The Things We See in the Light
Page 27
‘It’s not even that. Just … something is missing. She’s not a force like you are.’ Luke stares at the image a while longer, then he smiles and replaces it. He’s about to move on when he catches my subdued expression. ‘Did I upset you?’
‘No. I just wasn’t expecting that reaction.’
Luke smiles. He kisses me then moves on to the last item: The Experiment list, framed.
‘Bloody hell.’ He grins. ‘That day. Jesus. Fucking improv.’
‘I think that’s the first day I felt like we could get along.’
‘You tried to make an escape.’
I wince. ‘I did, and I failed.’
‘You get points for trying.’
‘Is that when you first liked me?’
‘No. I think it was the day of your audition, when you tried to school Maggie on a better way to make panna cotta.’
I shake with laughter, but my face is burning from embarrassment. ‘Was it that bad?’
‘The panna cotta?’
‘No, what I did.’
‘It wasn’t great, but you made a good dessert, so you got away with it.’
‘Thank God.’
There’s one more frame I have to find a home for: the one Samira took of me on the trapeze. I pick it up off the floor. ‘What do you think? Where should it go?’
I scan the small space, hugging the large frame, wondering if it’s ridiculous to put myself on display. But then I look at it and I don’t just see myself, I see what Samira saw that day. I see what I am finally ready to show others. And there’s something else, something that plucks away at my thoughts until eventually it lands: the photo reminds me of The Hanged Man card that Inez saw in my reading. Feeling stuck, but using the delay to see the world from a new perspective. I break into a stupid grin at this gentle synchronicity.
‘How about above the couch?’ Luke suggests. ‘It’s still on display, but you’re not constantly looking at it.’
We use a plastic hook to secure it in place then settle onto the couch. Luke relaxes against the arm of the seat, while I sit cross-legged, facing him. He reaches for my hands, holding them in his, a bit fidgety.
‘Anything left on the list?’ he says.
‘Swimming lessons.’
‘Want me to teach you?’
‘No. I’d like to do that one on my own, if that’s OK.’
‘Of course.’
‘But speaking of the list,’ I say, ‘Inez is doing burlesque, and Kat is doing a TV segment. You didn’t do anything. Just saying.’
Luke smiles. ‘Maybe I did do something.’
‘Really?’ I say, dubious.
Luke is silent, but his eyes are still on me.
‘It can’t involve chocolate,’ I say.
He shifts in the seat, bringing his head in closer to mine. ‘I think it can involve chocolate a little bit.’
My stomach burns. This intimacy – still new, so thrilling.
He kisses me. ‘What if I fell in love?’
A warmth fills me. ‘Luke. Come on. You’re not that much younger than me. What about Bianca? I’m sure there were others before her.’
‘I’ve been attracted to a lot of women. I think I’ve even thought I was in love. But no one got into my head the way you did. No one made me think about myself the way you did.’
I kiss him, and as usual, his hands go to my face and mine to his shoulders. When we separate, he studies me, one hand touching my hair.
‘You’re not allowed to tell Kat that that was my thing.’
‘I wouldn’t do that to you.’
We sit in silence for a few seconds, his expression unclear, but then I wonder if he’s waiting for me to address his big admission. I smile.
‘I love you, Luke. Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never said that to anyone before?’
Luke exhales. His eyes on me, he reaches out to take hold of my hands. He lifts them to his mouth and kisses them, his hands still wrapped around mine. ‘I do recall you saying you’ve never even been on a date.’
‘You know what’s funny? Everyone else seemed to see it before we did,’ I say.
‘That happens.’
I take in his blue eyes, his smile, the ease with which he sits in my apartment.
‘I have no idea how to introduce you to my brother. But I think you should meet him.’
Chapter 34
Control on the way up.
It’s a sunny afternoon as we gather in the small laneway behind the chocolate studio, where the walls are graffitied in red, blue and green. Today, Kat is making her TV debut. But first, we’re having our photographs taken as a team: Maggie, Luke, Kat, Inez and me.
Maggie wants to adjust our appearances, but Samira intervenes. ‘It’s better for everyone to look exactly as they do on a normal day.’
‘I’ll button up my whites, Boss, don’t worry,’ says Kat and Maggie stares her down.
We’re all in our whites, our caps on, looking like baker surgeons. But Maggie is dressed in her usual attire: a skirt and a knit top, some chunky jewellery and her lips painted bright red.
‘You all look just fine,’ Samira says, giving us a final scan. She has already set up her equipment. In front of the graffiti wall, she places a couple of plastic milk crates about a metre apart and directs Maggie to sit on one, and Maggie makes a face.
We naturally find our positions. Luke touches my arm as he brushes past me to stand beside Inez, who takes the second crate. Kat stands to her left, and I stand on the end beside Maggie.
‘Just talk among yourselves,’ Samira says. ‘I need to do some test shots.’
It’s not long before we’re in full flight: Kat is mocking Luke for not knowing how to smile, Inez is playing the diplomat and Maggie is expressing her dismay at everyone’s behaviour. Luke does smile, though, lifting his gaze to me more than once. Soon, everyone is in high spirits, and we forget that Samira is there, recording the camaraderie.
‘OK, we’re done with this lot,’ she says, detaching the camera.
‘That’s it?’ says Maggie.
Samira smiles and brings the camera over to Maggie. She displays a series of photos, all of them natural, candid – the kind of images you could happily place on the wall of a cafe to show who is at work behind the scenes. A group of people laughing together, gazes filled with meaning. Maggie gets misty-eyed. ‘That’s my family,’ she says. ‘You got them.’
We cheer because it feels like a celebration. Kat hops over to Maggie and smacks a kiss on her cheek.
‘Next, we do individuals inside,’ Samira tells us.
As the rest of the group wander back to the kitchen, I help Samira pack up.
I swing the tripod bag over my shoulder and she carries a similar one, the camera around her neck. We each take a crate.
‘So, how’s it going with the hot baker?’ Samira says, giving me a furtive look.
‘We’re dating, I guess.’
‘O-M-G, Sahar,’ she says with an exaggerated American accent. ‘You, like, totally have a boyfriend.’
‘We’re not teenagers.’
‘But you like him. You think he’ll convert?’
‘Oh God, Samira. Don’t start.’
But when I look over, she’s laughing. ‘I’m sorry. I just find your life very exciting.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘Look, remember what you told me about Menem? It wasn’t on him to give me my faith. Same thing applies here. You do you and all that.’
We reach the kitchen and Samira slows down. ‘I’ll take this,’ she says, grabbing hold of the tripod. ‘By the way, Lara confirmed: dinner this Saturday at her house.’
‘Can we have something besides pizza?’
‘Why would you even say that?’
Samira disappears into the kitchen ahead of me just as I spot Leo crossing the street. He sees me and gestures for me to wait.
‘Hey,’ he says when he reaches me. ‘How’s the weather today?’
‘S
unny, no chance of rain.’
‘Why aren’t you inside making lots of sweets so that I can make more money?’
‘Funny. It’s school-picture day. Want your photograph taken?’
‘I don’t want to break the lens.’ Leo indicates to the doorway. ‘Have you showed off the tatt yet? I’m sure they’ll be impressed.’
‘Not yet.’
Only Luke has seen it, but I keep this to myself.
Inside, Samira is already taking photos. Right now, she’s capturing Kat, who’s assembling a lime-coloured jelly mousse square.
We all take turns, even Maggie, who dons her chef’s whites to deliver her signature dish: the chocolate dome sprinkled with gold lustre. I see a different side to her as she works: she’s in the zone and it’s a striking image. I wonder if she misses the hands-on work.
Samira also captures the juniors prepping – which they would usually do in the morning. Luke does his lemon drizzle cakes then dashes off to the chocolate studio to start prepping for the next shoot. Samira moves on to Inez, who is working on a vegan doughnut with thick vanilla icing and rose petals.
I would have liked to be in the chocolate studio, but I quickly forget this as I deep-dive into one of my fancy ‘wog cakes’, the creation I came up with while working with Kat. I forget that Samira is there, finding comfort in the waves of the process.
When I’m finished, I help Samira bundle up her equipment to take over to the chocolate studio, where she will photograph Luke. But then Luke pops his head into the kitchen and calls out my name.
‘Sahar,’ he says. ‘You’re coming too.’
‘I’ve already been photographed.’
Luke rolls his eyes. ‘Please? For me? You’re more photogenic than I am anyway.’
I glance around and meet Kat’s look and she shrugs. ‘Go on,’ she says, cracking a smile that seems as close to a stamp of approval as I might get.
In the studio, Luke is playing instrumental music and I am quietly pleased that I recognise the artist: Explosions in the Sky. The mood is mellow as I put on my apron and get to work.
Luke has already melted the milk chocolate buds, a batch large enough for two people to work on from either side of the bench. We quickly find our flow, and as always, I find comfort in the sounds of metal scraping against marble – a peaceful fight. Catharsis.
Samira is clicking away, but she wants photos of us making actual chocolates. ‘Maggie wants lots of options for the website.’
‘There’s going to be a website?’ I say.
Luke nods. ‘She’s come around to it. But I’m in charge of making it happen.’
‘That’s great,’ I say, my smile wide. This is no small thing. This is Luke’s vision coming to life.
He smiles back. ‘OK, let’s keep it simple. Which tarot card should we make? Has to be milk chocolate, obviously.’
‘You don’t want to do something more generic?’ I indicate to the shelf heaving with moulds for everything from hearts to seahorses.
‘It should be something different. We need to show we’re special.’
I ponder the options. Some are too complicated, and don’t use milk chocolate. For a moment, I consider The Chariot, the card of movement and progress. Cherry-filled triangular milk chocolates – red, energetic, bursting with flavour, directional, with a light spray of gold on the top because the journey leads to success. But what about Temperance? Chewy caramel in a thin circle, an indent down the middle, one side sprinkled with sea salt. The card of balance, of patience and weighing up options. Sweet and salty all at once.
But then the answer lands. I smile.
‘The World.’
A milk chocolate dome that contains random flavours – caramel or mint, strawberry or orange cream – because liberation does not look the same to everyone. No matter the contents, it will be delightful, refreshing and rewarding. The outside is sprayed with silver and gold.
Luke and I temper the chocolate next to each other. Then we make the domes, taking on the same tasks in sync. We pour the tempered chocolate in, standing side by side. I know how to do this quickly and easily now, but Luke is still faster than me, so he gradually slows his pace. We tap the moulds against the bench then tip out the excess into the bowl of chocolate. I become mesmerised by the process, and once again forget that Samira is there, documenting our movements.
I glance at Luke and he meets my gaze. He gives me a look that I now recognise as contentment and I tighten my lips to stop myself from smiling stupidly.
When it’s time to fill the chocolates, we complete each one precisely, tap the trays then pour chocolate over the moulds.
We all take a break while the chocolates set. Samira dutifully photographs them and Luke boxes them up for her as a gift. She tries to pretend she doesn’t want them, but her wide-eyed look of delight betrays her. Chocolate is not just chocolate, after all. It’s a feeling.
Chapter 35
We think darkness is what transforms us. But what of the things we see in the light?
It’s Saturday night, and Samira, Lara and I are at Hakeem’s father’s house – Hakeem’s inheritance. Hakeem never sold it, and with Lara, he has painstakingly restored it. It looks modern, with wooden floorboards, and bright white paint on the walls.
Lara takes us on a tour, showing us their handiwork: an elegant bedroom out of a catalogue; a spare room that is both an office and storage closet. The living room is spacious, with wide couches, a circular coffee table and a large television. Samira’s photo of Lara onstage sits above it, and opposite, by the main window, is the painting of the striking Arab woman she had on the wall in Newtown.
The bathroom is my favourite room: black-and-white art-deco tiles, with a vintage bathtub. It gets me thinking again about my parents’ house, which still sits unused and unrented. Neglected.
The pizza is delivered by a fatigued-looking man in a scratched-up helmet.
‘Will you help me clean out Mum and Dad’s place?’ I ask them as we sit down to eat. ‘I think it’s time.’
‘Of course we will,’ says Samira.
‘I think I’m going to ask Luke to help, too,’ I say. ‘And Salim.’ Now it’s my turn to wince. The thought of the two of them meeting tightens my stomach.
Hakeem enters the kitchen and Lara immediately moves towards him. ‘I’m leaving now,’ he says and gives her a peck on the mouth. ‘Bye, ladies.’
Lara follows him out, and Samira and I lean over to the window to spy on them.
‘Damn it, we can’t see anything,’ she whispers.
We laugh, and Samira thrusts open the second pizza box, assessing its look. ‘Hot, hot, hot,’ she says as she plates a slice of pizza. ‘So … Are you going to explain the tattoo?’
‘How did you see it?’
‘It’s peeking out above your jeans.’
‘Do you have super sight?’
‘What’s next? Are you going to join a motorcycle gang?’
We hear the door slam, then a moment later, Lara sweeps back in and drops into her seat. ‘Are you asking her about the tattoo?’
‘OK, I’m wearing a longer top next time.’
‘I think it’s awesome,’ Lara says. ‘What does it say?’
I stand up, turn around and pull aside my top, lowering my jeans a little. They scramble out of their seats to study it.
It’s small and looks like a spider web, the words tightly coiled in a spiral.
‘My Arabic sucks,’ Lara says. ‘Please translate.’
‘Famaa ana fil-wujuudi ghayri,’ I say. ‘I am no one in existence but myself.’
‘I like it,’ says Samira. ‘You got that from Hajjeh Noura, right?’
‘Who got it from Ibn ’Arabi.’ I smile as I remember how little time I gave to Sufi teachings years ago. How Hajjeh Noura had to conceal her love of the mystery. How it beckons to me now with its boundless potential.
‘Who’s that?’ says Lara, her focus more on the hot sauce she wants to pour on top of her pizza.
/> ‘He was a Sufi mystic.’
‘I’m just glad you didn’t get a butterfly,’ says Samira. ‘They’re so clichéd.’
‘What’s wrong with a butterfly?’ says Lara. ‘Have you ever seen what they go through to look like that? It’s fucking torture. I saw it on a documentary once.’
We give her an enquiring look.
‘Fine, it was a clip on Facebook, but same diff. They have to squeeze out of the cocoon and it almost kills them.’
I smile at the poetry of her observation. So much of my life has been spent stubbornly refusing to emerge from the cocoon because it was too painful.
I select a piece of pizza and carefully orientate it on my plate. ‘What tattoo would you get?’ I say to them.
‘A musical note for Lara,’ says Samira, chuckling as she bites into her pizza.
Lara hooks an eyebrow, offended. ‘Please. I wouldn’t be so obvious. A sword piercing a heart. Very red, and very big. That’s me.’
Samira and I concede that this is very Lara.
‘What about you, Samira?’ I say.
‘I’d probably get a quote. Or something to do with my kids and Menem. Like their birth dates.’
‘That’s nice,’ says Lara. ‘Meaningful.’
‘Well, I have another proposal for you, and it’s not getting tattoos,’ I say. I put aside my pizza and brace myself. Lara stops mid-bite and Samira waits, curious. ‘The Experiment’s done. But I’m going to do a new one.’
‘Oh God,’ says Samira, but Lara’s eyes light up.
‘Are you going to do burlesque like Inez?’
I actually laugh out loud. ‘Ah no. That will never happen. Ever.’
‘It could happen,’ Lara says, looking genuinely disappointed.
‘Sorry. My ambitions are far more modest than that. This list is going to be an ongoing one. There’s no expiry date or specific goal in mind. And I was wondering … what would you think of doing some things with me? It doesn’t have to be something you couldn’t do because your parents or the community said no. If something comes up and you like it, it goes on the list.’
Samira straightens up, like she’s being called to action. ‘I love it. We can put it in an online doc. Count me in.’