Empire of Mud

by James Suriano

  “I heard you were back. Don’t go stirring up trouble here; you’ll start a war.” She moved closer to us. Ruka backed away, but I stood my ground. “You’re going to give us a bad name. We’ve made a life here, and now you want to come and break it apart.”

  The accusation was extraordinary. That a house servant could take down their exquisite life. But from the few interactions I’d had with Ousha’s mother, I knew blame was always outside of her own clan. If Ousha hadn’t been so gracious to me yesterday, I might have barbed her mother with a reminder that we were the same blood from the same island.

  “Yes, ma’am,” was all that left my mouth.

  When we stepped inside, Jaseem was fixing his ghutra on his head in front of the mirror in the entryway. His briefcase was beside him. I quickly handed him his agal to place over his white head covering. He smiled, then left.

  “What did that woman mean?” Ruka asked.

  “She’s the mother of the woman I originally worked for. She likes to poke her nose into everyone’s business. Don’t worry about it. We have a lot of cleaning to do to make the house perfect for Fata and her family.”

  “I had a dream about Mewan last night,” Ruka said as she picked up the teacup Jaseem had left on the table under the mirror.

  “Me too. It must be a sign. I considered asking Fata about bringing Mewan here. We could all fit in our room.”

  “Really?” Ruka squealed and ran off into another room.

  …

  Later that morning, I was in the kitchen making the glass table spotless when Fata walked in. She set her bag down and was strangely quiet. I placed her breakfast of two eggs in front of her.

  She took a bite, then looked up at me. “Did you see Ousha’s mother today?”

  I assumed she already knew the answer. “Yes, she was knocking at the door when we came back up from seeing you off.”

  “Did you say something offensive to her?”

  Had I? My mind backpedaled through the moment. I was certain my mouth hadn’t let out the words I’d been thinking. “No.”

  “She flagged me down in the parking garage to tell me she knows what I’m doing.”

  “What are you doing?” I wasn’t following what she was trying to tell me.

  “Exactly. Nothing.” She paused for a beat, then added, “Do me a favor. Try to avoid her if possible. She can stir things up a bit, and that’s the last thing we need.”

  I acknowledged Fata’s wish and rounded the corner from the kitchen to the hallway, then headed to the laundry room. One of the pictures, in a black frame, caught my eye. It was a big group of people smiling at Disney World: Fata’s family and Ousha’s family, minus her father. I could tell Ousha was pregnant in the picture by the puffy glow of her face. She was wearing her abaya.

  Ruka had finished folding all the laundry and was moving from room to room to put it away. I signaled for her to meet me in our room. She returned when she finished her last delivery.

  “If you see that older woman we saw earlier today, stay away from her and don’t answer her questions, okay? She’s trouble.”

  “Did you ask Fata about bringing Mewan here?”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t the right time.”

  “What will you do if she says no? I like this place.”

  I placed my hands firmly on her shoulders. “Don’t get too settled, Ruka. I’m not sure this place is what it seems. It never has been in the past.”

  She pushed her lip out and went to sit on her bed.

  …

  Word must have traveled fast, because while I was standing in the kitchen feeding the girls their breakfast the next day, someone began hammering away at the front door.

  Fata looked at Jaseem and shrugged. My guess was Ousha’s mother, in a new fit of hysteria. He motioned for us to stay in the kitchen. The door clicked open and I heard the voice I’d hoped to avoid forever: Mohamed. He was yelling, which I was used to. Fata waved her girls over to her and brought them into the pantry. She waved me in as well, then closed the door and latched it from the inside. Ruka was in our room, folding sheets; I knew she was smart enough to stay put. The yelling continued; something smashed, and I imagined the glass bubble structure crashing down. The door slammed and then everything was quiet.

  “Fata?” Jaseem called out. He said something else.

  “It’s okay to go,” Fata told us as she opened the door.

  We stepped out. Jaseem’s eye was swelling up, and he was pulling ice out of the freezer. He spoke to Fata and kept looking over at me. He held the ice to his eye and Fata ushered him into their bedroom. The girls looked at me for assurance, so I filled their cups with juice and smiled.

  Ruka appeared at the kitchen door.

  “Did something happen?” she asked.

  I shushed her.

  Fata emerged from the hallway. “Shula, I need you to go back to your room and don’t come out until I tell you. We need to have a conversation when Jaseem is gone and the girls are at school.”

  The brightening thought of an opportunity to ask about bringing Mewan to Dubai had overshadowed what I should have been worried about: Mohamed.

  …

  My hands were covered in soap bubbles as I scrubbed the kitchen floor. I heard Fata’s footsteps in the hall.

  “Shula?”

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  She appeared above me, tilting her head when she saw the bubbles foaming up past the cabinets. “Can you come to the table?”

  I rinsed my hands and wiped my bare feet with a towel, then came to sit next to her. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She had taken her head covering off at the door; her hair was wound up in braids, a string of turquoise stones holding them up. “You know who was here this morning, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was here because he found out you’re working for us. He thinks Jaseem is disrespecting him because he hired an employee who stole from him.”

  “I only stole from him because I needed to escape.”

  “So you did steal from him? Shula …” Her voice dipped down, and she pulled her hands back.

  “He killed Ousha’s baby.”

  When I said this Fata’s eyes went in separate directions. It was as if her brain were trying to understand two contradicting thoughts. I’d said far too much, and I felt like I was hanging in the air by a string, waiting for it to snap.

  “Are you lying because you’re trying to get something? I picked you out of the lineup because Khalid told me you were the best worker he had seen in some time. But I’m beginning to think you’re not what he sold me.”

  “Sold?” I was baffled by what she was saying. We might as well be speaking other languages.

  “Khalid controls the flow of workers into the palm. He decides who goes where to make sure we get the best. As a result, he takes a percentage of your wages for placing you with us.”

  I didn’t realize I was still under his control; his strings were invisible.

  “I think there’s a misunderstanding here on multiple fronts,” Fata continued. “Tell me about the baby.”

  “Ousha’s?”

  “If you say so.” She stood up and pulled a banana from a bunch.

  I told her about Ousha and Mohamed’s house as I encountered it upon arrival. I let her know the details of the birth and the abuse Ousha endured.

  “You know more, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think I should …”

  “You don’t work for them anymore; you have no allegiance.”

  I continued and Fata listened until all of the secrets of Mohamed’s house were laid bare.

  …

  Ruka and I were cleaning the living area. She had the vacuum hose sucking up popcorn under the couch cushions, and I was wiping down each slat of the window blinds. Jaseem was at work; the girls were at school; and Fata had gone out. I thought I heard rumbling—a low, rolling drumbeat. I kept running my cleaning rag over the blinds.

  Ruka turned off the v
acuum and was replacing the cushions on to the couch when the knock came hard and heavy. I stepped lightly until I saw the door. The bolt was in place. I went to the kitchen and looked at the monitor; Mohamed’s angry face filled the screen. He turned around and pushed the button to call the elevator. Who kept letting him up here?

  I noticed he was going up. Maybe to terrorize Ousha’s parents next.

  I turned the lock to make sure it was fully engaged; it clicked and Mohamed must have heard it because he started pounding again. I stepped back from the vibrating door. Ruka stood in the hallway, twisting the fabric of her dress into her balled-up fist.

  I led her into our room and locked both doors.

  “Is that the man you used to work for?”

  “Yes, baby.”

  “Did you do something bad? Is that why he’s angry at you?”

  I shook my head. “No. He did something bad, and I know about it. That’s why he’s angry. I have his secrets and he wants them back.” I watched the clock on the wall, not wanting to fall too far behind in what I had planned to accomplish today. Fata had been very happy with what we had done so far, and I wanted to make sure Ruka and I stayed on that path.

  I rubbed my daughter’s neck until I heard her breaths increase in length. The vibration came through the floor, even in here. I would know when he was gone, and only then would we go out.

  “Will you tell me a story about Dwehlli?” Ruka asked.

  Ruka loved stories about Dwehlli; she thought of her as the older sister she’d always wanted.

  I pulled the rubber band out of her hair and ran my fingers through it.

  I woke up to a low vibration humming through my room. Dwehlli was sitting on the floor of my bedroom, her feet tucked under the carpet, hands on her thighs, eyes closed. Her orange hair had sprouted, a contrast to her normally skin-close shave.

  “Get ready. We’re going out,” she said, not opening her eyes.

  It wasn’t a school day. I was sure my parents had enlisted her to keep me out of their way on my days off.

  “I want breakfast first.”

  She opened her eyes and stood over me. “No food today.”

  I wasn’t in a position to argue. I changed out of my pajamas into a plain sari. Dwehlli always objected to anything but plain clothes.

  We walked down the dirt road. I didn’t question where to. Our town was far enough away to keep strangers from wandering to us. There was a section just outside the town buildings where the outcasts lived and congregated, speaking strange words and smelling foul.

  “Weren’t you scared to walk near them?” Ruka asked.

  “Just listen.”

  Dwehlli put her hands together and bowed to each of them. Her acknowledgement lit them up. A few paces out, there was a cripple, a man whose legs looked like they’d been attached the wrong way to his body then chopped off at the knees. He was dragging himself through the dirt with his arms. When he’d come across something he thought was edible on the ground, he’d pick it up with his mouth and chew on it to decide.

  The other outcasts jeered him. Some of them put feces in his path so he’d eat it, and then laughed uncontrollably.

  Your grandfather always told me to move quickly through these parts. But Dwhelli encouraged me, a moment before we made the transition into the village, to turn and soak in what was happening there.

  “Shula, what is it you’re seeing?” she asked me.

  I was maybe twelve at the time. “It looks painful. He looks like he’s suffering.”

  “Perhaps. But we’re all suffering in our own way.”

  A monk sat with his back against a building and a wooden bowl of rice in front of him. He had his prayer beads strung around his wrist, with a single strand extending between his fingers.

  “What do you think that monk is praying for?” Dwhelli asked.

  I knew Dwhelli was connected to the spiritual world in some way, but was she really able to hear prayers? I shrugged; I had no such ability.

  “For them?” I said. “That they might have food? Or comfort?”

  “That would be a helpful prayer, wouldn’t it?”

  I shrugged again. I had no idea what answer she was looking for.

  She put her hand on my back and urged me forward into the buzz of the town. The smells of noodles boiling and the salty tang of newly caught fish made my mind forget about those at its perimeter. I shuffled through the storefronts, waiting until I came to the fruit vendor. He took coconuts and stuffed them full of lychee and mango. The coconut water inside picked up their syrupy sweetness; it was a treat that would satisfy my mouth for a whole week.

  I bought one for me and one for Dwhelli. At first she refused it, but then she gave in.

  “Is there something you need here?” I asked her.

  “There is something you need here,” she said.

  I took the first sip of the sweet nectar.

  “No more until we get where we’re going.” She tapped the side of my coconut.

  This was the first food I’d had in my mouth since I’d awoken, and my stomach lunged forcefully at the overflowing, colorful deliciousness. I also knew when a nun told you to do something it was important to follow her instructions.

  Once again we reached the place where the outcasts dwelled. They moved in closer to us, their eyes fixed on what we were holding. Dwehlli went to the monk, plucked two pieces of mango from her coconut, and placed it on top of his rice.

  “You must first nourish the guides,” she told me. “Without them we are all lost. And what do you think we should do now?”

  It pained me to say this. “Give the rest to them?”

  “I won’t suggest that; you look too distraught to part with your treat. And giving should always be done willingly. Instead, think of a way that you might give a piece of your happiness to alleviate these people’s suffering.”

  The pounding on the door had stopped. I stroked Ruka’s hair once more and pulled it into a ponytail. “I think we can go out now.”

  Ruka spun to face me. “So what did you do?”

  “I went back the next day armed with a bag full of cooked coconut rice and a cauldron of tea and fed the man dragging himself on the ground. I kept going, day after day, feeding him and the others who lived in that place. My arms were tired from the lugging and I would arrive at school exhausted after spending the daybreak hours with them. But they taught me almost as much as Dwehlli.”

  “Do you think that’s why you were placed here? Because you did something thoughtful and now it’s paying you back?” Ruka stood up, ready to leave the room.

  “I don’t know, the gods have a tricky way of showing us their plans. What Dwhelli was trying to teach me is that serving someone had many lessons to teach. I had heard that before, we were well schooled in Buddhist thought. What was revelatory to me, though, on those days when I would eat with them, was they considered their poverty a temporary state. Something they had come into and might as easily come out of. I’d never considered this. Your grandfather always had more than enough. After the wave, though, I thought back to the people I had fed and knew then that we were no different from them. And by nothing more than the timing of our lives had we all arrived where we now stood.”

  We were back in the hallway, moving to the front of the apartment. The lock on the front door was turning. I pulled Ruka’s shoulders against the wall, taking her out of direct sight of whoever was going to walk through that door.

  “Shula?” Fata called out. “What happened to the front door?”

  We peeled ourselves from the wall to become visible to her.

  “Mohamed was here.”

  She swallowed hard but kept her composure. “Did you open the door?”

  “No, we hid in our room.” I wasn’t sure if that was the answer she wanted, but it was the truth.

  “I’m glad you’re okay. He used one of the statues in the hallway to dent the door. Jaseem will have a fit when he sees it.” She paused, then said, “I had lunch
with Ousha today. Her parents told her if she divorces Mohamed, they’ll leave Dubai. It will be too much shame for them. She said she tried to talk with Mohamed, but he said it was you who was causing his problems. He said you have something of his. Is that true?”

  “Ruka, go to our room.” I didn’t want her head filled with Mohamed’s misdeeds.

  “I took a photo album from his house,” I whispered. “You can’t tell Ousha.”

  “This story is endless. I thought you told me everything yesterday. Why not?”

  “Because Ousha has a fantasy about someone in the album, and it can never come true.” Damn it, I’d said too much.

  “Ousha?” Fata stopped what she was doing and put her hands flat on the table.

  I explained the album, Inesh, and how I thought Maryam was Inesh and Ousha’s child.

  “You can never tell anyone what you told me,” Fata said. “Where is the album? Can you give it to me?”

  “I gave it to Minrada.”

  “Who?”

  “She was the one who originally helped me escape from Mohamed. She was under the bridge with me when it flooded.”

  Fata picked up her phone and did a few things with it. “You know, this is all a bit much. I’m not sure it’s good for my family.”

  I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but I felt like she was making decisions in her head and not telling me.

  “I needed to ask you something else,” I said.

  She looked up from her phone.

  “I’d like to bring my son here. He could stay in my room with Ruka and me. I promise he won’t be a bother. It’s just that I miss him and I would like us to all be together.”

  She shook her head before she responded. “How old is he?”

  My spirits lifted. Was she considering this?

  “Three.”

  “Shula, I don’t run a charity here. How will you and Ruka get any housework done if you’re chasing after a little one? I’m sorry he isn’t here, but his father must be taking good care of him.”

  “His father died during the tsunami.” I looked hard at her; it was the first time I had weaponized Pramith’s death.