The Cry of the Dove: A Novel

by Fadia Faqir

  When she pressed `stop' I held the now cold mug and began drinking.

  On board the Hellena Miss Asher slept on the bunk bed and I slept on a mattress on the floor. We also got used to eating cold food and stale bread. The dining room was small and smelly. Crockery, cutlery, napkins and sugar bowls were laid out on the side table. I was not confident about using the cutlery so I ate cheese and bread and drank tea. A nice woman with three daughters would come to the dining room sometimes. Mrs Henderson, who worked as a nurse in a British hospital in Cyprus, was travelling back home to see her family. `I cannot bear the heat and clear skies any more. I cannot wait to feel the rain on my face," she said and smiled. She must have noticed my discomfort, so one morning she came to my table while I was chewing the bread and sat down. `My name is Rebecca, and these are my daughters Margaret and Lucy.'

  I looked at them and said, `Pleased to have met you,' which Miss Asher had taught me in lesson three. Her daughters tackled the food with such ease and confidence.

  She said, `I hope you don't mind me saying this, but why do you eat cheese and bread all the time?'

  I don't know how,' I said, moving my hands as if they were carrying a knife and fork.

  `I will teach you," she said.

  From then on she started teaching me table manners and English while her daughters giggled in the background.

  `You finally had a shower,' said Parvin one morning. `You must be feeling better.'

  `Yes,' I said and wrapped my hair in the towel.

  `We have to look for jobs,' said Parvin, `but first I must ask you about this scarf you keep wearing.'

  `People look at me all time as if disease,' I said.

  She sat down next to me on the bed and said, `It will be much harder to get a job while you insist on wearing it. My friend back home, Ash, was sacked because of his turban although they said that he did not meet his targets.'

  `The doctor said too much past,' I said.

  `Yes, Salina, too much past,' she said as if talking to herself.

  `Too hard though,' I said.

  `Yes, I know, I know,' she said.

  I looked at the dainty padded pink satin shoes hanging in the window display like a crescent. The soft dreams of babies, the pink halos, nursery rhymes and whimpers. Layla was faceless, but three years ago I decided to give her a face. I dressed her up, combed her hair, gave her a bath and kissed her a thousand times goodnight. `In the film the guy who ran the projector gathered all the kisses that were censored by the priest and put them on one reel. When the boy he used to love so much came back to the town he ran the reel that had all the censored kisses just for him,' said Parvin. Layla would be sound asleep in her pink cot and I would bend down to kiss her.A three-year-old Layla would be chasing the hens and I would run towards her, hold her in my arms and kiss her. Layla would be crying, afraid to go to school for the first time; I would hold her, wipe her tears with my veil and kiss her. Then Layla, a teenage girl, would be telling me about a boy, like Hamdan, she had met on the way to school; I would rub her back then kiss her. `The young man was in tears, watching all the kisses,' but I walked on back straight, face dry, muscles taut, wrapped up in my raincoat.

  On board the Hellena, leaning on the railing, I watched dry-eyed the sea churning and surging. The ship was pushing and shoving the grey water around leaving lines of white foam behind. Under the critical gaze of Miss Asher I received Rebecca's gentle instructions about table manners and the English language. This was the small bread plate, this was the main course knife and fork, this was the soup spoon and this was the dessert spoon. I had learnt how to corner the green lettuce, cut it into pieces, shove it in my mouth and eat it unwillingly as if I were full. I had learnt how to butter a piece of bread, hold it with two fingers and eat it with the soup. I had learnt how to be patient and wait for others to start eating and then start after them. I had learnt how to wait for others to stop speaking before I started talking. I had learnt how to start each conversation with a comment about the weather.

  `Good morning, Sadiq. The weather is lovely today,' I said.

  He pointed his finger at me, jerked his chin sideways and said, `Salma, Salina, you are becoming a memsahib. Soon you will be English also.'

  `Stop being so sarcastic,' I said, holding my shopping bags tight.

  `Well, you have even forgotten how to pray to Allah,' he said.

  `What about you? Praying all the time and selling alcohol to infidels!'

  `Business is business also.'

  `So what do you use to keep your hair so shiny?' I asked to change the subject.

  `Indian oil called Sexy,' he said and ran his hand over his sleek hair then smiled.

  `Give us some then,' I said.

  `You know, Salina, I would have taken you as a second wife if you were not so coconut.'

  `A second wife, you must be joking,' I said and smiled.

  `All we need to do is send my first wife two hundred pounds a month for her and the kids. If you help me with the payments I'll marry you.'

  `I am supposed to pay you to get married to you as a second wife? Who do you think you are? Casanova?' I said and smiled again.

  `Shoo, shoo, go lick the feet of your English landlady.'

  In the evening, around sunset, I would walk outside and climb the nearest stairs to the higher decks to watch the Mediterranean closing in on us from every direction. I would linger on the observation deck watching the sky change its colour from glowing gold, to grim grey, to indigo then luminous black. I would just stand there hugging myself to stay warm. How the colours intermingle, disperse and then shift. It was a change of colour, and the colour of tomorrow would be like the green meadows I saw in a magazine called Woman's Own, which I found on one of the chairs on the deck. It had photos of plants and gardens full of colourful flowers. `Hinglaand sweet. Hinglaand beautiful,' I said to Rebecca.

  Pea-green was the colour of the hills. Parvin told me once that the farmers used chemicals to kill the weeds and make the crops look greener than normal. Since then I would look at the green hills from my bedroom window and think of the layers of poison underneath the ground. While looking at the deep green grass of the cathedral, which no doubt had been sprinkled with some fertilizer, I remembered that Liz had asked me to buy her some bread. Projecting the words slowly I said, `Granary, please," to the sales girl.

  `Say that again?' she said.

  `Granary bread,' I said.

  `This one' She pointed at a brown loaf.

  I was too embarrassed to say no, the one to the left, so I nodded my head in agreement. I always felt that there was a long queue of old English ladies behind me, huffing and puffing. Of course I was an alien. It must show in the way I pronounced my `o's, the way I handled the money, the way I was dressed. My thin ankles betrayed me. I moved out of the queue before I had even put the change back in my purse. Elizabeth would crucify me because she had asked me to buy granary bread.

  I noticed that after few nights of lectures about Jesus the Saviour and the Holy Trinity, Miss Asher stopped giving her nightly sermon. I would sit politely on the floor of the narrow cabin, hug my knees and listen to Miss Asher reading me stories from the Bible. `The wife of a man from the company of the prophets cried out to Elisha, "Your servant my husband is dead ... But now his creditor is coming to take my two boys as his slaves."' I would listen as if listening to Jadaan, our village storyteller, whose stories of travelling to faraway lands and heroism were punctuated by playing the rehab. Whenever the fiddle struck the strings a rich thick sound, like the muffled cries of a woman, filled the yard. Miss Asher would translate some of the words into Arabic and then read the stories in the original English. Although I understood little, I really enjoyed listening to the tunes of a different language. One evening, I said to Miss Asher, as if divulging a great secret, `I play the reed pipe. Shall I play while you read?'

  Miss Asher made sure that the top button of her white frilled collar was in the buttonhole, placed the Bible on the bed
and said, `No. I am reading a sacred text.You must listen carefully and try to learn something.' She crossed herself and began undressing. I turned round and stretched on the mattress on the floor. I could feel the ship swaying here and there and through the small rounded window I could hear the rhythmic swoosh of the water.

  I saw him walking down the alleyway to the cathedral close. `Hello,' I said to Jim.

  `Jesus! You startled me,' he said.

  I looked at his grey eyes, his waxy complexion, his ponytail and felt that Saturday night was so distant, hidden away in one of the storerooms of his mind. I began fiddling with the strap of my bag.

  `I am in a hurry, I am afraid,' he said.

  `Yes, of course,' I said. I was nervous and kept shifting my weight from one foot to another. `A cup of coffee some time?' I asked.

  `I am really busy these days. See you around," he said and hurried down the cobbled alleyway.

  I waved a feeble goodbye and walked up the alleyway. I turned round and saw the back of his grey shirt, his long thin arms, his delicate fingers and his sensible shoes disappear around the corner.

  Parvin had already told me about the `see you around'. `It means I never want to see you ever again, adios, goodbye. Capish?'

  I looked at my reflection in the hostel's one and only mirror. I had lost so much weight, my eyes and nose looked larger and my skin looked darker. I was so thin my trousers were slipping down. `It's a journey, a crossing to adulthood,' said Parvin. `The Chinese call it the little death that prepares you for the real big bang.' I was ready to go out for a walk. I wore blue jeans, a T-shirt and tied my white veil under my chin tightly. I looked again at my reflection then slowly began untying the knot of my white veil. I slid it off, folded it and placed it on the bed. I pulled my hair out of the elastic band, brushed it and tossed it around. I was so thin that my frizzy dark hair fell over my face almost covering it completely. I looked again at the veil, which my father had asked me to wear and my mother had bought for me, folded on the bed. I rubbed my forehead and walked out. It felt as if my head was covered with raw sores and I had taken off the bandages. I felt as dirty as a whore, with no name or family, a sinner who would never see paradise and drink from its rivers of milk and honey. When a man walked by and looked at my hair my scalp twitched. I sat down on the pavement, held my head and cried and cried for hours.

  River Exe split into two branches forming a small island. It was a peaceful space covered with green grass, wild flowers, and on its borders birch, chestnut, oak and rowan trees grew I sat down on my jacket listening to the water rushing down to the sea, afraid to go home and face Liz. She might ask me about Jim. He said, `See you around.' And it sounded like: `You sleep around' Was I too easy, too available? Maybe I was too dark and foreign with my frizzy hair and sage tea. Was I too stiff and unwelcoming? I might be too inexperienced. My obsession with cleanliness might have put him off. I got a cheese cube and some bread out of the plastic bag, then broke the bread with my hand. I started chewing. I had borrowed Hidden Greece from the library so I took it out and began looking at the photos: the vine trees, old houses, cool whitewashed cloisters, women in permanent mourning and cold mountain springs.

  Margaret, Rebecca's eldest daughter, began seeking me out on the ship. She would sing her salaam, which I taught her, and hold my hand urging me to take her to the deck and play her some music. I would blow her name into the pipe: `M-a-r-g-a-r-e-t'. She would laugh, swinging her golden braids. I learnt more English from her than all the afternoon lessons with Miss Asher. `Not "woord", "world".'

  While playing one morning, a tall, graceful man walked straight towards me stretching out his hand. `My name is Mahoney, and I am the pastor on this ship. I've listened to you play the pipe several times and wanted to introduce myself.'

  I often wondered who this graceful man, always looking at the sea, was. `I am Salma and here is my friend Margaret.'

  He raised his eyebrow quizzically. Margaret was eleven and I was twenty-five. `Pleased to meet you' He shook her hand.

  `Where do you come from?' he asked.

  I did not know what to say, but Miss Asher had taught me to say that I was her daughter. `Hinglish,' I said.

  `I am Irish,' he said.

  `Where?'

  `Across the sea, silly,' said Margaret.

  He looked at my face too intently. I felt hot under my white veil so I held Margaret's hand and said, `You're late for bed.'

  We waved goodbye and rushed down the stairs.

  Miss Asher closed the New Testament and said, `You came back early, you two.'

  I sat with my cup of tea watching a show on television. The presenter was wearing a glittering green suit and must have changed her hair colour; it was warm brown this time. I sipped the cold tea and watched long-lost families being united courtesy of the show Amanda's baby sister Molly was lost during the war, and it turned out that she was adopted by an Australian couple, and was now living in Sydney. Ten years ago she began looking for her sister. The presenter smiled and said, `Amanda, your baby sister Molly is here with us today. COME ON, Molly!' Amanda and Molly looked at each other incredulously, ran towards each other then hugged. I switched off the TV and looked at the damp walls, the small table, the Indian mirror and the dark window Before closing the curtains I noticed that a dark shadow was standing by the railway track. No one was allowed to get near the track. I shut the curtains and switched on the light. Water was dripping from the electric bulb onto the duvet. I tied a pillow case around the cable and rushed downstairs to tell Liz.

  Liz was dozing off on the sofa with a letter in her hand. Her diary lay on the floor. On the dirty carpet I could see an empty bottle of wine and a glass. `Liz,' I said and shook her shoulder.

  She opened her eyes and said, `Kaise no?'

  `Liz, wake up!'

  She rubbed her eyes and said, `Where am I?'

  `In your home in Exeter," I said.

  She sat up and began crying. `I haven't got my reading glasses on. Please read me this letter.' Her tongue slurred over the words. She was drunk and tired.

  I began reading: `Darling, I called you Upah because of your white luminous skin that shone in the moonlight. I wanted to celebrate you, worship you, treasure you.'

  `Stop,' she said and snatched the letter. `What do you think you're doing? What, at this hour?' Liz's face was covered with sweat, the red veins under her skin filled up with blood.

  `Let me help you up the stairs and tuck you into bed," I said.

  `No, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,' she said while holding my arm tight.

  I pulled her up, put her arm around my shoulders and helped her up the stairs. Entering her bedroom felt like trespassing into a forbidden territory. It was a mess: ruffled sheets, dirty clothes scattered on the floor, some cold pizza on a plate and dark stains on the beige carpet, where wine had been spilt. It smelt of dust, lavender soap and denture cleanser. The large `Victorian Mercer king bed I inherited from my grandfather' was exquisite. It was made of silver metal with a brown finish; the head- and footboards had large medallions, cast in the shape of the letters V, R and I, `Viceroy to India', which were accented by smaller halfcircle castings with flowerlike decorations at the end. On the antique bedside table I could see a bundle of letters tied up with a rubber band in an open crimson satin box. Liz caught my eye and put the lid back. `That'll be all. Thank you,' she said.

  She took her dentures out and placed them in the glass on the bedside table, untied her hair and, fully clothed, eased herself under the white frilled duvet covered with yellow and red stains. Still holding the letter she switched off the dusty old bedside lamp.

  The next morning I looked through my window at the green hills dotted with white sheep and black cows. It was a sunny day and the river, which I could see beyond the old rail carriages, was sparkling silver. Was she out there? I rushed down the cold stairs to the kitchen and made myself some real coffee to get myself going. I had some cereal, drank some water and got
dressed. I realized that I was losing weight again. The tight blue jeans, which I had not worn for months, fitted me perfectly. Mondays were the hardest because of Max's foul mood so I sprayed myself once again with deodorant. I put my fleece, Understanding Poetry and my pipe in my large bag. Today I would insist on having a lunch break so I could read a bit. I pulled down my T-shirt, laced up my trainers and took the tuna sandwich wrapped up in clingfilm out of the fridge and stuck it in the bag together with the coffee thermos. I opened the front door and filled my nostrils with morning air.

  `Good morning, Salina,' said Postman Jack.

  `Finally you got my name right," I said and smiled.

  `I am not the sharpest tool in the box,' he said and winked at me.

  It must be mid morning in Hima by now My mother would be walking through the hills piling up kindling and long dry sticks, then tying them to her back. I would get up, open the window and listen to the cock's crow and the cooing of pigeons. My mother told me once that what the pigeons were really saying was, `Glory be to Allah!' I rushed to the well, got some water then washed my face. The coal in the brazier was lit and Mother was kneading the dough with her rough, swollen fingers.

  `Good morning, Mother,' I said and kissed her forehead.

  She smiled and handed me her first loaf, dripping with honey and butter. I ate it while watching her flinging the dough up in the air until the large thin loaf covered the whole of her outstretched arms. She would throw it on the hot iron tin placed carefully on the outside fire. It would start sizzling immediately then it would puff up like a round brown moon filling the chilly morning air with its aroma.

  I spent weeks chewing at dry bread, drinking soup, taking pills and listening to Parvin's tapes. I went through them one by one: `Relax', `Like A Virgin', `Sexual Healing', `Rock The Casbah', `Rock With You'. I wrote down the lyrics, looked up some words in the dictionary, played the cassette again, then memorized the songs.