Huda and Me

by H. Hayek

  This time Mum had to raise her voice. ‘Ya wlad! Kids! Sit!’ She’d stopped rubbing her hands together but still had that look on her face. ‘Your dad and I aren’t going for a holiday. We are going because my mum is very sick.’

  My heart sank.

  ‘You know we’ve been saving for years hoping we could all go as a family, but my mum needs me to care for her now. And …’

  She looked at Dad, like she was asking him to finish her sentence.

  ‘And Aunt Amel will be babysitting you.’ Dad said it quickly, and then his eyes darted to the floor.

  We all knew what that meant. The party was over.

  The Aeroplane

  Red Tooth goes into an office with a clear glass door. She’s taken our passports and tickets with her. She taps at the computer. Then she picks up the phone and dials.

  ‘I’m sorry, Akeal,’ Huda whispers.

  I’m praying there’ll be no answer. That the phone will ring out. That maybe all the phone lines will be busy by some miracle. I feel like getting out my prayer mat and putting my head on the floor right there and then. Oh God, please don’t let it all end here.

  The line connects and Red Tooth taps her pen on the desk as she talks, never taking her eyes off us. One of the security guards has his hand on his belt buckle – he’s getting ready to take out his handcuffs. Finally Red Tooth hangs up the phone. Her heels clicking on the tiles sound louder and louder as she closes in.

  This is what dead meat feels like.

  When she starts talking, I’m so anxious I can barely understand what she’s saying. Huda grabs my hand and holds it tight. I can’t remember the last time she held my hand.

  ‘You must be very careful not to’ – I vomit in my mouth a little. I don’t want to go to prison – ‘trip on the step as you board the plane.’

  She scans our tickets and hands them back to us with our passports. Then she points to her name tag.

  ‘My name is Rosetta. If you need anything throughout the flight, please let me or one of the flight crew know. Have an enjoyable trip.’ She smiles.

  ‘Thank you very much, Miss Rosetta.’ Huda releases my hand and grins. She skips ahead to board the plane.

  I don’t understand what’s just happened. How did we get away with it?

  I hurry after Huda, who grabs three headsets from a tub in the winding corridor leading to the aeroplane. ‘They’re free!’ she shouts, waving them over her shoulder without looking back. I whisper to God, making a special prayer that we will get to Lebanon safely. By the time I reach the plane doors, Huda is annoyed.

  ‘Take your time, why don’t you?’

  ‘I was praying. You should too.’

  ‘Already did.’

  I don’t believe her but I’m too tired to argue.

  ‘Anyway, let’s get out of this dump and go see Mum and Dad,’ she says.

  The plane is huge. There are rows of two seats against the windows on both sides, plus a row of four seats in the middle.

  Most people are already seated, and as we walk towards our row at the back of the plane Huda smiles at the people she passes. Even though her hair hasn’t been brushed in a couple of days and she slept in the clothes she’s wearing, people think she’s adorable. I can tell from the way they smile at her and then at each other.

  As if to prove me right, a woman with straight black hair, big eyes and tiny eyebrows clutches Huda’s wrist as she walks ahead in front of me. ‘Are you two sweethearts travelling alone?’

  The woman is around Mum’s age. The man she’s with stops reading his book and peeks at us through his thick-framed glasses.

  Huda nods slowly, like a sad orphan. ‘Yes, we’re unaccompeed minors,’ she says in a glum voice.

  The woman makes a small whimpering sound and puts her palm on her cheek. She and her partner look at each other, smiling, but with pretend sad eyes. ‘Well, you just let us know if you need anything. We’re right here. You be brave, okay?’

  Huda tilts her head to the side and nods. ‘Thank you,’ she sniffs and continues to shuffle down the aisle. I can tell the woman and her partner wish they could wrap my sister up and take her home.

  We find our row, and Huda takes the spot near the window. We stuff our backpacks under the seats in front of us, then Huda looks past me to the middle row next to us and grins. ‘Look, Akeal, it’s that Muslim grandma.’

  She’s referring to a frail, hunched-over nun sitting alone in the middle of the four seats across from us. ‘She’s a nun, Huda,’ I say.

  ‘Wow, a Muslim nun!’

  ‘No, she’s not Muslim. That’s a habit on her head.’ I remember back to my World Religions class last year.

  ‘What kind of habit does she have? Does she always scratch or something?’

  Huda smiles at me cheekily as the old woman turns slowly and looks at us. Huda mouths the words ‘As Salamu Alaykum’ to her and puts her hands on her chest, like she’s seen older people do at the mosque.

  I shake my head at my sister, but the old woman just smiles back. I’m about to try to explain to Huda again what a nun is when a man with a whole tub of gel in his hair comes towards us. His white shirt is so bright and crisp I think it could be made from printer paper. He squats down beside our seats.

  ‘I’m your flight attendant today,’ he says in a squeaky voice. ‘My name is Martin.’ He glances at his notebook. ‘And you must be Hooda and Akeaw.’

  Huda snorts and tries to muffle a laugh at the way he pronounced our names.

  ‘Now, Hooda and Akeaw, make sure you buckle your seatbelts nice and tight. If you need anything today, you just press that button and I’ll come right over.’ He points to a little button with a lightbulb on it built into my seat’s armrest. ‘Can I do anything for you before we begin the safety briefing?’

  I open my mouth to say no and thank you, but Huda cuts in before me. ‘Thanks very much, Martin. I’d like a Coke, please.’

  Martin’s eyes widen for a brief moment. ‘Sure, just make sure you finish it before take-off, okay little lady?’

  ‘Actually, Martin, make it two Cokes. My brother needs a drink. And do you have any of those kids’ colouring packs? I’d like one of those too, please.’

  I glare at Huda.

  ‘Two Cokes and a colouring pack coming right up,’ Martin says before heading off down the aisle.

  ‘You can’t just go around demanding things like that, Huda,’ I say.

  ‘I wasn’t demanding. He asked if I wanted anything. You need to relax, brother.’

  ‘Relax! We were almost just sent to a kids’ prison for the rest of our lives!’

  Martin brings us our drinks and Huda’s colouring pack and we fall silent until he leaves again.

  ‘I don’t know how Mum and Dad agreed to let us onto this plane when that woman called them,’ I hiss when it’s safe to talk again.

  ‘It wasn’t Mum and Dad on the phone,’ says Huda casually, as she takes a sip of Coke.

  I pause for a moment. ‘What do you mean it wasn’t Mum and Dad?’

  ‘It wasn’t them,’ she says, taking another sip.

  ‘Huda, for heaven’s sake, what are you on about?’

  ‘I gave ’em Mr Kostiki’s number when I booked online. It asked for parent or garden details, so I typed in his address and phone number.’

  I’m guessing she means guardian.

  ‘You don’t think I’d really give ’em Mum and Dad’s number, do you? Even a child wouldn’t do that.’

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘And Mr Kostiki went along with it? When the airline rang him out of the blue?’

  Huda reclines her seat. ‘Mr Kostiki has a lot of faith in me, Akeaw. You really need to take a chill pill.’ She taps her watch. ‘And look, no one else will realise we’re missing until after school, in another five or six hours, and we’ll be out of Australia and in the air by then. So just calm down and don’t give us away before the plane takes off, okay?’

  As much as I hate to admit i
t, she’s right. I can’t believe we actually got onto the plane, and that we’re on our way to Mum and Dad. Surely the worst of it’s over. I need to relax.

  I take a sip of my Coke, put on my earphones, and look past Huda out the window. Martin finishes pointing to the emergency exits and winds up his safety briefing, then straps himself into his special seat at the front of the plane.

  This is it. We can finally put the last week of torture behind us. As the plane rumbles and charges forward, gaining speed on the runway, I can’t help but think back to how this all began. The plane lifts itself into the sky. Home seems so far away already.

  Mum and Dad Leave

  Two nights after Mr Kostiki’s birthday party, Mum and Dad left. It’s hard to think about it because I miss them so much.

  It was only last Sunday, after our last family dinner together. Mum was in her room packing two gigantic red suitcases. There were a lot of gifts for her family: cardigans for her sisters, expensive chocolates for her nieces and nephews, and even creams and medicines from the pharmacy for her sick mum.

  Huda was in Mum’s walk-in wardrobe, wearing a pair of high heels that were about eight sizes too big for her and throwing clothes around, being ‘helpful’.

  ‘This is so pretty, Mum. You have to wear this when you get there,’ said Huda, popping her head out of the wardrobe and holding up a green, sequinned outfit. It was Mum’s engagement dress.

  Mum smiled and kept packing. She had tears in her eyes.

  Huda disappeared into the wardrobe again and I gave Mum a big hug. She always smells like fresh roses. She hugged me back and then bent down so we were eye-level. ‘I’ll miss you, habibi,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ll miss you, Mama.’ I could feel tears pricking my eyes too.

  ‘You need to look after her, you know that.’ Mum tilted her head towards the wardrobe, where Huda was still making a mess.

  ‘I know, Mama.’

  ‘You’re a big boy now. I know you’ll make sure she’s okay.’

  ‘I will. I promise.’

  Huda poked her head out again, this time holding up a black lacy top. ‘This one, Mum! You have to wear this one!’ When she saw us cuddling, she charged over and threw her arms around Mum too. ‘I’m going to miss you more! More than him!’

  Mum held us both tight until Dad came in carrying baby Raheed in his arms. Dad kissed him on his rosy cheek and his forehead, then the jiggly soft bit under his chin – everyone’s favourite spot. Raheed twisted and turned when he saw us, trying to get to the floor.

  ‘We’re only going for two weeks, you monkeys,’ Dad said. ‘You’ll be eating your mum’s Lebanese bread and hummus again before you know it.’ He half-dropped Raheed onto the carpet. I knew he was trying to cheer us up.

  I joined in the joke, because I knew I was a minute away from exploding like a huge tear-bubble. ‘Nah, I can’t wait for the tabouli!’

  Huda rubbed her tummy and smacked her lips together, and I grabbed Raheed and gave him a cuddle. His warm squishy body always makes me feel better. Mum put a last couple of things into the suitcases and zipped them shut just as the twins walked into the bedroom.

  ‘Now listen, kids,’ started Mum, ‘you all need to show Aunt Amel your best manners. She’ll be a guest in our home, and she’s doing us a big favour by staying here for two weeks.’

  ‘Why do we need to call her Aunty when she’s not our real aunt?’ Layla asked, even though she already knew the answer.

  ‘I’ve told you before,’ Mum said, ‘it’s about respecting those who are older than us.’

  The twins rolled their eyes and nodded. Huda stuck out her tongue and put her finger in her mouth, to make out that she was about to spew.

  ‘Enough of that, Huda. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been cheeky. And remember what I told you, Akeal?’ Mum glanced from me to Huda, reminding me of my promise.

  ‘I remember, Mum,’ I said.

  Mum looked around at the five of us and then clapped her hands. ‘Come sit with me, my babies.’ She hopped onto her big bed, the perfectly made-up white quilt crumpling, and sat with her legs crossed in the middle.

  Huda charged onto the bed first, almost like she was doing a bombie in a swimming pool. The rest of us jumped on too, Raheed still in my arms. Mum had tears in her eyes again.

  ‘Nothing’s the same as having your mum and dad with you, I know,’ she said. ‘But let me tell you something special about Aunt Amel. I met her two years ago at that halaqa class I used to go to. Remember the one on Tuesday nights?’

  Huda groaned and leaned backwards. ‘Ugh, I hated that class. Dad would cook us mujadara every Tuesday, and it always turned out like runny soup filled with tiny lentil pebbles.’

  I shuddered, remembering. Mum glanced up at Dad, who was standing by the bedroom door, and grinned. He raised one eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

  ‘Yes, well, I know Amel isn’t your favourite of our friends, but she’s always been very kind to me – like a sister, when I have none of my own family here.’ Mum’s voice trembled.

  That made me sad for my mum, but I was glad she felt like she had a sister. I couldn’t imagine not having any of my siblings around, even though they can be annoying. Perhaps, I thought, even as annoying as Aunt Amel.

  ‘When Raheed was still a tiny baby, Amel was the one who helped us all through. You didn’t know it, but when you were at school and Baba was at work, she’d pick up bags of groceries for me. Then she’d stay to look after Raheed, so that I could rest.’

  Mum smiled at Raheed and stroked the fine hair on his head. I raised my eyebrows, wondering if it was Aunt Amel who’d bought us all those donuts and sausage rolls when I was starting Grade 5. We hadn’t had them in our lunchboxes before or since.

  Aunt Amel has never been like Mum and Dad’s other friends. Most of them sit in the fancy lounge room when they visit, with their ankles crossed, drinking from small Arabic coffee cups and talking about their kids’ ‘superb’ exam results.

  Whenever Aunt Amel came over, though, she seemed to take up every space, all the time. One minute she’d be sitting on the couch reading with one of the twins, the next she’d be laughing with Mum at the stove, then two seconds after that she’d be pulling out weeds from around the letterbox. For the last two Eids she gave each of us a handmade card, with a poem she’d written inside. Akeal, you are a star. You like bunnies and you will go far. I think I’d mentioned to her once that a rabbit on TV was cute.

  We liked Aunt Amel, sort of, but we didn’t like the idea of her being in charge of our house for two weeks.

  ‘Mother, you know we are capable of looking after ourselves,’ Suha said bluntly. ‘Aunt Amel just seems a little …’

  ‘… extra.’ Layla sniffed and nodded at her twin.

  Mum sighed. ‘I understand you feel that way, but this is what Dad and I think is best. You are wonderful, clever, helpful kids, but you need an adult here. And besides, it will be nice for Aunt Amel, too – a change of scene. She lives in a tiny apartment. And she loves being around you kids.’

  The five of us looked at each other, then back at Mum. Layla opened her mouth to say something, but Dad cut in.

  ‘Your mum is right. Now come on, it’s getting late. Akeal, help me with the suitcases.’

  I popped Raheed onto Huda’s lap and sprang off the bed. Dad and I wheeled the bags out to the family room, where Omar and Kholoud were watching TV. They both think they’re so cool because they’re in high school, but Mum and Dad think they should focus more on studying instead of watching TV shows that are too rude for us younger kids.

  Omar laughed at whatever he was watching and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. Kholoud sat on the couch painting another coat of fluoro yellow onto her fingernails. I was about to tell her how ugly they looked when we heard a car pull up in the driveway. A door slammed shut. This was it. Aunt Amel had arrived.

  Mum came out of her room holding Raheed, followed by Huda and the twins. I could see that they’d
all been crying and was glad I’d got out of there before the waterworks erupted. The doorbell rang and we all froze.

  Mum pulled herself together first. She opened the door and stretched out her arms to give Aunt Amel a hug.

  I couldn’t see Aunt Amel at first because it was dark outside, but then she leaned forward. She was wearing a long yellow dress, with an orange hijab tied loosely around her head. Her ponytail stuck out the back of her scarf and bits of hair poked out of the front, across her forehead. As she hugged Mum, our eyes met. I couldn’t help but quickly look at the floor. She gave Mum a kiss on both cheeks and then licked her lips. Gross. She was smiling so much I thought her face might crack.

  ‘Salam, Akeal. Come give me a hug.’ As she held out her arms, all her bracelets and jewellery clinked and jingled.

  I walked over to her slowly and put my hand out, hoping I could get away with a handshake, but Aunt Amel pulled me into her. She smelled funny. Like onions. And the way she had me wrapped in her arms, it was pitch-black. Her hijab was over my head, and bits of my hair caught in her dangly necklace. I held my breath until she let me go, but just before she did, she whispered in my ear, ‘We’re going to have a wonderful time together.’

  I turned around and saw my brothers and sisters watching in sympathy. Mum gestured for them to all go over and say their salam too. Huda hung back, though.

  ‘No way I’m gonna give her a cuddle. I’d rather eat a dead chicken,’ she said from the side of her mouth. I hoped she’d stop talking, worried Aunt Amel might hear, but she kept going. ‘You looked like you were gonna suffocate. We thought you were done for.’

  Mum glared at Huda, and Huda pretended not to notice. Then in the middle of all the hellos and forced hugs, we heard the sound of another car in the driveway and the beep of a horn. This was the car we’d dreaded even more than Aunt Amel’s – it was Mum and Dad’s taxi to the airport.

  Aunt Amel had been late, and the taxi was early. I’d thought we’d have more time; that we could’ve sat down together and had tea and some of Mum’s sweet biscuits with the sesame seeds on top. But now they were going.