The Sand Fish

by Maha Gargash

  Lateefa lapped a cloth into a bowl of buttermilk and turmeric. It was the same mixture she had used to bring Noora’s fever down, and now, as before, she squeezed the cloth with a devotion that was quite new, one that Noora had never seen in the older woman. The room remained heavy with the smell of spiced old milk, and Noora shook her head as Lateefa lifted the cloth toward her forehead.

  “But it will bring your fever down,” Lateefa said.

  “Fever’s finished,” whispered Noora. “No more, please.”

  Lateefa paused with the cloth in her hand and chuckled. “All right, if you don’t want anymore, that’s fine. But there is something that I’m sure you do want.” From her pocket, she pulled two halves of a lime. Suddenly, Noora felt her breath quicken and her mouth drool. Sifting through her jumbled thoughts, she remembered her frenzied calls to satisfy her craving for the sour taste of limes. She sucked the flesh greedily, and as her lips pursed under its tartness, she thought of Jassem and his belt-tightening tales of his precious limes. He had been in her dreams, too, or were they her waking moments?

  While she was feverish, in and out of sleep, she remembered seeing him at the door, more than once, asking in a low voice whether she was getting better. She was sure there were lines of worry on his forehead. It was another first for Noora, seeing her husband, the man with the lion’s growl, meowing a timid cat’s fears.

  As Lateefa tiptoed out of the room, Noora relished the lime. Her secret seemed safe. Otherwise, Lateefa and Jassem would not have been so accommodating, so concerned, and, dare she believe it, so loving. She peeled the inside of the lime with her teeth and chewed the pulp. It was bitter and sharp at the same time. Just what she wanted, just what she needed for now, until she could think more clearly, until she could understand her new position in the household.

  40

  Noora broke half of a pomegranate and felt the sting of its juice spit into her eyes. Immediately, Lateefa wiped it off by flinging a wet cloth on her face before Noora got a chance to blink.

  “It’s all right, Ommi Lateefa,” said Noora, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. A full month had passed since she’d recovered from her fever, and still Lateefa hovered over her like a bee protecting its honey.

  The pomegranate was almost as sour as the limes she daily devoured, and it suited her fine. As the ruby pips exploded in Noora’s mouth, she watched Lateefa neaten the bed she was lying on. That is what the older woman did these days whenever she felt her hands grow idle, since it was another way of fussing over Noora.

  “Don’t swallow the pips,” Lateefa instructed. “Just put them back into the tray. They are too hard on the stomach.”

  Noora spat the pulp out with an exaggerated whoosh and fixed Lateefa with a stare of confrontation.

  The older woman continued with a kind smile, “With pregnancy, the mood goes up and down all the time. What to do? But you must know that you can talk to me whenever you want, tell me what bothers you, and I will try to do my best to help you.”

  It was the invitation Noora was looking for, and she did not hesitate. “I’m so tired of staying in this room, so tired of all this attention you are giving me. I haven’t walked out in the courtyard for so long.” She was whining like a dog begging for food. “Why can’t I go out and walk, just walk, that’s all.”

  “Pah! What talk! The sun is too hot for you.”

  “But it is cooler now. Anyway, I can go out when the sun sets in the early evening or late at night. I don’t mind.”

  Lateefa refused once again, this time with a determined shake of the head. “It is for your own good that you stay indoors and rest. Outside, there are germs that could be brought in by anyone: Yaqoota, Shamsa, even our husband.”

  And Hamad, too? Noora wanted to ask but thought better not to. Where was he?

  “In your state, you will pick the germs up, just like that,” said Lateefa, and her fingers joined in a thunderous snap aimed to establish her authority, to show that she was in control of Noora’s pregnancy.

  Defiance rose in Noora like the sudden heave of a wave at the start of a storm. “I’m not asking for much,” she said. “I only want to exercise a little.” She rose and dangled her legs to the side of the bed. “I think I will go and walk outside a little right now.”

  Lateefa crossed her arms and, slanting her head to one side, shot a fierce look at Noora. “I don’t think you should,” she said.

  Noora slid off the bed.

  “Do not go out,” Lateefa warned.

  Noora continued to disobey the older woman. She flung her shayla over her head and took a few steps toward the door. She was about to slide the door’s thick, wooden latch when Lateefa spoke again. “Don’t let your head grow big just because you’re having our husband’s child.” There was the rumble of a storm sitting at the back of her throat. “When I say you should rest, you should listen to me.”

  The wood rasped as Noora dragged the latch slowly to one side.

  “Don’t forget that I set the rhythm of this house,” Lateefa continued, “and to set the rhythm of the house, I have to know everything. And believe me when I tell you, I do.”

  Noora hesitated. The door was unlatched, all she had to do was pull it open and take that tiny step out. Then she’d be in the light. Then she would have won. But victory seemed already behind her, in Lateefa’s voice, which was filled with all the colors of confidence and authority.

  “I know things,” the older woman said, “and you would be wise to listen to me when I tell you to.”

  What was Lateefa saying? Did she know that it was Hamad’s child swimming in her womb? All the fears Noora had been stifling emerged. Terror shot into her limbs and the clammy pricks of dread sped to her fingers. Her hands stiffened and she dropped them to her side. She had to step back from this confrontation. Lateefa’s threats seemed real.

  She remained facing the door as she tried to churn up some poise. “Look, I don’t want to upset you,” Noora began, trying to blow into her voice as much of the carefree breeze of good humor as she could without sounding as if she were backing down. “I just want to exercise my legs.” She swung round and stepped back to the bed. Then she decided to look deep into the older woman’s eyes, since it was the only way to catch the truth. Surely, everything would be reflected in the tiny sparks of those eyes!

  But Lateefa would not allow it. As Noora dove into the slits of her burka, she saw nothing but an expansive grin that shrank Lateefa’s eyes into seeds, sitting on a pair of hollow crescents as crinkled as rotten fruit.

  Late that night, Noora resisted sleep. She did not want to dream. In her dreams, there was always that horrible sense of trying to get somewhere but not being able to. Steps on a cloud that could carry her weight would dissolve into mist; gravel on a mountain she was climbing would slip under her feet. She always felt trapped in her dreams, either falling to nowhere or climbing to nothing. Those dreams, so many of them, wrapped themselves around her like sticky ocean weeds.

  Sleep tugged at her eyelids. She got up and tiptoed to the door. She was as silent as a breeze as she entered the forbidden courtyard and snuck into the shadows of the arcade that rose over the house majlis. There, she stood very still and tried to find peace by staring ahead, but there was a cloud in her mind, filled with dreaded questions that tripped over one another. It had been there from the moment Lateefa had crushed her resolve. Noora had avoided it, hoping it would disperse. But now, in the stillness of the night, every fear and doubt tumbled out.

  Did Lateefa really know her secret? And if she did, how would she have found out? Could it be the villagers setting Lateefa’s mind along a trail of suspicion? And there was another possibility, too. And it was the one that filled Noora with the biggest terror of all. What had happened during her illness?

  She tried to recall every detail of that feverish week. She remembered her throbbing head and limbs, clogged with weariness. There were the sips of chicken broth, the tiny mouthfuls of water, the heavy sc
ent of Lateefa’s mix of buttermilk and turmeric on her body.

  Lateefa said she had tossed, punched, and kicked while she slept under the heat of fever. Had she spoken, too? Noora shook her head. She was sure all the sounds she made, all those shrieks of alarm, had been in her head. In her waking moments, her voice rose above her lazy heartbeat in random mumbles that were entwined so tightly she could not understand them. Her tongue had been full of the gasp and quiver of a fish out of water. What damage could it have uttered?

  Noora breathed deeply, again and again. She was sick of her pitiful state. As she felt the crisp air clear her head, she dared to imagine another life, one that would take her far away from Lateefa’s tyrannical authority. Perhaps Hamad was right. Perhaps he should steal those pearls. And then they could escape together.

  It was a thought that immediately overwhelmed her. There was hope in it. There was boldness in it. She dragged her feet on the ground, feeling an urgent need to move, wanting to wipe away the wretchedness that plagued her. She began with a few quiet steps, here and there, remaining in the dark. But it was not long before she exposed the length of her, a rebellious shadow under the glittering half-moon, marching silently in full view.

  Her tummy was still small, and with the weakness and nausea past her, she felt strong enough to run away from this oppressive household. She would travel, cross the seas to India, and bring up her child alongside Hamad as he quickly grew rich.

  While the house slept, Noora rushed from one side of the courtyard to the other and back again, intent on erasing that pathetic creature she had become. She was like a thief looking to get caught. She dug her heels into the sand till the flash of defiance filled her with a crazed thrill. How easy it all was. How clear the picture of that other life was. She could see herself, sitting by his side on a mat under a leaning palm with her infant lying on her lap as she rocked it to sleep. She could feel Hamad’s light breath blowing away the humidity that settled on the nape of her neck. There was her mouth, slackening into a gentle smile, and there were her eyes, a pair of glossy olives, lulled half-shut in an arc of fulfillment.

  It was a pleasing reverie, cut short only by a spike of pain in her lower back that prompted her to stop. That is when Noora noticed that she was breathless and a dull ache had settled in her calves. Her heart was racing, too. And it made her sad to realize that all the agility and endurance that she had possessed when she lived in the mountains was now gone. Her steps were sluggish now, and she wondered how she would survive a two-or three-month voyage over rough seas and into an unfamiliar land where people spoke a strange language.

  As the pain in her back subsided, she thought more about the risk involved in such a move. She was tempted to shrug away the whole plan that had formed so haphazardly in her mind. But Noora was fed up with the voiceless coward she had become.

  Tomorrow, I will find Hamad, she resolved. Where was he anyway? She paused and looked up at the sky, as if she might find him there. Ever since her illness, Hamad had disappeared, and she had not had the nerve to ask his whereabouts. Tomorrow, that would have to change. Tomorrow, she would ask Yaqoota.

  41

  It was one thing to decide what she had to do and quite another to act on it.

  First, she had to catch Yaqoota in a moment of gentle contemplation so that the noisy slave would not shout out her secret to the whole house. And that was proving difficult. Right from the start of Noora’s pregnancy, Yaqoota had shrugged away her temper and ill feelings toward Noora and now shared Lateefa’s and Jassem’s unending thrill and anticipation. The slave grabbed any chance she had to fuss over Noora. She squealed and sang all day.

  Noora decided she had to give her time to grow bored and calm down. By day, she followed Lateefa’s rule and remained captive in the room. But at night, Noora rebelled and stole into the courtyard where, as any lost Arab might, she gazed at the starry sky to find guidance. Night after night, she looked out for some sign in the stars’ flickering light, but she only noticed the passing of time as the moon swelled and shrank.

  Then, one morning, as Noora sat combing her hair, Yaqoota burst into her room and declared, “Shamsa is leaving.”

  The comb was stuck in a knot, and Noora left it where it was, dangling. She stood up and walked to the wall to listen. There was shuffling and clattering on the other side. It was true: Shamsa was packing.

  Noora grabbed her shayla and draped it over her head. She was about to walk out of the room when Yaqoota clutched her arm. “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To see Shamsa, to see why—” And Noora stopped. Why was she going to see Shamsa? Why did she care? Even though Shamsa had never uttered a kind word to her, Noora felt a sense of grief and betrayal that surged thick as the spurt of blood out of a deep wound. No matter how catty they had been to each other, Noora felt there was a bond they shared, just by being in a marriage not of their choice. She had to do something. “Maybe she needs help packing,” she said.

  “I don’t think she does, not from you anyway,” Yaqoota said. “After all, it’s because of you that she’s going!” She wagged her head. “Shamsa said to the arbab, ‘I want to be with my family; I miss them.’ Hoo!” Yaqoota’s brows wiggled, and she leaned toward Noora and whispered, “She said that it would be just for a while, and then she will be back. But we know better, don’t we? She’ll never be back. She will stay in the nest of her house, sitting on her failure like a chicken on a broken egg.”

  “Why now?” Noora asked.

  “Why now?” Yaqoota mocked. “Look at you! Soon your tummy will be so big you won’t be able to see your feet.”

  Noora clasped the base of her belly, as if it might fall if she did not.

  “What are you now?” Yaqoota continued. “Six months in or so? Safe! That is what you are. Shamsa waited this long to make sure there was no chance of your losing the baby.”

  Noora frowned and began stroking the sides of her tummy. “And the arbab agreed?” She remembered how angry Jassem had been the last time Shamsa had gone to visit her family.

  Yaqoota shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

  Noora frowned. “Well, maybe I should just go and say good-bye,”

  “She’ll spit on you if you do,” Yaqoota said, with a chuckle. “Just think. You won; she lost. Be happy.” She peered out through the window.

  Noora felt none of Yaqoota’s glee. Instead, gloom, dark as a moonless night, shrouded her mind. A woman’s place in a household could be determined only by what she could provide. And Shamsa, it seemed, had nothing to give. Shamsa had first fled with Noora’s arrival, and now she was fleeing again with this pregnancy.

  “He’s here, the old man is here,” Yaqoota said, and skipped to the door on one foot, and then the other, before slipping out of the room.

  Noora held the door ajar and looked out just as the group outside quickly disposed of the customary greetings. Lateefa and Jassem were asking Shamsa’s father to rest and have coffee, but he insisted that he was in a hurry. The old man had brought two men with him to carry his daughter’s belongings.

  And then Shamsa walked out fully veiled. There was none of her usual blaze of hysterics, only quiet words of farewell. She held her head high and stooped slightly for Lateefa’s embrace. And Lateefa wrapped her with all the tenderness of a mother to her child.

  As Jassem kissed Shamsa on her forehead, Noora noticed Juma’s thin fingers creep onto his daughter’s shoulder and squeeze it. It was a tiny gesture but was so full of meaning. That was a pinch of support, and suddenly Noora envied her.

  Shamsa was returning to her family, a rich family who loved her enough to take her back. And she, Noora, had no family or home she could go back to. She had to stay where she was, under Lateefa’s bullying hand, a hand that could crush her with the simplest touch. And Noora wondered who the real winner was.

  Noora could not watch anymore. She pulled off her shayla and untangled the comb from her hair. She climbed onto the bed and, dangling her legs over
the side, began swinging them. The rest of her remained as rigid as a tree trunk as she listened to the front door open and Shamsa leave.

  She should have felt victorious. She had won. Instead, Noora felt defeated, trapped in the possibility that Lateefa knew of her secret affair with Hamad. Her swinging legs were gaining momentum. There was nothing she could do but follow Lateefa’s “advice,” as the older woman called it. And that’s what she had been doing. She kept her objections behind clenched lips whenever Lateefa fussed over her and spent her days in her room, just as Lateefa had “advised” her to. Noora’s only respite came when the house slept and she skulked into the courtyard trying to find some inspiration, some hope, or a solution in the stars.

  The days were cooler now. She did not sweat as she continued to swing her legs back and forth. The moist sea air wafted through the bars of her window easily, and now it carried the voices of other men entering the house and Jassem’s, too, so full of vigor, calling out his orders to them to seal the wind towers.

  “We have to hurry,” he was saying. “It’s coming today or tomorrow at the latest.”

  Of course he was talking of the rain. For the past few days, there had been so much rain talk in the household. But Noora could not share that excitement. She knew that even the rain would not be able to wash away the gloom she felt.

  Noora swung her legs harder and with her next kick in the air came another kick. She squeaked with surprise at the sharpness of it and pressed her hands to her stomach. There was urgency in it. That kick seemed to be hurrying her on to take some action. Was her baby telling her that it was strong enough to be carried away—somewhere else?

  Before she could think more, the door swung open and Lateefa entered, followed closely by Jassem. Noora crossed her arms in a huff. Now there would be two bees buzzing over her: Lateefa spewing out the frequent reminders of what she must do and what she mustn’t and Jassem grunting his approval.