From a Crooked Rib

by Nuruddin Farah

  18

  Ebla wanted to vomit when she woke up. She was no longer a virgin, she was a woman now, the wife of Awill, but only if he wanted her. Awill was still asleep. She stretched out her arms to touch him, she swallowed hard to summon up her courage to touch him. She pulled his sheet and he woke up.

  ‘Are you awake?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Go and call the Sheikh,’ she ordered timidly.

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘When, if not now?’

  ‘Later. When people have woken up.’

  Ebla kept silent.

  ‘Go and make us some tea,’ he said.

  ‘I cannot move. I cannot go out.’ She thought, ‘You have almost cut my intestines to pieces.’

  ‘I cannot move out either. I am terribly exhausted. Usually one drinks milk and tea on such occasions.’

  ‘I don’t want any.’ The only thing she wanted was a Sheikh to solemnize their wedding.

  Ebla slept again. Awill looked at her. She had her eyes closed and he could see that she was a very lovely creature. He admired her thick eyebrows and her eyes looked quite lovely when they were closed. Awill soon fell asleep again too.

  He woke up when he heard a knock on the door.

  ‘Who could it be?’ he asked himself.

  ‘Who is it?’ he said aloud.

  There was no answer, but the knocking continued. He got out of bed, and searched for his heel-less slippers which he had not used for a long time, found the pair underneath the bed and went towards the door to open it. He stopped and turned back. He covered Ebla with the bed-cover in case the person turned out to be a nuisance.

  ‘Who is it?’ he said again, when he was a few inches away from the door.

  ‘Open,’ said a woman’s voice.

  Although Awill could not place whose voice it was, he opened the door. He found his landlady.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said.

  ‘Good morning,’ he replied.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Asleep?’

  Awill kept silent. In the meantime Ebla came back from the black sleep which she had been imposing upon herself.

  ‘Do you want anything?’ the landlady asked Awill.

  ‘We want breakfast,’ Awill said.

  ‘I have made it for you.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘I want a Sheikh. And two witnesses. They should both be men, unknown to myself. Naturally, Ebla would not have met them.’

  ‘Ebla is her name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never bothered to ask her.’

  ‘Yes. I will call the Sheikh and two male witnesses.’

  ‘And you can ask the maid to bring us the breakfast as soon as Ebla wakes up. I am famished and so is she.’

  ‘You let me know when she wakes up.’

  ‘I will call you.’

  ‘Do that.’

  Ebla could feel that he was bolting the door on the inside although she still had her eyes closed. Awill had no idea that she had heard what had been said. He quite softly climbed into the bed lest he should disturb Ebla. Ebla pretended to be asleep, and he followed suit.

  All of a sudden she wanted to do a bunk. ‘How could one wait to undergo the same pain again,’ she thought. Last night it had been extremely painful. Inside her, she felt sure that copulation was nothing but getting children. She wondered if she wanted children. If she had to go through the torture of the previous night again—or the agony which she felt when she nursed Aowralla—then she certainly did not want any.

  Now more than anything, she wanted to visit the lavatory, but she could not move. Her joints ached and, with her glands swollen, she could not possibly move. Whenever she opened her eyes, she saw Awill. She felt some sort of mental anguish, but naturally her bodily aches would not last long, she thought.

  She had never been as grateful to her mother—and grandmother and great-grandmother, for that matter—as she felt at this particular moment. This was only the beginning. She regretted that her mother had died before she could pay tribute to her. As might be expected, she did not now feel sorry about leaving her grandfather helpless. He was a man—just like any other man. What was the difference? His wife (her grandmother) must have suffered under his brutal manhandlings.

  She felt morbid and weak. Awill had covered her head and he could not imagine what she looked like underneath. She was hungry, but she did not have the energy to eat. Her head was whirling, her teeth and tongue tasted as if she hadn’t brushed them for ages. Putting out her tongue a little bit, she could see a film of white scum in the middle of it and could feel the red layer below, but her eyes ached when she did this.

  She touched her hair. The strands of the plait were still there. Only an unmarried woman—and especially a virgin—could keep it plaited. She was certain she was not a virgin, but was she married? There was a promise, but that was all there had been so far.

  She nervously began to unplait her hair. The hair came down to her shoulders. She remembered the time when she was quite young, about eight or nine. At that time, they would shave the whole head leaving only a knot on the skull. They had continued to shave her hair until she was fourteen. Then she was considered a grown-up girl, her hair was allowed to grow and plaited for her. When she was seventeen, she could plait the hair of another girl and get hers done for her by the same girl—an exchange arrangement.

  This plaiting had been done by one of her friends in the country, who was always spoken of as the best one at plaiting. The interlacing of hair was so well done that Ebla found it difficult to undo all by herself. She sat up and again nervously pulled the hair apart. She had oiled it a week or so ago. The hair was quite dark, wavy and she had a handful of curls on the nape. In towns, they cut this type of hair. The pulling and undoing of hair woke Awill up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Ebla had put her hands on her thighs before he could see them.

  ‘I dreamt of an earthquake.’

  ‘I did not feel it,’ she said humorously.

  ‘How could you? Anyway, are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Awill got out of bed, stood at the door and shouted to the landlady.

  ‘Aunt Asha.’

  A woman’s voice replied, ‘Yes. I will come straight away. I have it ready.’

  And after a little while, a lady in her late forties, who could easily be mistaken for a rich woman, came in. She was in an expensive dress, had her eyebrows darkened with coal ground for the purpose, and walked haughtily. She had a double chin, and the one below quivered whenever she spoke. She was hefty and the floor, which badly needed repairing, moved up and down under her weight. Her buttocks were stretched backward and her belly forward, as if she were pregnant, but Ebla thought that she was not the type to get pregnant. She held the china plate in her hands.

  ‘Here is breakfast for you,’ she said.

  She set down the plate on the chair, then glanced at Ebla who had lowered her eyes.

  ‘Is the Sheikh coming?’ asked Awill.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Very soon.’

  She did not say more, but left and closed the door behind her.

  ‘She is a helpful woman,’ said Awill.

  ‘You know her better,’ Ebla retorted. All this time Awill had been walking to and fro. He again went to the door and bolted it.

  ‘Come. Eat,’ said Awill.

  ‘I cannot. I’m not hungry.’

  ‘But you said you were.’

  ‘I no longer am. I don’t feel hungry.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t want to eat, I am going to. Surely your stomach will tell you later when you feel hungry. Are you sure you are not hungry?’ Ebla nodded.

  It was not so much lack of appetite that prevented her from eating, but the pain she fel
t in every joint of her body. Like everybody else, she wished she could be what she wasn’t. She knew she was catching at a straw, wishing for the impossible. What she wished was that she could be somebody else, either an old woman, so that she could look back on this day as one in a long forgotten past; or a man, so that she would not have to worry about it.

  She could sense the movement of Awill’s jaws and the sound of his swallowing—just like a cow eating fodder. She was hungry, her stomach was turning over, empty, waiting to be filled. ‘My jaws have not been used for over twelve hours and they will go rusty,’ she thought. ‘But I cannot eat. I cannot. I just cannot eat.’

  Awill had finished eating the oiled bread and drunk his tea. He wiped his hands on his robe and came forward. From his eyes she could tell what he was after.

  ‘No. You cannot do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Not now. Some other time.’

  To Ebla, Awill was a bad example of the male sex. He acted more like a donkey, as far as the satisfaction of his animal desires were concerned. ‘Copulation is a means of getting children,’ she thought. ‘But this is not the only thing that a man shares with his woman. Donkeys, and all irrational animals for that matter, get to satisfy their desires, and prefer it to anything else. But even these animals prefer some seasons to others. Men should consider that the existence of a woman is not just a means to an end, but that she can be an indispensable companion for life. I could be bought, I could be sold, just in the way that my cousin tried to sell me—or my first would-be husband bought me. But one thing they could not pay for is my indispensability. I am a woman. And I am indispensable to man.’

  Meanwhile, they heard a knock on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ Awill shouted.

  ‘Asha.’

  ‘Yes. I am coming.’

  ‘The Sheikh is at the door.’

  Awill opened the door. In the clearing, they could see a Sheikh, with a beard painted with henna and two other young Sheikhs.

  ‘Do you want them in here?’ Asha asked.

  ‘No. Let us go to your room.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘I will ask the Sheikh to go and ask her to name him as her agent to speak for her.’

  Awill went over and spoke to the Sheikh.

  The Sheikh had a weary-looking face. He was about fifty, quite tall and handsome. The others were comparatively short and young and did not utter a single word. Maybe they were silent because they were only witnesses.

  ‘I will carry back her wilaya,’ the Sheikh said and entered the room where Ebla was lying.

  ‘Nabad,’ said the Sheikh.

  ‘Nabad,’ Ebla replied, sitting up in bed, wracked with pain. She tried not to show her condition.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Ebla.’

  ‘And your father’s?’

  ‘Qorrah.’

  ‘Are you willing to marry Awill. . . . ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about the Yered?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What is your Meherr?’

  ‘Whatever he is willing to pay.’

  Ebla wanted to enquire if she had made a mistake by sleeping with Awill before they got married, but she could not bring herself to ask this.

  The Sheikh left her, then a few minutes later the whole group came back. The Sheikh told her that he had made the answers as she had told him and Awill and she were now husband and wife.

  19

  Ebla was quite delighted to think of herself as a wife. It really did not matter whose wife, because it all came to one thing: that she had got married. Looking back on her escapades, she did not find them very fruitful. She had made many mistakes, from which she learnt things that she ought to have known before.

  She struggled with her plaits again and pulled them apart. This hurt her, especially at the roots of her hair. She had undone several when Awill came to satisfy the animal desire in him.

  Being the second time, it was painful, but not as bad as the first time. As soon as they had finished, there was a knock on the door. Awill went to open it.

  ‘Your friend Jama is here,’ said Asha.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Should I call him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jama emerged from behind Asha whose huge body had been hiding him.

  ‘Jama, come on in.’

  Jama came in after shaking hands with Awill, and Asha went away.

  ‘I am married, Jama,’ said Awill, as if Ebla were deaf or were not present. Ebla had covered herself with the bedspread, and was in no mood to greet a stranger. She still felt the pain, which lingered in her loins. It seemed now that the pain was leaving the lower part of her body first. She felt warm inside and tried to breathe less, so that under the cover, she would not swelter.

  ‘How are you, Jama?’

  ‘I am fine, thank you,’ replied Awill’s friend.

  Ebla uncovered her head and she could see Jama clearly. Jama had his back turned and she could inspect him without him knowing. He was thin and short and had his hair parted on the left side. He quite badly needed a shave. But maybe this was the way people did things in Mogadiscio, Ebla thought. ‘They really do things awkwardly and then boast about it afterwards. If only they knew how ridiculous they are,’ she thought.

  ‘How is the Ministry?’ asked Awill.

  ‘Fine,’ responded Jama.

  ‘No changes anywhere?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How about you?’ Awill continued.

  ‘I am still in the same office.’

  ‘Any newcomers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A girl.’

  ‘Where does she work?’

  ‘The same office as you were in.’

  Awill looked back to see if Ebla was listening to what was being said between them. But she was quicker and had already hidden beneath the sheet again.

  ‘You see, she has actually taken over your place.’

  ‘But I am coming back soon. I have only five more days before my vacation ends.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jama and kept quiet.

  ‘Do they have a new job for me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what happens? Am I sacked? I know the people at the personnel office are up to some nasty tricks. Tell me the truth.’

  ‘You are not sacked. Far from it.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘You are to fly to Italy in another week’s time. I brought a letter to you from the Ministry. That is why I came. I did not know that you had got married or anything. I came yesterday, but the room was locked. By sheer luck, I came back today and here I find you, strange, isn’t it? So you are married, you are lucky. Isn’t it fabulous?’

  ‘The wedding?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ma voglie andare in Italia?’ said Awill in Italian.

  ‘Whatever you think best,’ said Jama in Somali.

  ‘Ho mia moglie. Ma non voglio distruggiare la mia vita per una donna,’ Awill continued in Italian.

  ‘Whatever you say,’ said Jama in Somali.

  Ebla, although listening, could not work out what had been said. She had never learnt any foreign language, except Arabic, which she always thought of as the language of the Koran.

  ‘When do they want us to go?’

  ‘In a week’s time. Haven’t you got everything ready—passport, vaccination, and so on?’

  ‘Not the vaccination, but everything else.’

  ‘Good. They want you people to come back in three months. They have changed all the programmes. There are twelve of you. You will go on a study tour to Italy and visit some of the schools to give you an idea how to run them when you are appointed heads of schools here. You will come home one month before Independence.’

  ‘That will be quite splendid.’

  ‘Yes, it will be especially good once you have come back and taken over the schools from the bastard Italians. Independence will
bring about new life in the minds of everybody. We shall prosper and the Gentiles will perish.’

  ‘I am longing for it. I hope I won’t die before Independence Day.’

  To Ebla, this did not mean much. The widow had tried to explain certain things, of which this was one. The word was now familiar to her. How could a man accept orders from another? She had never met a foreigner in her life, either black or white, other than one Amhar. So at this point, she became disinterested in what they were talking about and resumed undoing her hair.

  ‘But what were they saying when they were speaking the language I could not understand? What was that language? Maybe it is one of their languages they speak in towns or places like Mogadiscio,’ she thought.

  When Ebla tried to eavesdrop on what her husband and Jama were saying to each other, she saw the latter on his feet again. He said he must go.

  ‘I am sorry I could not offer you something to drink. You know my state of affairs, perhaps.’

  ‘It does not matter.’

  ‘When do you want to come again? I have five days more of my seven-day honeymoon.’

  ‘Whenever I have time.’ Jama said good-bye to Ebla and left.

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Ebla.

  ‘A colleague in the office.’

  ‘Why did he come?’

  ‘Because he had something to pass along to me,’ said Awill. ‘Oh, he forgot to give me the letter,’ continued Awill, as if speaking to himself.

  They heard a rapping on the door, which Awill answered.

  ‘I am sorry. I forgot to give you the letter,’ Jama said. He fumbled in his pocket for the letter, fished it out and handed it to Awill. ‘I am going now. ’Bye,’ said Jama.

  Awill tore open the letter and read all the information concerning his departure and everything. ‘Eight days from now you will have to be in Rome,’ the letter said.

  He knew what to do about Ebla with regard to this departure. He had decided even before he arrived in Mogadiscio.

  20

  Six days had passed by, unnoticed. They flew like a beautiful bird that one knows will never return. The bird flies by, ruffling up its feathers, and dropping some gorgeous-looking ones. Each day passed in a similar manner, and Ebla was quite delighted with the way things were. Asha either attended to their wants or sent in someone to do it for them. Ebla affected ignorance and never discussed Awill’s departure for Italy with him. She accepted the situation with no resentment. It was part of a man’s life to travel for the benefit of the family.