The Long Way Back Page 5

  “She’s gone downstairs with Aunt Nuriya.”

  Her eyes were dark with kohl and her hair fell abundantly round her shoulders. Safiya turned to Sana: “Wake Umm Hasan, Sana. The tea’s getting cold.”

  The little girl went over towards her great-grandmother’s bed. Munira sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her own bed. Her thin nightdress revealed her neck and part of her chest and shoulders. There was no question that she was beautiful, thought Safiya, but what had she come to Baghdad for? She and her mother had turned up at the door like refugees. Two more mouths to be fed and poor Abu Midhat, her own brother, slaved all day long as it was. Still, she was a pretty young woman. Everything about her was an invitation to a man. Marriage wouldn’t be far from her mind, Safiya could guarantee. It was what girls of her age mostly thought about. Munira was sitting in silence looking at the floor, her hands folded in her lap. Was there something on her mind besides marriage? Or perhaps she was considering Midhat. Who could say? His age, his job, his family background all qualified him as a suitable husband. She wouldn’t find anyone better. But somehow she didn’t look as if such things would interest her. She seemed to be in another world. Who could say, perhaps this was a new way of catching men. Everything was permitted these days. She noticed Umm Hasan waking up and talking quietly with Sana, but kept on watching Munira. Munira yawned and covered her mouth with her hand, then stretched so that her breasts stuck out slightly. She was thin, her complexion on the dark side, and her large eyes lit up her face like lamps. It would be good for this disturbed creature to get married. She was aware of Sana gently taking hold of her arm and heard Umm Hasan mumbling: “There’s no pity or compassion in this house. If you died of hunger, they’d dance for joy. What’s going on?”

  “Bibi says there’s not enough cheese for her breakfast,” whispered Sana to Aunt Safiya.

  Safiya remained silent. Umm Hasan leaned over and felt under her mattress, then took out a tattered brown paper bag. She sat clutching it in her fist, looking at Safiya out of the corner of her eye.

  “You must know what kind of food they give us by now, Umm Hasan,” Safiya said to her. “They collect up the leftovers and instead of throwing them in the bin they send them up to us. How can you be so naive?”

  Umm Hasan pulled the glass of tea towards her. Stirring it, she muttered, “May God punish all sinners.”

  Then she began rummaging in the paper bag and a moment later Safiya saw her holding two pieces of sesame pastry in her fingers. She was completely taken aback. They’d run out over a month ago and been unable to replenish their stock because of Abd al-Karim’s illness. And now it seemed Umm Hasan only had to wave her hand and they descended on her like manna from heaven.

  “The Lord looks after His own,” said Umm Hasan. She dunked a piece of pastry in her glass of tea, still looking furtively at Safiya. Sana got up from the edge of the bed and went out smiling.

  “Where did you get that from?” Safiya asked, with some annoyance.

  Umm Hasan didn’t reply. Safiya watched her put the pastry in her mouth and begin chewing it in a disgusting manner.

  With mounting anger she asked, “Why make such a fuss when you’ve got things worked out so well?”

  Umm Hasan chewed less vigorously, then swallowed what was left in her mouth and washed it down with a swig of tea. “I knew the breakfast would be inedible this morning,” she said, and went back to dunking the pastry in her tea in silence.

  Safiya was about to reply, when she noticed Abd al-Karim through the open window. He was coming out of his room and walking slowly along the big gallery His shoulders were bent, and he was taking small steps. She hoped Umm Hasan wouldn’t see him, so that at least she could have the pastries he was going to buy to herself. She turned to Munira, who was still sitting on the edge of her bed and was also watching her cousin. He was several years younger than her. He hadn’t graduated yet, and his illness had stopped him taking the exams. He would be quite unsuitable as a husband for her. Safiya was sure she couldn’t be wrong about this. However strong the bond between them seemed to have grown, it couldn’t last. Munira was watching him gravely, as if she was still asleep, her hands interlaced in her lap. Safiya was convinced she was never wrong in such matters.

  “Is your mother going out today, Munira dear?” she asked her.

  Munira emerged from her stupor with a violent jerk of her head, and Safiya fancied she flushed slightly.

  “What? What, Auntie?”

  What was the stupid girl thinking about? Did she honestly believe he’d make her a good husband?

  “Isn’t your mother going out today?” she asked again.

  “No. Why?”

  Her voice was lifeless and her reply sounded hostile, as if the question made her uncomfortable.

  “I was just asking,” Safiya answered. “I wanted to see her. Maybe she’ll be coming upstairs in a while.”

  Munira suddenly rose to her feet and went towards the door. “I’ll go down and tell her.”

  Her shoulder blades were plainly visible, giving her youthful body a womanly frailty She walked with a quick, light tread. Safiya didn’t feel animosity towards her. She wanted to be certain her suspicions about her were correct and decided to watch her more closely She turned to Umm Hasan and found her leaning back on her pillow, biting on something and looking towards the window with a far-away expression.

  “Aren’t you tired of eating?” she asked her. “That’s enough now.”

  Umm Hasan switched her gaze towards her and halted the movement of her jaws. “Are you going to start telling me how to behave?” she demanded. Then she looked away again, feigning indifference, and her jaws resumed their regular motion.

  Safiya retorted angrily, “And they say she’s senile! You think you run the place, don’t you?”

  The jaws stopped momentarily then went back to work.

  The sun had only just hit the windows of their room, and lunch was still a long way off. There’d be no harm in a short nap. She lay down, resting her cheek on her left hand and facing into the room. Umm Hasan was motionless nearby. Perhaps she’d finally finished eating. Safiya closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything in particular. But they wouldn’t leave her to doze in peace. She opened her eyes when she thought she heard someone coming into their room and was dazzled by the sun. Munira had come back. She wore a dark-colored dress and stood doing her hair and face in the little mirror hanging on the wall. Mechanically she brushed her long shiny hair. Her preparations were interminable. Munira’s mother, Najiya, came in after a while and sat down on the floor next to her own mother, Umm Hasan. The two of them lit up cigarettes, and Safiya heard Umm Hasan singing in a low voice:

  Forsaken, forsaken, we’ve been forsaken

  No point sighing, no point crying we’ve been forsaken.

  Silly old fool! Munira and her mother were smiling. It was as if none of them realized she was trying to sleep. Munira went out and Umm Hasan clapped in time to the song she sang in her fading voice. The light was glaring white, unbearably strong, and silence hung over the house. Safiya closed her eyes. Umm Hasan’s song and the clapping of her bony hands no longer bothered her, and she sensed that sleep would not elude her this time.

  They were talking together but she couldn’t make out the words. They tossed short sentences back and forth and gestures concealing fearful memories. Munira was leaning against the wall by the bed, resting her hand on the rusty black metal headboard. She was pale, and her eyes grew unnaturally large and bright, and her lips moved rapidly as she talked. Her mother stood some way inside the door.

  Safiya moved her hand away from her ear and raised her head slightly from the pillow. Munira sounded breathless: “Why? There’s nothing going on between us. Do you understand? Nothing at all.”

  “He’s your nephew, and he came from Baquba to see you. What else are people going to say?”

  Her mother spoke slowly, the words barely making it out of her mouth. Munira’s eyes blazed
, and even the finger she raised in her mother’s face seemed to emit sparks. “Don’t talk like that. He’s nothing to do with me, and I don’t care what people say Do you understand? Tell me, do you understand what I mean or not?”

  Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Safiya thought she could hear her own stifled heartbeats. If the conversation had gone on just a bit longer, she would have known everything. Munira sat down heavily on the bed and gradually withdrew into herself. She bent her head and put her hands in her lap, and her hair hung down, hiding her face. Her mother stood with her hands clasped and for the first time there was a look of distress on her face, Mother and daughter were clearly not happy.

  Nuriya’s voice rang out from the ground floor: “Najiya. Najiya.”

  Munira looked up, dry-eyed and very pale. “That’s Aunt Nuriya calling you. Go down. Tell her I’m not here.”

  Her mother turned to the door, and Nuriya’s voice called again; “Munira, my dear. Munira.”

  “All right, I’m coming,” called back Munira’s mother as she went out of the door.

  Nuriya continued to shout: “Najiya. This fellow Adnan won’t take no for an answer. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Come and see what he wants. Please. He won’t come in and he won’t...”

  Then her words were lost in Najiya’s mutterings as she made for the stairs. Munira withdrew into herself again, sitting huddled and dejected. Safiya did not contemplate addressing her, but she would like to have heard the two of them talking for longer. So the unknown person at the door was Adnan. Maliha’s son. Maliha, Munira’s sister. Perhaps he’d brought bad news to Munira and her mother. They had lived in Baquba for some time and might go back there if Munira couldn’t get a transfer to Baghdad. All the two of them had to live on was Munira’s pitiful salary. She’d only been qualified as a schoolteacher for three years. Maliha and Munira’s older brother Mustafa was an army officer, but he was married and was in the North now anyhow. A poor family with no history as far as anybody knew. To this day Safiya didn’t understand how her brother had come to marry one of them. People said it was fate, whom you married. And granted, Nuriya hadn’t been a bad girl luckily. She wouldn’t have dared behave improperly, anyway, especially towards her, Safiya. Noble origins made an impression on people like these, and they’d be as well to remember their place.

  The room was lit by the sun’s rays reflecting off the high white wall. She was fed up with pretending to be asleep. She hadn’t found out what was going on down below, and that was torture to her. She moved around in the bed, then sat up and immediately noticed that Umm Hasan’s bed was empty In the anxiety which this provoked she forgot herself and shouted, “Where’s Umm Hasan gone? Can’t that silly old fool stay in her bed?”

  Munira raised her head and looked at Aunt Safiya in astonishment, “What, Auntie? What?” She was leaning forward slightly, her hands clasped in front of her.

  Safiya stared at her. “Where’s your grandmother?” she said.

  “I don’t know, Auntie. Maybe she went downstairs. Or to the bathroom.”

  “Why the bathroom, dear? Is she washing her hair now?”

  “No, sorry. I mean the toilet.”

  “Where’s your mother? Have we got visitors?”

  Munira looked upset. “My mother’s with Aunt Nuriya. There’s no one else there.”

  Her eyes were clear and unclouded despite her discomfiture, and her hair fell in gentle waves on her shoulders. She wasn’t the same fierce girl who’d scolded her mother not long before. Safiya heard footsteps, then Umm Hasan put her head round the door: “.Munira dear, please come and help me up this step. It’ll be the death of me.”

  Munira hurried to take hold of her grandmother’s arms and hoisted her over the high lintel, then walked her to the bed.

  “Where were you?” Safiya asked her.

  Umm Hasan was walking slowly, her back bent, and she was panting hard.

  “Allah! Muhammad! May God answer your prayers, Munira. Allah! Allah!” she groaned.

  She sat down on her bed, shaking her head, breathing heavily and blowing air out through her mouth. Munira went back to the other bed, and Safiya asked again, “I said where were you, Umm Hasan?”

  Trying to catch her breath she said, “Give me a chance. I was in the toilet. What’s the matter with you?”

  Safiya was silent as she watched Munira leave the room, then she said, “Can’t anyone talk to you these days? What’s wrong?”

  When Umm Hasan did not reply, she went on, “I thought you’d gone downstairs. That boy Adnan came from Baquba. I don’t know what he wants, but they were all in a state.”

  Umm Hasan looked up. “Adnan? Which Adnan? The shaykh’s son?”

  “Maliha’s son. His father sells vegetables, he’s not a shaykh. I wonder what Adnan wants.”

  “I’ve no idea. Leave me in peace. Hasn’t Karumi come back yet?”

  “Why do you ask? No, he’s not back.”

  “I hope he’ll think of bringing some pastries with him.”

  Safiya stiffened and asked loudly, “What? Why would he bring you pastries now?”

  Umm Hasan turned towards her, not appearing to have understood. “I meant perhaps he’ll be feeling generous. God! You don’t have a kind bone in your body!” She turned away irritably, muttering, “Anyone would think the world was coming to an end. She’s yelling at me as if I’ve spent her inheritance. What have I done wrong?”

  Safiya was about to explain what she had overheard, as she didn’t feel like embarking on a battle of words before midday, but Munira and her mother came back in. They looked worn out. Munira lay down on her bed straight away, and her mother sat on a cushion on the floor. They remained silent. Everything happened in silence with the two of them. Safiya watched them for a while, then heard Umm Hasan talking to her daughter: “Who’s downstairs, Najiya?”

  “Nobody”

  Umm Hasan looked worried and she went on, looking at Safiya, “What do you mean, nobody? Who’s going to make lunch then? I’ve been famished for an hour.”

  Munira’s mother looked stonily at her, without replying, then Safiya spoke. “Why are you going on at them?” she asked Umm Hasan. “Can’t you see Munira’s not well?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Munira. She feels a bit lightheaded, that’s all,” interrupted Najiya hurriedly.

  “No. Look at her. Her face is as yellow as turmeric. Why did Adnan come to see you? We’re wondering why he didn’t even look in to say hello to his grandmother.”

  Munira sat up in bed. She was pale and had circles under her eyes. She addressed Safiya angrily without raising her voice: “I’m not ill. There’s nothing wrong with me, but I’d be better still if you weren’t so nosy, Auntie.”

  Her eyes flashed with suppressed anger, and she began to talk slightly louder: “We’re not hiding anything from you, but you shouldn’t interfere all the time. Go and ask the lady of the house who came, and why. Don’t talk to me about it, and don’t interfere in my business. Leave me alone. Do you understand?”

  This astonishing stream of abuse shocked and saddened Safiya. Munira continued to glare at her and Umm Hasan for a few moments, and they averted their gaze from her. Her features were hard, and she showed no signs of dissolving into tears. After a bit she lay down on the bed again. Najiya was silent, smoking her cigarette as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Safiya noticed Umm Hasan looking at her and said in a low, slightly shaky voice, “Did I do something wrong, Umm Hasan? Tell me.”

  Umm Hasan shook her head emphatically and whispered, “I can’t be bothered with it all. Aren’t you hungry yet?”

  “Don’t remind me. I low could I not be hungry? I’m dying of hunger! Call Nuriya to see if the soup’s ready. We can at least eat some warm bread and soup. What choice do we have, my dear? God can’t be happy at His creatures being treated this way.”

  “I haven’t got the strength to call her. I’m absolutely famished.” Umm Hasan looked at Munira and her mother out of the
corner of her eye and made another despairing gesture.

  The room was silent, and a spiral of smoke rose up from Najiya’s cigarette. Safiya didn’t know what to do. Had she been right to let Munira talk to her like that without responding? An unknown page in the two women’s lives had been revealed to her that day, and she was inhibited from defending herself by a vague feeling that something broken, something abnormal in the girl’s life had provoked her harsh words. Munira gave a long sigh, then inhaled deeply. Her high breasts rose and fell slowly. Safiya could see her smooth pale legs and the edge of her dress covering her knees.

  “What time is it?” she asked Umm Hasan.

  “Arab time or government time?”

  “Government time.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Arab then.”

  “I still don’t know.”

  She examined her face, unable to decide whether she was joking at this critical point, or if she just talked nonsense every now and then, depending on her mood. The sun had moved round away from them, and the house was wrapped in silence. It was past midday, and there was no sign of anyone making lunch. Were they going to have to repeat the same bitter experience of waiting for Midhat and his father to come back from the office?

  The sound of footsteps in the yard, followed by the door slamming, interrupted her gloomy thoughts. She listened intently, holding her breath. Was it Abd al-Karim at last? She fastened her gaze on the top of the staircase. She would find out in a few moments whether he had managed to get the pastries or not. Her companions appeared not to have heard anything. He was walking slowly, his shoulders hunched and didn’t look as happy as he should to be carrying a large bag of pastries. He went along the big gallery and into his room. None of them had noticed him. Were they blind? Umm Hasan was fiddling with her toes, and Munira’s mother was vigorously stubbing out her cigarette. Then Safiya saw him coming out of his room still carrying the bag and heading for their room. She didn’t want to tell Umm Hasan, but couldn’t contain herself: “Good news, Umm Hasan! Karumi’s brought us pastries. I gave him some money, as God’s my witness. Now you can get to work on them!”