s married to that shaykh in Baquba?”

  Safiya interrupted her: “What shaykh, Umm Hasan? You’re mad. He’s got a fruit and vegetable stall.”

  “What does it matter? Shaykh or greengrocer, he’s got pots of money and good luck to him.”

  “Yes, good luck to him. But he’s not a real Arab shaykh.”

  The mother directed her conversation to Nuriya: “We’re talking about Maliha, Adnan’s mother. How many sons has she got, and how many daughters?”

  “Three sons and three daughters,” Safiya cut in.

  “That’s right,” agreed Nuriya. “Count with me. There’s Adnan, the oldest. Then Sakban and Salman. And the girls, Salima, Fahima, and Badaa. Salima and Fahima are twins.”

  “And Munira, the pretty one who’s a teacher,” said Umm Hasan doubtfully. “Isn’t she Maliha’s daughter, too?”

  Nuriya laughed and was about to reply, but Safiya got in first: “My dear Umm Hasan, you’re out of your mind. Don’t you know your own granddaughters?”

  “It’s true, mother. Why are you getting so mixed up? Munira and Maliha are sisters, the daughters of my sister Najiya—my nieces in other words. How can you have forgotten?”

  “Who says I’ve forgotten, Nuriya? Does anyone ever forget their own children? But they live a long way off, God save them, and it’s months since I last saw any of them. I want to go to Baquba as soon as it gets a bit warmer.”

  “You’d do better to stay where you are,” said Safiya. “You’d have to come back the minute you got there! They’re coming here in the holidays.”

  “Who is?”

  “What do you mean, who is? Munira and her mother, who else? Do you want to have Maliha and her family here too?”

  “No, my dear. Who wants her? Nobody’s seen her for years. She spends all her time getting pregnant and having children.”

  Nuriya went slowly and sat down on the edge of her mother’s bed and stretched her feet out in front of her on the rug. She wasn’t comfortable like this, and every bone in her body ached. The old women’s conversation about her sister and two nieces stirred some vague memory. They were busy eating their pastries dipped in water while she tried to recollect it more clearly, when she heard her mother say, “There’s someone at the door, Nuriya.”

  Safiya’s jaws immediately stopped moving and she listened attentively for a few moments. Then she said, “No. It’s nothing. Who’d knock on the door at this time of night?”

  But Umm Hasan whispered hesitantly, “Really, I can hear someone knocking all the time. Or at least sometimes I think there’s someone there, and then I think maybe I’m just. . .”

  “. . . just imagining things,” finished Safiya.

  “All right, then. I’m wrong.”

  They heard footsteps approaching and Midhat put his head round the door and said to his mother, “Someone’s been banging on the door for five minutes. Hasn’t Karumi got a key?”

  She jumped to her feet, and heard her mother saying, “You see? You can’t say anything round here without somebody jumping down your throat!”

  “How could he not have a key?” Nuriya said to her son. “We never hear him when he comes in at night. Why would he knock tonight? And how do you know it’s him?”

  “I don’t,” he said, walking away. “I just thought it might be. I’ll go down and see.”

  She hurried after him as he moved lightly along the gallery, heading for the stairs. She suddenly felt anxious as she struggled to catch up with him. People didn’t usually knock on the door at this time of the night. As she went cautiously down the stairs, she wished she could tell her husband about it. The knocking gathered strength as they crossed the courtyard in the semi-darkness. Her heart was beating violently, and she couldn’t help thinking that Husayn might have something to do with it. Perhaps he’d come to reach an understanding with them in his own particular fashion, after knocking back a bottle of arak!

  Midhat switched on the light over the main door, and she saw that his thin face was hard and tense. The narrow passageway continued to reverberate to the heavy thuds even when they were only a few steps from the door.

  “Who is it?” called Midhat.

  Abd al-Karim’s voice came back at once: “It’s me. Me—-Karim.”

  She relaxed at the sound of her younger son’s voice and managed to speak: “Do you think this is funny, Karumi? Scaring us all stiff in the middle of the night like this!”

  Midhat was unlocking the door without a word. His shoulders looked narrow in the dim light and she felt a surge of tenderness towards him.

  She noticed nothing particularly odd about Abd al-Karim as he apologized for having lost his key, then walked ahead of them into the house. Perhaps his voice was hoarser than usual, his speech slightly jerky, and he seemed to be in a hurry for no apparent reason.

  She followed him, leaving Midhat to lock the door, and begged him to slow down a little, but he showed no signs of having heard. She-stopped and waited in the dimly lit courtyard by the trees in the little garden, listening to him going upstairs. He stumbled several times, but she didn’t tell Midhat this when he caught up with her and walked slowly along beside her. The two of them crossed the yard and went up the dark staircase with her leading the way, battling to keep ahead. Realizing what was in her
mind, Midhat said to her as he went off to his room, “Go and see what he wants, Mother. He might be more comfortable with you.”

  She nodded and hurried into Abd al-Karim’s room, next door to Midhat’s. The light was dazzling, its effect heightened by the white walls. Abd al-Karim was sitting on his bed, his jacket off, staring bewilderedly at his trousers, then at his hands. He looked up at her, and she could see the anguish and confusion in his eyes. He seemed to be imploring her to help him. A large dark stain on his trousers and the edge of his white shirt caught her eye. The emotion on his face scared her, and she hurried over to him and knelt down beside him. “What’s wrong, Karumi? What is it, my dear?”

  His hands were shaking. “That’s blood. Fuad’s blood, Mother,” he shouted in a frenzy.

  She embraced his trembling legs impulsively, then began calling out to Midhat.

  Chapter

  Two

  They were in the alcove talking, drinking tea, talking some more. From my sick bed I listened to them and guessed they would come to see me here. I would have preferred to go on listening without encountering them face to face, although I knew the sight of her would make me happy, and so I lay there waiting for them to finish their conversation.

  The last red rays of the sun were falling high up on the neighbors’ wall and the sky was still blue. By now we would usually be sleeping up on the terrace. Most years we would start towards the end of May, but it was early June and we were still in out rooms, making do with opening the windows wide at night. I hadn’t seen her for several months, five or six probably Since she’d got a job as a schoolteacher outside Baghdad she hadn’t been around much. I wished I wasn’t ill like this, feeling lightheaded after any conversation that lasted more than a few minutes, or after reading just a page or so. That was why I hadn’t been able to sit the first round of exams. She would definitely have heard all about it. Nothing was a secret for long around here. Anyway, it was impossible to avoid being ill altogether, especially since I hadn’t received proper care.Love can’t solve everything. That’s why my mother couldn’t cure me with her love alone, and I was still cooped up in bed for no obvious reason. They were coming towards my room. If illness is taken to be a natural, physiological occurrence, then it’s open to being understood and treated. They came in, greeting me. She and her mother, Midhat, my mother and Madiha. But if it’s psychological, or a response to some obsession, then it’s very doubtful if it can be treated at all. She was dressed in black, which accentuated the effect of the kohl round her gold-brown eyes. They sat round my bed and asked me trivial questions. Her black abaya was still draped over her shoulders, and her beautiful face reflected the sadness that came from being intelligent like her. Why had I been separated from her for so long? Then I noticed the pain in her eyes. Her blonde hair fell carelessly over her forehead, and she fiddled with her lower lip whenever she wasn’t talking. Where had I seen that look of anguish before?