Huda and Me

by H. Hayek

  Omar wheeled the first of the two big suitcases to the front door while Dad took the other. Mum was fast-talking to Aunt Amel, trying to fill her in on all the important things, like bedtimes, and where the money was if we needed it, and what to do if Huda refused to take a bath. Then in a matter of seconds, the taxi-driver beeped the horn again and it was time to say goodbye.

  Dad quickly gave each of us a peck on the forehead, trying not to show that he was sad, but I could tell he was from the way his hazel eyes drooped. He was in the taxi before I had a chance to tell him a joke to make him feel better.

  Next it was time to say goodbye to Mum. As much as I wanted to be strong, I just couldn’t be. There’s no one in the world like my mum – no one who can cheer me up on a bad day, or make me feel special and happy and safe all at the same time. That’s why I bawled like a baby when she gave me that final long, soft hug.

  I breathed my mum in and didn’t want to pull away. But the taxi beeped again. She pulled away and held me by the shoulders. I couldn’t look at her because I felt so weak for my tears, but then I realised everyone was crying. I looked into Mum’s eyes and I felt pain in the middle part of my chest.

  Mum forced herself away and spent a few more moments giving my brothers and sisters hugs and saying her goodbyes. And then she slowly walked out the door.

  There was silence except for Huda’s sobs. Kholoud held Raheed tight, to stop him crawling after Mum. Omar stared at the door, his arms around Suha and Layla’s shoulders. I stood there just hoping Mum would come back.

  Aunt Amel walked over to the front door and slammed it shut dramatically. The crash made me jump, and a family photo almost leapt off the wall, then tilted off-centre.

  ‘Tears, tears, tears! Nothing will bring them back! Let’s just look forward to two glorious weeks together, children!’

  Aunt Amel started gliding around the family room, like one of the Polish dancers on the video from the other night. The bottom of her yellow dress was stained brown, like she’d walked through mud. Huda’s sobs grew louder, and the sound made Aunt Amel stop floating around and rush over to my sister. She pulled her grubby dress up to Huda’s face and began to wipe away her tears. Then she used it to wipe Huda’s nose.

  ‘Oh, Hoodie Boodie! Don’t be sad! Mum and Dad will be back soon. You know what always made me feel better when I was unhappy as a child?’

  She looked around at all of us with her mouth open and her eyes sparkling expectantly, clearly hoping we’d guess the right answer.

  The twins opened their mouths to take a shot, but before they could say anything Aunt Amel cut them off. ‘Sleep. Sleep always made me feel better!’

  Layla and Suha looked at each other, then back at Aunt Amel.

  She pointed her longest finger up to the ceiling, almost like we were part of a marching band. ‘Off to bed, now. All of you. Never mind about teeth and flossing and all of that – straight to bed.’

  None of us moved. Our bedtime wasn’t for another hour.

  ‘Off you go, children! You will be fresh and happy in the morning!’

  I wasn’t sure that was true, and I could tell my brothers and sisters didn’t think so either.

  Omar shifted his feet. ‘C’mon, let’s just get an early night. It will make time go quicker anyway,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘Good lad! The voice of reason!’ Aunt Amel’s voice was high-pitched and loud. ‘But before you hop into bed, give me little bitty cutie Raheed. I’ll keep him safe and cosy with me.’

  And Aunt Amel yanked our baby from Kholoud’s arms.

  Dubai

  I must have fallen asleep. When I wake, my eyes barely have a chance to focus before Huda starts talking.

  ‘What do you think? I look good, don’t I?’

  She’s wearing a pink hijab with brightly coloured diamantes all over it and grinning at her own reflection in a small fold-up mirror.

  ‘I think it’d be good to look like a proper Muslim when we get to Lebanon. I’ll blend in with everyone else. And besides, I look super cute in this scarf.’

  Still beaming from ear to ear, she tilts her head in different directions to get the best look at herself. She looks like she’s about to go to a wedding.

  Huda puts down the mirror and twists open her tube of strawberry lip gloss. She smears it on her lips and rubs them together, making squelchy sounds.

  ‘Don’t you think you look a bit … fancy?’ I say, my eyes trying to adjust to all the sparkles.

  ‘Yes, I do think I look very nice, thank you very much.’

  Huda shoves her lip gloss back into the seat pocket in front of her, and I notice she’s also coloured in her fingernails with the textas Martin gave her. In pink, of course. I rub my eyes.

  ‘You’ve slept for hours, brother. Like a little grizzly in hibernation. I watched three movies and ate four ice-creams while you were asleep. You missed out. But that’s okay, they’ll be bringing us afternoon tea soon. So far, this trip has been worth every penny.’

  Huda’s talking really fast, and she’s fiddling a lot too.

  ‘Did you get some rest?’ I ask, wondering where all this energy has come from.

  ‘Nah, too much fun to be asleep, Akeaw.’

  We went to bed at midnight and woke up extra early before pretending to go to school this morning, but Huda looks like she’s just risen from a two-day nap. She reaches into her seat pocket again and pulls out an almost empty packet of sugared lollies.

  ‘These are so good. This is my second packet. Want one?’

  She shoves two into her mouth and begins to suck all the sugar off them. Now I get it. I shake my head.

  ‘Akeal, where do you think all the poo goes when people flush the toilet on a plane? Reckon there’s a hole so it falls straight out?’

  I crumple my nose. I don’t want to think about passengers’ poo falling from the sky.

  ‘That’s gross. How do you even think about this stuff?’

  My sister shrugs.

  ‘Dunno. I gotta go dunny. Move over.’

  She lifts up her tray-table and squeezes past me, deliberately putting her hands on my face as though she’s trying to stay balanced. My sister’s in one of those annoying moods. She laughs as she walks off down the aisle, flicking her scarf over her shoulder. She wants people to notice her new look.

  I lean over and lift the window shade. There’s nothing below us but white clouds, spread out forever, like a soft bed carrying us to our parents. Looking at them, I feel a sense of calm. This is the first time I’ve rested in days, and had time to really think – about what’s happened, where we are, and where we’re going.

  I let myself imagine what’s at the end of the clouds. Lebanon. Mum and Dad have always told me how beautiful it is, and how they know I’ll love it when I finally get there. How I’ll be able to play next to the Litani River, like they did when they were kids, and watch the sea from the mountains.

  I close my eyes and I can see it. Maybe I’m only imagining the old photos Mum and Dad have showed me, but it’s beautiful. I love how the air feels on my skin, and the way the sun shines on my face. I love the green from the cedar trees, the blue from the summer sky, and the big smiles I know are waiting for me. I wonder why I feel like it’s where I belong, when I know Melbourne is home.

  My stomach rumbles and I open my eyes. The ache in my guts reminds me that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. I’m starving. Hopefully Mum will have made something yummy, like rice and chicken soup, when we get there.

  I open my backpack and fumble for the muesli bar and apple rolling around at the bottom, but the rolls of cash we stole get in the way. I don’t know exactly how much money we nicked, but it has to be thousands. I quickly grab the snacks, zip up my bag and cram it back under the seat in front of me before anyone sees. To make sure it can’t be pulled out easily, I give it a couple of hard kicks.

  My stomach rumbles again, and I look at my apple. It’s bruised and soft and wrinkled, bu
t Mum told me never to waste food, so I make myself eat it. As I force the mush down my throat, the flight attendant with the red lipstick suddenly pops her face in front of mine, so that we’re almost eye to eye. I glance at her badge to remind myself of her name. Rosetta.

  ‘Excuse me, would you like help placing your bag into the overhead locker?’

  ‘Um...no, that’s okay. Thank you, though, miss.’ I want to keep my parents’ money as close to me as possible.

  ‘It will be safer and more comfortable if your bag is placed in the locker,’ she says firmly, reaching down to try to tug my backpack from its resting spot.

  Panicking, I press my legs forward against my seat to block her, so that her hands can’t get a decent grip. She grunts and stands.

  ‘Your bag is protruding into the aisle. Unless you fix it, I will be back to remove it and ensure it’s placed in the locker securely.’ Miss Rosetta glares at me.

  ‘Okay, miss,’ I gulp.

  She runs her hand through her hair, then walks back towards the front of the plane. I unclip my seatbelt and kick my bag in a little more from the aisle, to make sure it’s not sticking out. I wonder for a second if Miss Rosetta knows about the money. I wonder if that’s the real reason she was trying to get my bag.

  An announcement over the speaker cuts into my thoughts: ‘On behalf of the crew, we’d like to thank you for flying with us. We will shortly be making our descent into Dubai International Airport … ’

  I barely hear the rest of what the pilot is saying as I stagger back into my seat. My fingers fumble with my seatbelt. Dubai. I knew we’d get lost in some other country. I don’t even know what country Dubai is in. My heart races and the pressure in my ears builds until it hurts. I knew I shouldn’t have let Huda book the tickets. It’s my fault for falling asleep and not keeping an eye on things.

  My polo shirt feels tight around my neck. As I pull at it to try to get more oxygen down my throat, I see Huda skip up the plane aisle towards me. She’s grinning so much that I can see both full rows of her white teeth. The closer she gets, the more my ears ring. My sister slides into her seat and buckles her seatbelt. The words in my head muddle. I feel stupid and angry. Stupid for going along with her plan. Angry for letting myself get into this disaster.

  I take a big breath, ready to yell and cry and freak out. Huda has no idea what she’s done to us. She’s busy pretending to read the in-flight magazine.

  ‘Huda—’

  It’s the only word that comes out of my mouth before she cuts me off. ‘Holiday time, baby!’ She does a little dance in her seat.

  ‘Are you serious! Holiday time?’ I can’t believe she doesn’t realise we’re about to be stranded, alone, in some country on the other side of the world.

  ‘Yeh, bebe! Dubai, here we come!’

  I choke on whatever spit is left in my dry mouth.

  She cocks an eyebrow at me. ‘What the heck is wrong with you, brother? You look araf. Like, really araf. Like, super, seriously revolting.’ She chucks the magazine at me.

  My mouth opens and closes a few times before I manage to croak, ‘Dubai?’

  ‘Yes, Dubai, you ning-nong. Our stopover.’

  I haven’t seen Huda this excited since Eid last year. It could be the sugar rush. Though she also keeps saying Dubai is ‘the city of gold’. She says she read it on the website when she booked our tickets.

  We peer out the window as the plane drifts through the clouds and dreamily glides onto the runway without a bump. The tarmac stretches forever, and there are differently sized planes parked in every direction, with all sorts of coloured logos and swirls on their tails.

  ‘Folks, welcome to Dubai International Airport. Local time is 4:05 p.m. and the temperature is forty degrees. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until the captain turns off the fasten seatbelt sign …’

  I glance towards the front of the plane. Miss Rosetta is unlatching the plane door, and Martin is checking over papers on his brown clipboard. He says something to Miss Rosetta and they both look over at us. Martin smiles as he walks up the aisle towards me and my sister.

  Huda doesn’t notice because she’s too busy watching airport workers zip around the tarmac in bright-yellow buggies. I can almost see the sweat dripping from their foreheads from here.

  ‘Hooda and Akeaw, as you’re unaccompanied minors, I’ll be escorting you off the plane first.’

  ‘Oooh, VIP service. I like it,’ Huda chirps as we unclip our seatbelts.

  We grab our bags and follow Martin to the front of the plane, where Miss Rosetta is busy ordering an old man with a walking stick back into his seat. She flicks her head my way and points to my shoes. I think she’s going to yell at me for not shifting my feet when she tried to get my backpack earlier.

  ‘Shoelaces. Tie them now. You’ll end up falling headfirst from the plane.’

  I glance down and see that she’s right.

  ‘Sheesh, bit of a grump, isn’t she?’ Huda mumbles under her breath as I bend to tie my laces. Once I’m done, Martin leads us out the door of the aircraft.

  I expect to walk straight into the airport but instead find myself at the top of some rickety metal stairs leading down to the tarmac. My head spins at how high up we are. The hot air outside hits me in the face like a cricket bat.

  Huda is already three steps ahead of me, and I see a woman standing at the bottom of the steps waiting for us. She’s wearing a bright-green uniform that makes her look like a chef, but without the funny hat. Her light-brown hair is twisted into a loose bun and her high heels are taller than any of Mum’s.

  Before I quite reach the bottom, she’s already speaking to my sister. ‘Hello, Huda, welcome to Dubai! My name is Amira.’

  Amira doesn’t hug Huda, but it looks like she wants to, the way her hands are moving around in circles. She speaks loudly and with a lot of good expression – that’s how my teacher Mr Morrison would describe it.

  Huda turns back to me and winks, then turns back to Amira. ‘Thank you very much, Amira. Pleased to meet you, indeed.’ She’s trying to sound proper.

  Amira bows her head softly towards my sister. ‘I’m your customer service agent and will be escorting you through Dubai Airport until it’s time to board your second flight. You’ll be under my care and supervision.’

  Huda shoots me another look, but her eyes aren’t big and round anymore and her mouth is crumpled to the side. She shifts her eyeballs between me and Amira as if to say, Did you just hear what this woman said?

  Martin passes Amira the brown clipboard with our papers clipped to it. ‘Okay, kids, I’ll be seeing you on the next flight in an hour,’ he chirps. He ruffles my hair before making his way back up the steps to the plane.

  Amira is grinning, like she can’t wait to spend the next hour with us. ‘After you, children. Let’s get out of the heat and into the airport.’

  She waves her hand towards two humungous red-and-black buses. A shiny yellow buggy is parked in front of them. The other passengers from our plane start to make their way down the stairs now too – hundreds of them, struggling with their small wheelie suitcases, squinting in the bright light and burning heat. In a minute, we’ll be crammed between them all on a bus. I couldn’t think of anything worse.

  Huda hops onto the bus closest to us, but before I can follow my sister, Amira zips ahead of me.

  ‘Ah, Huda love, we’ll be taking that.’ Amira points to the yellow buggy.

  My sister jiggles a little. ‘The cool buggy?’

  ‘Yep!’ Amira’s green eyes sparkle.

  Huda lunges off the bus and before the crowd of other passengers have even hit the bottom of the stairs, we’ve leapt into the buggy. There’s no roof and no air con, but we don’t care.

  ‘Seatbelts!’ Amira calls from the front seat as she hits the accelerator, barely giving us time to clip ourselves in.

  The air is boiling, and strands of Huda’s mangled hair poking out of her scarf flick into my e
yes. But I don’t care. This is what freedom must feel like.

  I twist to look at my little sister as her head swings in the opposite direction to one of Amira’s sharp turns. Her face is stained with dirt and sweat and sugar, but she laughs – like, really laughs. And hearing Huda giggling next to me like that reminds me that no matter what happens, she will always be my favourite little sister.

  The List

  ‘Akealie!’

  Aunt Amel’s voice shot through my ears. I thought it was the middle of the night at first, because it was still dark. I looked at my alarm clock: 5:02 a.m. She was so close I could feel her sour breath on my face.

  ‘Wake up, little pumpkin! I have an idea! I need you all in the kitchen.’ She sounded even more excited than usual.

  I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. Aunt Amel switched on my lamp and light zapped into my eyes.

  ‘Up and let’s go! We have a fabulous day ahead of us!’ she shouted and rushed out of my room.

  I could hear a fuss happening in the kitchen, so I dragged myself out there to see what was going on. Still in their pyjamas, most of my siblings were already standing in a line in front of the dining table. Huda was the last to join us. She rubbed her half-closed eyes as she walked in. She only had one sock on, and one of her pyjama legs was pulled up to the knee.

  ‘What’s going on? Is Mum back?’ Huda mumbled.

  ‘Oh no, little Hudie, Mummy isn’t back. But I’ve been up all night thinking of how we can make this a wonderful holiday for me!’

  Suha grumbled like a bear.

  ‘Holiday for you?’ Layla questioned under her breath.

  Huda stepped behind me and held the back of my skivvy.

  Aunt Amel paced back and forth in front of us. She had Raheed’s favourite blue dummy and was tossing it up and down. Mum would’ve killed us if any one of us had done that. She’s always so worried about germs.

  ‘As you know, children,’ Aunt Amel began, ‘I work at that box factory down on the other side of town. When your mummy told me she was going on holiday, I figured, Why not! I should take a holiday over here with you kiddies too. It’s not exactly the New Zealand ski trip I’ve been dying for, nor even the two-day day-spa at Daylesford, but I’ve always made the best out of any situation …’