Red Leaves

by Sita Brahmachari

  Aisha was sitting on one of the cold benches where the children who had scribed these names must once have sat. Their words seemed like a gift across time, a sort of welcome, and she felt somehow comforted to be in a place where people would have understood something of what she’d come from. This term at school they’d all had to do a project on the First World War, and she’d researched and presented an essay on the Somali soldiers who had fought and died in that war. Even Miss Roberts hadn’t known about that. Aisha had been quite fired up with this discovery but she could tell that some of the others in her class were not interested at all. They just seemed to think that everything was a game.

  Sometimes she wished that she could make them understand what war did to you, how it tore your home apart, how one day it could drop a bomb into the middle of your world and explode everything, leaving a crater in your heart. On some days she felt like joining in with Miss Roberts and shouting at the kids who messed about. She’d rehearsed in her head plenty of times what she would like to say to them, but never would:

  Do you know what it’s like to leave your dad behind, knowing he’s been taken as a prisoner; to have to say goodbye and have no idea when or if you’ll ever see him again; to have to step off a plane into a cold new country, with no one to love you? That’s not history. That’s my life.

  Aisha closed her eyes and wished that the children who had written this message on the wall so long ago had been granted the happy ending that they had longed for. If they got their father back, and if I pray hard enough, then maybe I’ll get to see my abo again too and there’ll be no need for any more talk of adoption.

  ‘Uncover the ivy, unravel the vine, back through time to the years when the bombs fell and the children hid in their underground cell.’

  The old woman’s voice grew closer now. Aisha curled up in a foetal position towards the back of the lower bunk bed. Even if the woman came in, she might not find her there in the darkness hiding against the wall – as long as the dog kept quiet. For the moment, Red lay on the floor beside the bed.

  ‘Uncover the ivy, unravel the vine, back through time . . .’

  It sounded as if she was right outside the shelter. Aisha heard someone thrashing around at the entrance and now here she was peering in, her ancient face framed in the entrance. Aisha cowered away. It was one thing seeing the old woman at a distance, but having her this close made Aisha feel breathless. It was only the dog who stilled her fear as it got up, approached the woman and leaned against her. So she did see us crawl inside the shelter after all. If the dog has no fear then maybe I have no reason to either. But what does this woman want with us?

  Aisha could just make out the doll strapped across the old woman’s body and the frayed basket that she carried over her arm. She’d come right inside the shelter now and begun shuffling along the bench, unpacking a bag of golden-coloured apples which she laid out in a row as she rambled on, without meeting Aisha’s eye.

  ‘You’ll be safe in here with the other children. Brought you some apples from my store. Always got more than enough. I bring what I can for my little war babies, my poor children.’ She patted the dog’s head as she spoke. ‘Elder loves a cuddle,’ she confided. ‘But what are you doing here, you naughty girl? Have you run away too? Come to see old Elder, have you?’

  The homeless woman looked up at Aisha for the first time.

  ‘But I see fear in your eyes!’ She shook her finger at Aisha and kissed her doll’s head. ‘Look, my Crystal – she’s afraid of your mama. You tell her, baby. No poisoned apples here, no rotten ones either.’

  Aisha was frozen to the spot. She stared at Elder, willing her to go away. From the corner of the shelter something scuttled and the dog ran over and chased it out.

  ‘Rats and mice, mice and rats.’ The woman pulled the doll out of her sling and hugged her close as she peered around the shelter. ‘It’s dry all right, warmer than you’d think at night, but I never could settle here myself. Too much longing. Can’t you feel it?’

  There seemed no point in hiding away any more. Aisha eased herself off the bed, sat on the bench opposite Elder and edged along so that now she was closer to the entrance herself. From here she could smell the musty, rotting odour coming from the homeless woman, but at least she was out of her reach and if she needed to run, she could. Aisha’s hands rose automatically to her prayer beads and the old woman leaned in to get a closer look. Her expression changed and she seemed suddenly excited. She reached under her own clothes to reveal a long leather lace with three large amber-coloured beads attached.

  ‘You wear jet, I wear amber – woodland jewels.’ She lifted the beads for Aisha to get a closer look. ‘You and me, wearing wood-memories against our skin. See!’

  Elder held her beads even closer to show Aisha, who recoiled once again from the old woman’s smell.

  ‘Look under the surface. In this one a tiny butterfly, in this a family of leaves and here’s a ladybird, see! Maybe a million years old. Chant the old verse if she lands on you, and your wish will come true . . . How does it go? My mind’s so slow.’ She knocked her hand against her head as if to dislodge the rhyme. ‘“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire; your children will roam”. . . Know that one?’

  Aisha nodded. Despite the old woman’s potent smell and strange rhymes, she found herself mesmerized as she looked inside the enormous amber beads, the size of small hen’s eggs.

  ‘Wood memories to have and to hold. But these old eggs are keepers not hatchers. Suspended in the sap of ancient pine, they’ll take you back and back in time.’ Elder pointed to Aisha’s prayer beads. ‘Yours the fossil wood and mine the hardened resin. Never cold against your skin when you carry the heat of the past within. Did you know that?’

  Aisha shook her head slowly, unsure of how to respond to this strange woman who seemed to suddenly break into riddles. It was true that her jet beads always stayed warm, even in the coldest weather, if that’s what she meant.

  ‘These belonged to my mother,’ Aisha found herself saying.

  ‘Mine too. Before the thread broke there were more, but only three of my treasures left now. My inheritance.’ She clasped them close to her chest.

  Aisha felt sorry for the woman. Now that she was actually listening, she made a little sense after all, and it seemed as if she was desperate to talk to Aisha. Perhaps she was just lonely.

  The woman smiled as if she was grateful to Aisha for listening. She lifted her hands to her hair and began twisting the tangled mass of leaves that she’d threaded into it. As she wound the red strands into an even greater mess a look of utter confusion fell across her face.

  ‘Where are we? Who are we? I forget, small talk, any talk. What’s your earthstar’s name?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Aisha asked, confused.

  ‘Your name? Your name?’ the old woman insisted.

  ‘Aisha.’

  ‘Aisha,’ she repeated in a whisper. ‘Sounds like a prayer, like a promise on the breeze. I don’t have another Aisha written on my leaves!’

  She shuffled along the bench so that now they were sitting opposite each other. If she’d reached out to her now, she would be close enough to touch her. Aisha’s heart was beating fast. She felt her body alert and ready to flee, and yet there was something about the woman that demanded that she stay.

  She fixed Aisha with her intense gaze. ‘Who else? Who else?’

  ‘Who else what?’ Aisha whispered, hardly able to make her voice produce a sound.

  ‘In this place of longing. Who else are you missing?’

  Was it that obvious? It was the most unsettling feeling, as if the old woman was drawing the responses from her, extracting the truth whether she wanted to tell it or not.

  ‘My abo – my father,’ Aisha mumbled.

  ‘Yes, yes, I need mother’s name and father’s name.’

  ‘Amina and Abdi Eshun.’ Aisha’s voice caught on the names that she had not spoken out loud since she’d first arrived in thi
s country, when she’d been forced to answer all the official questions. Just saying her parents’ names instantly brought tears to her eyes and she let them roll down her cheeks unchecked.

  ‘You come from war?’ The old woman reached out and patted Aisha on the knee, and this time she did not pull away or jump in fear. ‘Seeking refuge? That’s all right.’ She beckoned to Aisha. ‘Come and shelter in old Elder’s wood. Aisha stay here with my wartime spirits.’ She pointed up to the names that were written on the wall. ‘People think time just runs straight, but –’ she leaned forward as if she was letting Aisha in on a secret – ‘sometimes shoots from the past push up and want to be seen again,’ she whispered.

  Aisha leaned back. What could she say in response to this?

  ‘Your name’s Elder?’ Aisha asked, but the old woman ignored her. Now that she was this close, Aisha was horrified to see how cracked and ulcerated her skin was. It hung from her bones and in places had been rubbed red raw to the point of bleeding. Across one calf she had strapped leaves like a kind of poultice.

  ‘I forget how scary Elder is. Sight for sore eyes these days. But I won’t trouble you. Elder needs to know who’s in her wood, but all is good, all is good. Let the spirits rest. I won’t trouble you,’ she mumbled as she shuffled out of the shelter carrying her doll over her shoulder, patting it on the back.

  Aisha squatted at the door and watched Elder rummage around in a sack-like pouch attached to her waist. Once outside, the old woman began to scatter breadcrumbs. A cascade of crows and ravens swept in, their black wings hovering over her as she ambled away.

  Aisha cast her eyes around the concrete walls and breathed a sigh of relief that Elder and her searchlight eyes were finally gone. At least, as she had observed, the place was dry. The dog paced back to Aisha’s side and sat down next to her. Aisha picked up one of Elder’s golden apples. She raised it to her nose and smelt the sweet, slightly spicy scent. Maybe she would eat one later. Her stomach was telling her to bite into it right now to still the hunger pangs that had gripped her almost as soon as she’d left Liliana’s flat. As she gathered the fruit together in a pile Aisha surveyed the cold dusty walls and her attention was caught once more by the faded writing. She noticed now that to the side of the pictures was a score tally with dates written in children and adult writing. Was it recording some kind of game?

  What had Elder been talking about? Hadn’t she said that Aisha should share these apples with the others? Aisha scanned all the pictures and words that decorated the walls and a high pitched child’s voice entered her mind. ‘My brave Daddy, come home soon.’ Aisha shuddered. Who else does Elder think lives here?

  The road was quiet as Zak approached the wild side of Home Wood. He had not expected the gates to be locked. He walked along the perimeter, but the metal railings were secure, leaving him no choice but to climb. He threw his rucksack over first and counted one, two, three . . . to measure the drop. Then he climbed steadily up, feeling for footholds where he could. The tops of the railings were pointed and he paused for a moment, considering the best way to ease himself down. Then, from out of nowhere, thousands of diving shadows flew at him, a rush of wings bombarding his head. He lost his grip on the railings and fell head first towards the ground.

  He was running faster than he’d run in his life, through thick mounds of earth stacked up on either side of him. His feet were frozen solid but still he ran. A voice rallying him on. ‘We’ll get through this,’ and Zak looked down at his feet to see his own thin Converse trailing through the mud. His breath clenched inside him. There was a white silent flash and out of this light walked Edwin – the boy in the photo. He came and sat by Zak’s side and propped him up. He felt inside his thick woollen jacket and pulled out a small black-and-white photo of himself with his father. ‘If we get through this, I’m going to take over the family business. Do you know my father Albert?’ Edwin asked.

  Zak nodded.

  ‘I’ll be a carpenter too, that’s the plan.’ Edwin told Zak as they huddled in the filth of the trenches. ‘Have you got someone back home?’

  Zak felt in his pocket for a picture but found nothing. A rat scuttled across his palm and his hands started to shake uncontrollably.

  ‘You’d better get used to the vermin in here!’ Edwin warned.

  Zak’s head felt as if someone had taken a mallet to it. He winced as he opened his eyes on to a dimly lit den. The smell was overwhelming. Earth, damp stale air, bitter herbs, mouldy clothes, sweet ripe fruit, old washing powder. He groaned as he attempted to lift his leaden head, but it wouldn’t move. His stomach contracted and he felt as if he was about to heave, yet there was nothing left in his gut to vomit up. How long had he been here?

  ‘Red leaves for your sore head, rest now, here’s a comfy bed. Gave me a shock, poor old crock, hurt your head, thought you were dead.’

  Zak tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and cracked. Elder tilted his head gently forward and offered him sips of water out of a jam jar.

  ‘Now, now, Crystal! Stop your grizzling. Green-eyed monster got you? Didn’t I tell you? Earthstars are coming in to land now. This one fell straight out of the sky, didn’t you? Half the night it took, to drag you back to Elder’s. Look! Had to make a stretcher to pull you in. You’re thin, but even so you’re too big a load for me to carry!’

  Zak moaned and turned his head to the other side, where the blank-eyed Crystal stared back at him.

  Aisha was woken by a sharp pang of hunger. Last night after going up to the stream to cleanse and pray she’d been tempted to eat greedily from her store, but she’d forced herself to hold back, eating the cold beans and bread slowly, attempting to savour every mouthful. Afterwards she’d eaten one of Elder’s apples. It had tasted sweet and sour at the same time. She’d placed some bread and beans on a dry leaf for the dog too. It had sniffed at the unfamiliar offering and eaten reluctantly. Gradually the warm feeling of food in her stomach had allowed Aisha to climb into her sleeping bag and drift off. But sometime during the night she’d woken again feeling ravenously hungry. As she stirred, the dog jumped on to the end of the bed. She was about to shoo it away but then she felt its comforting heart beat and sat up and stroked its soft head. A streak of light snaked its way across the floor. Perhaps dawn was already breaking. The dog looked up at Aisha and tilted its head to one side in a question.

  ‘Thank you for staying with me,’ she whispered. It was strange hearing her own voice after not speaking for so long. Her stomach rumbled noisily and the dog whined.

  ‘You must be hungry too,’ she said, easing herself out of the sleeping bag. She gasped as she felt a fine net against her face and an enormous spider scurry down her neck. How had it managed to spin a home for itself so quickly? If only it was that easy for humans to start again.

  Cautiously Aisha stood up, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She rummaged in her rucksack for her toilet bag, grabbed the blanket from the top bunk bed that would have to serve as her towel, pulled back the tangle of branches that covered the shelter entrance and stepped out. She had ventured so deep into the wood that she could not imagine that anyone would find their way to her, except for Elder. I wonder where she lives. Aisha surveyed the land that surrounded her hiding place and looked up through the trees to the brightening sky. She walked away from the shelter into the thick bracken and weed. Today she would have to sort something out, dig a hole and build some kind of screen around it so that she could not be seen by Elder when she needed to be private. Aisha collected some water in her bottle to wash the floor of the shelter with. She was determined to keep it as clean as she could, with the dog walking in and out. When she had filled the bottle she took off her shoes and washed and dried her feet. There was a definite chill in the air this morning, but there had been no rain for weeks. She wondered how it would feel living out here in the wet and the cold. She reached up to her neck for her prayer beads and looked around to see if there was any sign of Elder. The woodland on the other side of the str
eam felt unnaturally still. There was a little flat square of bare earth on the bank that she had swept and cleared and made into her prayer area. She’d created a border of branches around the space like a little garden. She lay her mat down and began to pray, leaning forward and touching her head to the mat. The dog kept its distance as if it sensed that she should not be disturbed at this moment.

  Afterwards she felt peaceful and strangely less hungry. She walked back to the shelter, took some bread, triangles of cheese and one of Elder’s apples and scrambled to the top of the steep slope from where she could clearly see the sun begin to rise in a deep orange glow. The silver wings of an aeroplane glinted, reminding her that she was still part of the world outside. If she was going to hide away from that world for a while, she would have to ration her food. She supposed that once her supplies were gone, she would need to go back and face Liliana, Muna, Somaya, Mariam and her social worker. She could hear Muna’s bright voice in her head and felt wracked with guilt, but she wasn’t ready to go back yet. She had already worked out that if she ate only two meals a day, with the cans of soup and beans she’d stored, she would have enough to last her for a good while, especially if she rationed out the cans. She had seen how little food people survived on in Somalia. She could manage.