***
Membere is seeing things she was not expecting, according to Mrs Asnakech’s explanations. Membere was hoping to see a house that’s a bit gloomy; curtains and wall painting darker with old or at least middle aged women dressed all dramatically in a long black dress, a transparent shovel that matches her dress in colour covering her shoulders and her head all the way down to her face, a circle table in the middle of the living room with a crystal placed in the centre and she even expected the women to speak in a voice. She has been to a fortune teller with her friend to get a palm reading and that was her experience.
No. Things are quite unlike her expectation; big house and all pristine white colouring to the point that it feels like everything is fragile. The house is too clean and everything is orderly. Nothing could go missing in this house unless it’s as white. It’s almost as if the owners can’t survive without a light, that it’s too bright.
From outside, it looks common house; there is concrete fencing just as the rest of the neighbourhood has in the compound; on the left side of the main entrance, there’s a small space for a garden filled with lines of flowers, and in front of the entrance, you face a land cruiser parked. The space of the compound is not enough but it’s well used. The interior designing of the house has the power to make you question everything you see from outside.
Membere is looking around in amusement and Bamlakfekad is unlike his usual self; he is calmed and respectful. He is even eager until he gets to meet the owner of the house. Throughout their drive here, Bamlakfekad’s excitement was making her question his character over the change of heart to what they decide to do; coming to meet with this leady, Mrs Asnakech said would help. She knew her brother Tigabu and Bamlakfekad was up to something, these past few days; going out together, whispering secret to one another, she knew they might be checking the spiritual guide, but why is he excited? That is worrying her.
After arriving at the house, seeing the house’s decoration, she is wondering why Bamlakfekad is in a hurry to meet with the spiritual guide. She can’t associate anything in the house with any spirituality or spiritual activity. Everything is too modern that she is starting to wonder if whoever she is here seeking for is a fraud; every appearance, to her perception, seems transparently skulduggery.
“She will be here,” Mrs Asnakech whispers, turning around to face her, as she takes a seat before them. Mrs Asnakech’s relation to this family seems more like a family like.
“Um,” Membere presses her lips, nodding, unsatisfied.
“Are you okay?” Bamlakfekad asks her, taking a seat beside her on a two-person seat sofa placed before the single seats that Mrs Asnakech took.
“I don’t know, but…” she shrugs as she gets closer to him. “I’m having second thoughts about this place. I suddenly start to feel like this might be swindling,” she says.
“We’ll see,” he says quietly, and she looks at him, frowning, shrugging back a little. “If we don’t like what we hear, we would just leave.” Shaking her head slightly in disbelief, she turns her attention back to Mrs Asnakech.
“Are you sure about her?” Membere asks her.
“Trust me,” she answers humbly. “You will find a solution. She’s helped many people in many ways. Let’s just hope and pray, it won’t be problems like the others,” she says and Bamlakfekad clears his throat hard after coughing slightly; as if notifying her to utter no more than this.
“What are the problems she helped with?” Membere asks her, frowning, but in fear.
“We are here, aren’t we?” Bamlakfekad asks in exasperation. “You should find a way to decide, be sure.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She is feeling like crying.
“It means, you want to be here and just when I am ready to try for real, you can’t feel like backing out!” They are both staring at each other in disappointment.
“For God’s sake, you both need to calm down. Besides, it’s been a long time since she did this. She only agreed now, because we’re family and I told her about you; she just wanted to help you in every way she can,” Mrs Asnakech explained herself to clear the air that’s about to be polluted by the couple before her. “It’s not proper to be this way at time like this. You are supposed to be one to bare everything,” she clasps her hands, pushing them parallel to her face. “Like this,” she completes her words and sits back, relaxing.
Mrs Asnakech is past her middle age with grey hair, wrinkled light skin, a tall and chubby appearance. If anyone talks with her about their life, she is someone who makes it her problem. It’s not in her nature to consider that things she heard aren’t her problem; the moment she is aware of it, it is what she will think of, talk about…everything about her doing would turn about the matter she heard of until a given matter she heard about is solved. She is usually dressed in her chiffon dress and with an Ethiopian cultural shawl or netela covering her head. Everyone in their neighbourhood knows Mrs Asnakech well enough that they all whisper their problem in hand into her ears; she never runs out of solution, ways.
“She’s right,” mumbles Bamlakfekad.
“I’m sorry I keep you waiting,” a soft and calm voice shifts their attention to a middle-aged lady that’s walking down the stairs, behind the single seat sofas.
“Tirgumeye,” Mrs Asnakech stands from her seat to welcome her lovingly. They both rushes to each other and exchanges kisses on their shoulders, each.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats herself politely, looking towards her guests, who just welcomed her in excitement. “It’s really hard to keep an infant asleep,” she smiles in embarrassment.
“It’s okay, I can understand,” Membere smiles, nodding as her eyes gets heavy. The mention of a child makes her heart uneasy, but she suddenly gets excited seeing her.
“I’m Tirgume, Asne told me a lot about you,” introducing herself to them, she offers them her right hand.
“I’m Memere and he’s Bamlakfekad; my husband,” she clears the air, taking her hand and Bamlakfekad shakes her hand.
“Please, sit,” she says, pointing back to the seat they were on. “Selam,” she calls out for a young girl who walked down the stairs behind her.
“Yes,” she says with a dying voice.
“Prepare some coffee and get lunch,” she orders.
“Oh, no, we ate before coming here,” Bamlakfekad speeds to answer.
“It’s not our culture to send our gusts off empty stomach,” she says, staring in their direction.
“Everything in this house is well prepared and clean,” Mrs Asnakech utters.
“I mean it, we ate,” Membere supports her husband’s reply.
“You should have just a little, at least for the norm,” Tirgume utters, smiling. “Go ahead,” she says nodding to Selam, who’s speeding out of the leaving room.
“Thanks,” Membere utters. Membere’s eyes are still on Tirgume; she looks at her chubby face that graced her with a childlike appearance; round face, small round lips, medium eyes, cutie nose tip and medium neck length and broad shoulders that adds grace to her cute look. She’s dressed in a long summer dress and her hair is subdued in a box braids and held together to her back. She looks calm and innocent. She is barefoot and her feet is clean and beautiful. Slightly, Membere shakes her head and looks up and into her eyes.
For a moment, locking eye with her is a shock for her; she gets secretly jumpy, but she’s not sure if it’s locking eyes that shock her or if the fact that she was looking at her as she schemes her thoroughly.
“Um,” Membere clears her throat roughly with her eyes closed. She’s hoping to take her attention back to herself. “Daughter?” she whispers and Tirgume deepens her smile on her lips.
“Son,” she answers, delighted, “it’s my second. The infant is a boy and my five-year-old is a girl.”
“Wow, you’ve got two,” she whispers, pressing a sad smile on her lips. Clearing her throat once again, she turns around to look at her house.
“The
y’re beautiful,” Bamlakfekad utters, and looking at his wife, he points her to a family picture framed on the wall.
“Thanks,” she pressed a smile.
“I should go help Selam to serve the lunch,” Mrs Asnakech utters and walked to the door Selam used. It’s like she understands that they might need some privacy.
“So, how is she like?” she asks and Membere frowns as she fill her chest with air. “Your daughter, I mean.”
“Um,” she presses her lips in a hard line, thinking for a moment, but she smiles at her thoughts. “She is, very beautiful,” she says and closes her eyes as she plays Adha’s face in her mind. “She has, this,” she touches her messed up hair slowly; with her eyes still closed and smiling in delight as she thinks about her. “long, very long curly hair, straight nose, beau…” When she feels Bamlakfekad’s hand on hers, she opens her eyes, looking at him, slightly gasping and she presses a smile. “She’s beautiful, very beautiful,” she says, her eyes fixed at his watery eyes.
“She is insightful, very cheerful and sociable,” he adds, supporting his wife as he stares back into her eyes.
“She would do anything to make…us happy,” tears start streaming down her cheeks. “She would even let us interfere in her life as well.”
“I never gave her an easy way to what she wants,” Bamlakfekad adds, shaking his head.
“We, I never gave her choices, she wouldn’t know what to look for because…” She is sobbing and their situation is disturbing Tirgume, but she can see they are connecting. “She doesn’t have a good judge of character since I never gave her a chance to make a mistake, to learn from it,” Membere adds and looks at Tirgume. “Be honest with me,” she says and swallows hard. “Does this mean I am a bad mother?” Tirgume didn’t see this question coming that she gasps and instantly changes it into a process of inhaling of air to load her chest heavy.
“I’m sorry if my question drives you the point of questioning your mother…” she stops and looks to Bamlakfekad and then back at Membere once again. “Your parenthood,” she amends her sentence with pressed smile dominated with sadness. “Truth is, no parenting is wrong and right. At least for me. We all have different ways, rules to lead our life; my life style rules may not work at yours, if you try to implement them,” Tirgume looks down at her wedding ring as she rubs it between her right-hand fingers. “We can’t be sure about life,” she smiles mildly. “To be honest parenting is the hardest job, it’s a process. We learn on the way, as far as I understand it, we can’t just know,” she looks up to their direction. “So, no, I don’t believe you are bad parents. You simply can’t be,” she smiles to them and they both clears their throat one after the other. “It’s just the way it is; being parents, comes with these impulsive emotions, of unconditional love, care, the unexplainable connections... a lot.” She exhales long. “I hope I will be able to provide with answers you are hoping for. Positive answers I mean.”
“If I may ask,” Bamlakfekad utters fearfully.
“It’s just God’s gift; my mother used to help peoples, her mother and her mother’s mother…and now me.”
“We heard you stopped,” Membere asks and turns her attention back to Mrs Asnakech, who is walking in with the materials that makes the coffee ceremony feel lively. “Can you practice it after you stopped?” she shrugs as she asks her doubts.
“Married life is complicated,” she presses a sad smile, looking down to the floor. “When I start seeing things, I was so young and I used to help my mother with her customers,” she looks up to them and smiles sadly. “She was aging so fast for me…that was what I thought but, um, she was sick, really sick and allowing me to help her was, for her, guiding me to get acquainted to my gifts.” She turns to look at the family pictures on the wall, “Thanks to that, I meet my husband,” she says and turns to lock eyes with Membere.
“Then you stopped after marriage,” she completes it for her, and she nods, to as if providing answer. “What is it, exactly, that you do?” she asks her.
“We should have lunch, coffee, then we’ll see it together,” Mrs Asnakech takes over the conversation as she takes Tirgum’s chance to answer for Membere and Bamlakfekad breathes relaxes as he keeps his hands to himself.
“I can only agree,” he says and presses his lips. Membere glares at him and he points to the young Selam, who is standing beside her with the hand wash in her hands.
“Thank you,” Membere says and drops the subject for a moment as she stands to wash her hands, insistently.
***
Membere’s eyes are fixed on Selam, who’s making the coffee. Selam is in a long brown dress with a white shirt, her hair is covered with white shawl. She’s young and there is a significant similarity between Tirgume and Selam; it’s obvious to pass unnoticed that they are relatives, if not close families. Though both Membere and Bamlakfekad said they don’t want to have anything to eat, they ate what was served well. Bamlakfekad loved the fact that Membere is eating well that he didn’t want to discourage her; he fears stopping to eat would make her stop as well.
After they washed their hands, Membere is sitting facing Selam, she is enjoying not only the coffee ceremony that’s laid out perfectly but also Selam’s calmness that can be read on her smiling face.
Tirgume, on the other hand, is focused on Membere, who is lost watching Selam. Her eyes were on her from the time her husband and Mrs Asnakech stopped her from explaining to her about the service she is willing to offer her; transparency is in her blood and at this time, she is looking for a safest way to explaining to her about what’s going to happen before allowing anything to go on. She wants her to be at her best calm situation to have a clear give and take environment.
“You like coffee, Mrs Membere?” she asks, after clearing her throat rough for a brief Moment.
“Yes,” she says quietly and turns to see Tirgume with a ghostlike smile on her lips. “It’s been…” pressing her lips in a disappearing line, she shakes her head to recall reasonable time frame for her words. “I’m not sure exactly, but it’s really been a very long, long time since I’ve seen coffee made this way. I miss it,” she concludes her sentence and looks down to her hands that are clenched to one another.
“It’s always like this in my house, I love the feeling it creates; warm and home feeling,” Tirgume shrugs, smiling.
“It’s beautiful. I mean, after all, this is one of the cultural significations that makes us unique.” Closing her eyes, Membere presses a smile that seems to come from a pleasing memory that just crossed her mind.
“From the way you look, you seem to recall something good,” Tirgume says quietly.
“I think it’s about her friend, Tselot,” Bamlakfekad utters, taking Tirgume’s attention to himself. “She used to love making coffee,” he adds, elevating his eyebrows.
“Even as a child, when I choose to play mother, she used to say she wanted to be the coffee maker,” Membere giggles.
“It’s funny,” Bamlakfekad smiles, amused, both his hands up in the air as he shrugs; like he is pointing to a current fact. “Now, she exports and imports coffee.”
“Oh, she is about to start a coffee shop; black Habesha coffee,” Membere concludes her sentence, and shaking her head, she once again places herself in her gloomy mood; she is feeling guilty at experiencing the momentary happiness while she doesn’t even know what happened to her only daughter. Her subconscious always tells her the opposite to every of her doings; it would whisper something like, when you are laughing it’s possible that she might be crying, when you are eating it’s highly possible that she is hungry, crying for help to get something to eat and drink, when you are dressed well, she might still be in a clothing she was in the last time she left home, it might even be dirty and ripped that she is cold and feeling sick, when you take a shower she might be somewhere in a oubliette or somewhere underground prison dirty and bleeding like an injured helpless animal. Her mind would even splash a picture of Adha in that situation as she screams, s
ometimes; sometimes, helplessly sprawled on a dusty ground as she cries for help powerlessly; sometimes, she would picture her huddled on a ground crying as she strives to speak but couldn’t find a voice; sometimes she would picture her trying to reach her but couldn’t.
“It’s good to have good memories and enjoy them,” Tirgume utters. Selam is already serving the last, third, round of coffee to everyone. “It’s not a sin,” she adds and takes a sip of her coffee. “You know it helps to have clear mind to think straight.”
“It’s been three years,” Membere says quietly. “The sergeant is still doing his very best and he is the best in this field, he is still solving other cases with flying colours.” Pressing her lips, she nods slowly. “And…” she breathes in heavily, with a sound that feels like a sob inward. “Nothing…nothing that could point us to where she might be, nothing at all.”
“That’s why you’re here,” Tirgume tilts to her left. “If I can, I will help you have hope in finding her well, if not…”
“I can feel it,” Membere butts in her conversation.
“Membe,” Bamlakfekad utters. “Let her…”
“I’m a mother,” she is not willing to let her complete her words nor Bamlakfekad. She is not even looking at anyone but Tirgume. “You. You are a mother too,” Tirgume closes her eyes. “I can feel her, she is alive,” Membere can no longer cry but she is explicitly sobbing inwardly, that her vibrating voice and her shaking lips are loud about it. “You know what I am talking about, I know you can relate to what I am talking about, as a mother.”
Tirgume opens her eyes and lock gaze with Membere. For a moment, everything went quiet and like they are both exchanging conversation like mothers they stay still.
“Asne, Selu,” Tirgume finally calls for them, breaking the silence and she breathes in heavy. She looks to her left clasping her hands tighter, “Please, clear the room, now,” she says and turns to her right to where Selam is sitting by.
Hell Again Page 21