From a Crooked Rib

by Nuruddin Farah

  It was strange how she had become obsessed by the situation the beasts were in. ‘They cannot find their way out,’ she thought.

  She was standing outside now, brooding over what she should do. Aowralla’s groaning did not matter to her as much as the cows’ hunger: mooing struck her as pathetic, intolerable and worth attending to.

  Aowralla lay in bed, and inside her the baby rang the bell to come out. The midwife had not come. But how could she anyway, when nobody had called her?

  Cows mooed. Calves bleated. Aowralla groaned. Ebla hesitated. ‘What should I do? Who should I take care of first? Aowralla is an acquaintance since this afternoon, although she is my cousin’s wife. The beasts have been with me from the day I opened my eyes on the world.’ Still the cows mooed and the calves bleated. Still Aowralla groaned, but her groaning had become graver than ever. Ebla had decided; no longer was she hesitant about attending those with whom she felt more in harmony.

  She walked towards the cows. Her hands were empty, but her heart was full of sympathy for them. ‘I will explain to everybody later,’ she told herself. ‘I will ask forgiveness from my cousin and naturally he will give it. Aowralla is not conscious about what is going on around her. But how can I ask the beasts to excuse me if I don’t attend to them? I know I am just as much a beast as they are. They eat, sleep and moo; they don’t care a straw what goes on around them—they don’t preoccupy themselves. How lucky they are! Maybe they don’t know, maybe they do. But it is we humans who don’t understand them.’

  She stood beside one of them. It mooed loudly and lifted its head to sniff at Ebla’s hand, which she had stretched forward. It sniffed at it, and then mooed again as if Ebla’s hand stank from something dreadfully bad. Ebla was offended and hit the cow by the horn with her hand. Obediently the cow lowered its head. Ebla felt pain in her wrist. She hit the horn again, then nursed her hand with the other one. ‘But I deserve it,’ she thought. ‘Why should I hit it? It has not done me or anyone any harm. It is only a misunderstanding between us.’

  Now that her right hand ached, she stretched out her left one. She wanted to befriend the cow. It licked her hand.

  ‘You and I are friends, aren’t we?’ She spoke to the beast, caressing the nape of its neck. The cow lifted its head as if giving a nod. Ebla felt quite happy. She went round the cot, calling on each of the beasts. Although they weren’t as responsive or even aggressive as the first cow, she felt happier than she had been since she came to Belet Wene.

  Ebla heard the groaning of Aowralla, which had worsened. She ran into the room. Aowralla turned over and over—not actually turned over, but moved her lower part. Her robe had fallen out one side, and she was naked—stark naked, except for a small part that hung from her nape.

  Ebla stood helpless. Aowralla’s legs instinctively fell apart. Ebla, recalling the operation that she had heard about that was done on other women, looked around for what could help her as instruments for the operation.

  After a quarter of an hour, a baby cried in the room. Very softly and quietly Ebla prayed to God, the Almighty, ‘Oh my Lord,’ she reasoned with Him, ‘if You think I should stay on here, although I feel quite strange and rejected at the same time, then say it. Say it in the form of any action. Make me do things. Let Your blessings run through my blood, be in my food, be ahead of me, and at my back too. But if You have deprived me of the best qualities and denied me the authority to do things my own way, why not deprive me of this life? It is nothing but a loan, and the longer a loan is not settled, the worse it is for the one who has borrowed it. In the first place, it degrades the name of the borrower, whoever he may be, and in the second, a loan is a loan. I ask You my Lord in the humblest way I can think of to give me strength. You can do it without any difficulty, I am sure. I will, with Your help and guidance, of course, do my best. Does Your silence mean disapproval, my Lord? I haven’t sinned: I am just following my own intuition to get good answers for my actions.’

  After saying her prayers, she came inside. Aowralla opened her eyes and smiled.

  ‘Are you well?’ Ebla asked. Aowralla nodded.

  ‘Do you need anything? Water or milk? For you or for the child?’ Aowralla shook her head. Ebla thought: ‘I don’t know why, but I wish I were in her place, giving birth (or is it life?) to a beautiful baby like that. But one should be happy with what one has. Good things and bad go side by side, fashioning one in unexpected ways, sometimes demolishing, sometimes blemishing. Just in the way that life was in my hands, crying, weeping, moving out from within Aowralla’s womb, struggling its way on to the open. But one day the death of this organism is bound to come: good things and bad are bound to follow each other, just as the day is bound to follow the night. But. I’ll shape the bad to be like the good—with God’s help and guidance. Amen!’

  7

  She woke up next morning, dreading the day that lay ahead of her. She rubbed her eyes, but was too lazy to get up and wash her face or take a bath, even though she had not washed herself since she arrived in the town. She glanced at the dirty robe she was wearing. From outside she heard the sound of water splashing.

  The murmurs she heard confirmed what she had guessed: her cousin was performing his ablutions before he said his morning prayers. She turned over on her stomach to face the open door. Then she could see him lifting his arms to his ears and mumbling something like the Koran. He knelt down, then up he went and down again, until he sat down with his legs underneath the rest of his body, bringing out his forefinger as if pointing at her. She recalled that one should not lie in front of a person who is saying his prayers, otherwise he will die. There was also the fear that she might distract his attention while he was praying, but after a few minutes he came in.

  He was bare-footed, and entered quietly, softly, lest they should be disturbed. He saw Ebla flickering her eyes at him and round about her.

  ‘How was last night?’ he asked her.

  ‘Fine,’ she said.

  ‘And the kid?’

  ‘I think, fine. It cried and cried almost all night. And Aowralla felt uncomfortable two or three times. She bled.’

  ‘Has the bleeding stopped now?’

  ‘I think it has.’

  All this time, she had been lying in bed. She had not enough energy to stir out of bed.

  ‘I have just come to see how they are. I will go back to the shop as soon as I have had my breakfast. Maybe I will come for lunch.’

  ‘Breakfast’ was a town-word and also a town-meal. In the country, people only ate two meals, the first of the day at noon-time. The cowherds naturally ate earlier than those who stayed back in the dwellings. This meal consisted of nothing but milk. Just occasionally they would cook thick porridge, and once in a blue moon they would eat the meat of a beast roasted for some sort of festivity, either one of the Ids, the birthday of Prophet Mohamed or a wedding ceremony. So what did this ‘Qura’ and ‘Qado’ mean? she asked herself.

  ‘Just make some tea,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ she asked him.

  ‘Make some tea for the two of us.’

  ‘And what about her?’

  ‘Make her some porridge when she wakes up. Milk the cows and add some milk and sugar also.’

  Ebla made the tea and served it to him, without milk. Then she went and milked one of the cows, brought her cousin some milk and disappeared again into the cot of the cows.

  As soon as he had finished drinking, he went out. As he was leaving, he called to her, ‘The lady in the next house will show you where the shop is.’ Ebla was busy milking and did not say anything.

  Her cousin had gone and Ebla had finished milking the cows. It was now about seven. The lady from next door came to take the cows to the place in town where the common cowherds (who charged a shilling a cow per month) would meet them. The lady, whom Ebla hadn’t looked at closely, said she would return to see how Aowralla and the child were as soon as she had taken the cows to that place, after which, she added, she would take Ebla to h
er cousin’s shop.

  Ebla started preparing the porridge and poured some unboiled milk into it and stirred it up. When she had finished the preparation she went inside to see if Aowralla was awake and found that she was.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked her.

  ‘Fine,’ moaned Aowralla.

  The baby was lying beside her. Her breasts were swollen, full with milk; maybe they would burst, thought Ebla. They had already begun leaking and the milk was dripping out on to the cloth which covered Aowralla. She had her legs wide apart and a little below her knees the cloth was dark with blood, the blood which she had discharged during the night. Her lips were swollen and dry and she had cracks on them. Her head-scarf was unknotted, lying behind her head; part of it had become entwined in her hair, probably because of the way she was continually turning over in the bed.

  Ebla stood erect, though she was tired. She wanted to help, if only she could. But could she? she asked herself.

  ‘Water,’ said Aowralla. Ebla brought her some. Aowralla stretched her arm to take the glass and drink it herself. Her hand trembled and fell short. Ebla lifted the glass to Aowralla’s lips, at the same time raising Aowralla’s head from below with her hand. (Aowralla would not have been able to sit up, had she tried.)

  Aowralla took a few sips, then, when the water had cooled her throat, she thanked God.

  In the meantime, the baby woke up and cried. Aowralla felt an agonizing sensation. Ebla had gone away to bring her some porridge which she knew she would have to force down Aowralla’s throat, since she had no appetite. However, she rushed back in when she heard the baby crying. ‘Oh, my Allah,’ she thought, as she stood helplessly there staring at Aowralla trying to quieten the baby, who had been uncovered by her mother.

  ‘She is beautiful,’ thought Ebla. But what did she know about babies?

  ‘Water,’ appealed Aowralla.

  ‘Maybe that is all she can say,’ Ebla thought. ‘Is it possible that she has forgotten the language?’

  She brought some water and handed the glass to Aowralla. After a little bit of jerking hands, re-positioning herself, turning on to one side, Aowralla managed to pour some water into the mouth of the child, who moved her lips. ‘After all, she is alive and also beautiful,’ thought Ebla. ‘What a beautiful niece.’

  Again Aowralla motioned to her. She told her to lift the baby and then whispered to her to remove the sheets from underneath the bed. They were wet with urine. As she removed them, Ebla remembered hearing that a girl’s urine stank more awfully than that of boys. She laid the sheets outside in the sun to dry.

  ‘I will bring you some porridge,’ Ebla said. ‘I have prepared it for you.’ Aowralla nodded.

  ‘But there is no sugar,’ added Ebla. Aowralla again nodded. ‘Is there?’ asked Ebla. She nodded a third time. ‘Where?’

  Aowralla pointed to somewhere underneath the table. Ebla had dished out the porridge and had mixed in the sugar when she heard someone coming.

  ‘Is anyone in?’ asked a woman’s voice.

  ‘Come in,’ replied Ebla. Ebla looked up. The woman’s feet stopped a few inches from where Ebla was squatting, as she poured the porridge from one vessel to another to make it cool.

  ‘Nabad,’ said the woman.

  ‘Nabad,’ said Ebla. It was the woman who had taken the cows down to the cowherds. She was tall and extremely attractive. She was wearing what Ebla thought to be town dress, a frock, with a skirt below that and a shawl. Ebla later learnt that she was a widow, and they were to become intimate friends, but she dreaded this encounter.

  ‘How is she?’ the woman whispered, as if the question was something secretive.

  ‘Fine,’ replied Ebla, as usual.

  ‘Asleep?’ asked the woman. Ebla nodded. She thought she would get rid of her. She did not like seeing her there and she feared that the sight of her might make Aowralla’s wounds worse. The woman disappeared, but before going she said that she would come back again to take Ebla to the shop.

  Ebla gave Aowralla her porridge. Then, after a while, Aowralla fell asleep. The baby had fallen asleep an hour or so before. Later on, the woman came to take Ebla to the shop.

  8

  Ebla and the widow walked along as if they were tied together. It annoyed Ebla no end to wade through a crowd like that. Yesterday she had not been aware of it, but today it was an effort being in that dress, which the widow had helped her into, as her robe was very dirty. It had more loose ends and she felt naked: it was entirely different from her own robe—not like a robe at all. It was six metres long, instead of twelve, and it was kept on by knotting the loose edge with a folded piece, putting this round the neck, and wrapping the remaining parts around her.

  Her cousin’s shop was not very far away. The widow had made her expect quite a long walk, but to her half a mile was nothing.

  When they were inside the shop she looked round to see what was for sale. She saw what looked to her like a wumpum, hanging somewhere near the ceiling. Underneath, there were piles and piles of old Italian journals used as sugar-holders, tea-holders and such like. Heaps of unused (but dusty and old) exercise books lay elsewhere. These meant nothing to Ebla. On the table, which took up quite a lot of space in the shop, and served as a partition between her cousin, the shopkeeper, and the customers, there were various vessels, which differed in size, colour and ugliness. One contained sesame oil, one kerosene oil and one coffee seeds. To the right of her cousin some sugar-containers lay side by side.

  ‘Two kilos of sugar,’ said a woman customer.

  ‘Twenty cents of sugar,’ said a young girl. The orders went on and on. Everybody spoke as if he was the only one talking and as if he thought he ought not to have to wait for the others in the shop to place their orders. Ebla’s cousin dashed here and there, trying to please his customers as best he could. He had not seen Ebla and the widow come in.

  Then a young girl came in to return the oil which she had bought, or rather said she had bought from him. How could he remember who had bought what in such a fantastically busy shop?

  ‘Go back to your mother and tell her that the shopkeeper said that he wouldn’t take it back,’ as he busied himself.

  ‘But I bought it from you,’ the young girl cried.

  It was only when the widow tried to comfort the young girl, that Ebla’s cousin noticed that they had come. He did not say another word. His eyes met Ebla’s and he stopped as if trying to recall where he had placed a certain thing. He dashed back, put his hands in a glass full of coins, counted some and gave them to Ebla.

  ‘Go to the next shop and get the spaghetti,’ he said.

  ‘Get what from the next shop?’ asked Ebla, receiving the money from him with both hands.

  ‘She knows what it is,’ said he, pointing at the widow. ‘The man in the next shop has an account for me. After you have taken the packet of spaghetti, you will go to the butcher’s and buy some meat,’ he continued. ‘You help her, will you?’ he said, addressing the widow. All this in a hurry.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ the widow said.

  The widow took Ebla by the arm and led her away. They went into the next shop, and collected the packet of spaghetti, then Ebla followed the widow to the butcher’s shop and they bought half a kilo of meat.

  Ebla followed the widow back to the house. At the door, the widow said she had better go to her house. She promised she would return very soon and help Ebla to cook the lunch.

  Ebla could hear the baby crying the moment she stepped into the house. She walked lamely and now she cursed herself for coming to the town.

  Aowralla was standing on her feet, wobbling on a stick, knitting her brows because of the pain. She was trying to get milk for the baby, but she could not move. She could neither keep on standing nor sit down: she was in a helpless position. The blood had dried in between her thighs and the hair which grew there had increased the stiffness of the limbs. With the basket still in her hands, Ebla rushed forward to assist Aowralla.

  �
�What do you want?’ she asked Aowralla, gripping her by the shoulders.

  ‘I have been attempting to get the milk for the baby.’ The baby had still not stopped crying.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Ebla.

  ‘I cannot,’ was Aowralla’s reply.

  ‘Can you keep on standing for a while?’ Aowralla nodded. ‘Do that, then,’ said Ebla, putting down the basket on the floor. ‘Now, look. Lean against me. Like that. Yes. Good.’ Ebla gripped her by the arm-pit, which was wet, and moved away one step. Aowralla leaned against her, feeling the numbing pain in her thighs. ‘Thrust yourself forward gently now . . . slowly.’ Aowralla did so. Ebla pulled her a little more. The strain on Aowralla’s stiff thighs had eased now and she was able gradually to lean against Ebla’s shoulder, until she could lie flat on her back.

  ‘But you did not eat the porridge,’ said Ebla, going to get some milk for the baby. She really did not care any longer—these things were getting on her nerves.

  Aowralla stammered something. Ebla helped the baby to drink, placing it on her lap, then lifting its head and pouring the milk into its mouth. The baby was silent and closed her eyes.

  ‘Maybe she needs to sleep,’ said her mother.

  ‘She should,’ said Ebla dismissing the topic.

  ‘Were you able to buy the things?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How was he? Very busy?’

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  ‘The widow was quite helpful?’

  ‘Yes, she was.’

  ‘Do you know how to cook spaghetti?’

  ‘You mean the thing in the paper?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have never seen it before.’

  ‘Tear it open now,’ said Aowralla.

  ‘Now or later?’

  ‘Now.’

  Ebla tore the packet open and some long white hollow rods came out. Unintentionally, she broke a few of them. She thought that they should not be broken and put the broken pieces aside.