Hiding in Plain Sight

by Nuruddin Farah

  Bella wants to say, “I know,” but she thinks of Valerie’s impending arrival and simply says, “You have me, darling, for one. I am here, to be with you and look after you.”

  “Thanks, Auntie,” says Dahaba. But Bella pushes on.

  “For another, you have a living parent, your mother.”

  At that, Dahaba pushes Bella away, and for the first time the two of them stand apart, Dahaba staring at Bella with a look of anger that she has insinuated Valerie into their conversation. Bella won’t pursue the topic now; now is not the time. But Dahaba isn’t quite ready to let it drop.

  “Remember, Mum went on a walkabout.”

  “Regardless of what she did, she is your mum.”

  “We don’t wish to see her,” says Dahaba.

  “She loves you, in her own way,” Bella insists gently, remembering that Dahaba was especially close to Valerie at the time when she abandoned them.

  “She called here last night,” Dahaba says. “But Salif wouldn’t talk to her.”

  “What about you? Did you speak to her?”

  “He hung up on her before I got the chance.”

  “When did she call?”

  “Yesterday evening, just after we got here.”

  “She called just the one time?” Bella asks.

  “She called back again later.”

  “And they talked, did they?” Bella says, sensing that this is the case.

  “They spoke a long time,” Dahaba says.

  “What about?”

  “He won’t tell me.”

  “And you didn’t speak to her yourself?”

  “I didn’t want to. I’m still upset from before.”

  None of these goings-on surprise Bella, and she sees that Valerie’s blowing hot and cold conjures a parallel pattern of anger and yearning in her daughter, and no wonder. Yet again, Bella marvels at the woman’s narcissism, which seems to know no limits.

  Dahaba dries her cheeks and leads Bella by the hand into the living room. Suddenly, she turns and says, “It’s wonderful, wonderful that you are here.”

  “You are my only darlings,” Bella says.

  “We love you too, you know that.”

  “I do, my sweet!”

  “So you are here for a week or something, right?” Dahaba asks, as if afraid to venture more.

  “No, darling,” says Bella. “I am here forever.” And at the moment she says it, it dawns on her it is true.

  “Forever, Auntie?”

  “I am not going back to Europe.”

  “And you’ll be our mum?”

  “Yes, I’ll be your mum and your dad too.”

  This time it is tears of joy that wet Dahaba’s cheeks. She takes hold of Bella’s hands, kissing each of them in turn. Not for the first time, Bella marvels at how easily a child’s mood changes.

  “And so we don’t need to go boarding, do we?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Wait until I tell Salif!”

  It strikes Bella only now how child rearing requires a sort of unconditional internal commitment to the task. Everything to do with raising children has its own rationale, she thinks, constructed along the lines of a minor and a major premise and a conclusion bizarrely drawn from neither. For every child is in a world of his or her own making, and everyone else remains outside of it until there is need to involve them, to invite them in—and then only provisionally, and for self-serving reasons. She remembers a Somali saying something to the effect that one’s children are not one’s parents. Which means, in effect, that we think far more often about our children than they are likely to think of us. Even if you are sick or having money problems or other troubles, she realizes, you must not expect them to respond to your needs in the way you’ve responded to theirs. You won’t be able to sleep when they are sick, and you’ll do whatever you can to alleviate their pain or allay their fears. But do not expect them to feel anyone else’s pain the same way! Until, of course, they become parents themselves and have their own children.

  “Is Salif still in bed?” Bella asks Dahaba.

  But it is Salif who answers, “I am awake,” and, turning, they see him: a gangly youth trying his best to grow a beard and not succeeding. His face is pimpled, his pajamas are missing a couple of buttons, and he is barefoot. Bella instantly suspects that while Dahaba will benefit greatly from her presence it is Salif who needs more care, however he might insist that he needs no one and nothing.

  “Hello, my darling!” Bella says.

  But Salif is not in a pliant mood, and he won’t rise from where he is crouched on the bottom step of the stairway. Nor does he attempt to take the hand she offers to lift him up. At last Dahaba goes to him and whispers in his ear. He is not moved.

  At last, he says to Bella, “When did you come?”

  Dahaba, intervening, says, “Don’t answer him.”

  “Yesterday,” Bella replies.

  “And why didn’t you tell us you were coming then? We would not have gone away!”

  Bella looks him in the eye, aware that this sort of conversation so soon after her arrival does not bode well. “There was a misunderstanding about the time of my arrival,” she says calmly. “I was exhausted and upset, and I sent the wrong information.”

  “Have you spoken to Mum?” asks Salif.

  Bella hesitates. “Not yet. But I will.”

  “About our future?”

  Again Bella pauses, wondering how best to proceed. “Of course. That will need to be discussed.”

  “She gave the impression you did,” says Salif.

  Bella is fairly certain that the cold shoulder she is getting is the one he intends for Valerie. Or perhaps he is just going through a phase where he needs to assert his positions and know that he is being taken seriously. At any rate, her instinct tells her to let him bully her a little. She senses that Valerie is a presence in nearly every conversation Dahaba and Salif have right now, the children taking out their anger and uncertainty on everyone else. She examines her fingernails, as though examining them for structural weaknesses; lately, they have been cracking. Then she looks out the window and spots shadows and the shapes of birds high up in the trees. But she is too far away to hear their chirping. Dahaba joins her where she is standing and the two lock arms, the little one placing her head once again in the curve of Bella’s neck.

  “Would you like your breakfast, Salif?”

  Salif’s expression darkens with unspoken outrage that Bella won’t engage with him in conflict. He has always hated it when adults change the topic of conversation to mundane matters, like food or sleep. When he was younger, he would create ugly scenes when that happened. He was notorious for his ill-timed tantrums, especially in public places—airports or the homes of his parents’ friends. He seemed, in fact, to take great delight in embarrassing his father in front of his friends. As a result, Bella knows, Aar seldom brought anyone home, and until Gunilla, he had never brought home his women friends for fear that his children might behave badly or speak spitefully in their presence. Bella wonders if Salif will one day revisit these ugly confrontations with self-loathing. Just now, he is biting hard on his thumb, as if to keep himself from speaking.

  Bella says to Dahaba, “Do you cook?”

  “I can make spaghetti and sauce.”

  “And what can Salif make?”

  “Nothing, not even his favorite bacon.”

  “At nearly seventeen, he should be able to make something, surely,” says Bella, opening the fridge and bringing out the butter and then going to the cupboards to find a frying pan. She has difficulties turning on the gas, but Dahaba helps. Then Dahaba takes a seat, gazing at her auntie in delight, in contrast to Salif, who stands silently in the kitchen doorway, pretending still to be angry.

  Bella says to Dahaba, “Do you eat bacon as well?”


  “Yes, I do, Auntie.”

  “And yet you claim to be a Muslim?”

  Dahaba nods her head and says nothing.

  “We do eat it and are proud of it,” Salif says defiantly.

  Bella opens the packet of bacon and begins to separate the stringy rashers and lay them in the frying pan.

  Salif adds, “Our father always insisted on us being Muslim, culturally speaking, even though he partook of the odd glass of wine at birthdays and other celebrations, and occasionally with his meals.”

  “How are Qamar and Zubair?” Bella asks, changing the subject. Qamar and Zubair are Fatima and Mahdi’s daughter and son, who are close in age to Dahaba and Salif and not only go to the same school but also have similar interests. Zubair, like Salif, is into soccer to the point of obsession, and Qamar, like Dahaba, is a budding feminist.

  “We haven’t seen them for a couple of days,” Salif says, this time not sulking at the change of topic.

  “I spoke to Auntie Fatima and Uncle Mahdi,” Bella tells him.

  “Can we arrange to meet them?” Salif asks.

  “As soon as you like,” Bella says.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I can’t see why not,” Bella says.

  Bella knows that it is only because Mahdi was away in Somalia at the time of Aar’s death, and Fatima had a medical procedure scheduled, that the children went to stay with James and Catherine rather than with these dear family friends. She also knows that Qamar and Zubair do not eat bacon and that their parents do not touch liquor at all. But they are tolerant enough of their friends’ “un-Islamic” ways.

  She also suspects that Valerie would go bonkers if she knew about her children’s closeness to the family, who no doubt encourage them to identify primarily as Somali and Muslim. Valerie harbors an ancient antipathy to Islam, springing from a story about her grandfather being sodomized when he fell into the hands of a local militia in North Africa.

  Bella puts a plate before Salif. “Here, done. Come and eat.”

  Salif drowns the bacon in huge spurts of ketchup, and despite the knife and fork she has set by his plate, he uses his fingers, mopping his plate with the last rasher.

  Then he says to Bella, “About our father?”

  “What about him?”

  “In his will, did he ask to be cremated?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Bella says. “But I have not yet seen his final will. Why do you ask?”

  “Mum talked about cremation yesterday.”

  “She mentioned nothing of the sort to me,” Bella says, reminding herself to stay calm.

  “Where was he buried?”

  Bella takes care not to give any more information than necessary, as it will serve no one’s interest. So she does not disclose all that she has learned of the circumstances of Aar’s death but says only, “In Mogadiscio, soon after he died.”

  Dahaba asks, “Why did they bury him so fast?”

  “It is part of the Muslim tradition.”

  “No,” says Salif, ignoring her and answering Dahaba himself. “They bury the dead within hours because it is very hot up there, being closer to the Equator, and unless the corpse is embalmed quickly, it will begin to deteriorate.” Again that hostile edge!

  He turns back to Bella. “Mum thinks it is stated in his will that he wants his body to be cremated.”

  For the first time in their presence, Bella feels her temper flare. But before she can speak, Dahaba chimes in, “Mum has no business here.”

  “As if she will listen to your advice!” Salif spits.

  And just as the two of them face off, about to go at it, Bella clears her throat, making them turn to face her. Regaining her calm, she says, “Next time, please tell your mum to address any questions she may have about your father’s will, his burial, or his estate to me directly.”

  But Salif isn’t finished. “Is it legally incumbent on the living to follow to the letter the will of the dead with respect to their wishes for the disposition of their bodies?”

  “From whom does this question come?” says Bella, not answering.

  “Does it matter?” counters Salif.

  “It does,” says Bella. “And I don’t know the answer.”

  Bella is more than certain that Valerie, whose nickname in some quarters is “Madam Confusion,” is the source of this line of questioning. Bella has a copy of one version of Aar’s will, and she knows it makes no mention of cremation, but she is not certain it is the most recent one. Still, she suspects that if there was ever such a stipulation it belonged to an earlier period, when Aar was interested in Indian philosophy, and to an earlier draft. A draft when Valerie and he still lived as husband and wife. She says to Salif, “What’s your interest in all this?”

  “We should do what his will says.”

  “And if it so stipulates, would you like your father’s body exhumed?” Bella asks.

  “Why not?”

  “And what if people—living people—find the idea inconsistent with their beliefs and abhorrent? Do you think this would bring comfort to your father? What would be gained?”

  “I want to honor his will.”

  “But that is ridiculous,” Dahaba says.

  To Bella’s immense relief, at that very moment they hear a key turning in the lock. The dog enters and makes her way right for Dahaba and Salif, jumping boisterously on them. Catherine greets them and excuses herself to go wash her hands. The lucky arrival of the dog has defused a moment of tension. For the time being, the subject is dropped.

  At the mention of the move back to their house, Bella offers to help Dahaba and Salif to pack. Dahaba says, “Yes, thank you,” but Salif says, “I can do my own packing.”

  And they are ready to leave inside half an hour.

  6.

  Salif, standing little on formalities, is brief in his farewell, and he takes his leave and carries the suitcases to the waiting limousine. The driver, with his windows down, is half asleep but sufficiently alert to release the button controlling the trunk. Salif puts the cases beside his aunt’s singularly heavy bag there—he can’t help being impressed by what a light traveler Auntie is, if this is all she has come with; but he won’t rush to make a judgment; he will wait and see.

  Meanwhile, he hesitates, trying to decide whether to sit by the driver in front, which is his preference, or in one of the roomier rows in the back. If he is unsure where to sit, it is because he thinks that Dahaba is likely to make a hell of a fuss about whatever choice he makes. And for once, he does not wish to engage Dahaba in a squabble about seating. So he stays outside the vehicle, waiting and chatting to the driver, who is polite enough to turn off the radio news, which is in one of the local languages, most likely Kalenjin from the sound of it—Salif has sufficient Swahili and a smattering of Gikuyu. When he assumes he has waited long enough, he returns inside. Dahaba, from the look of it, is in no hurry to leave. As for Bella, she is hanging on out of good breeding, maybe because she is hoping that James will get here in time for them to say a proper good-bye. And so they waffle about something, which, in Salif’s view, is of no consequence, even though he won’t say it. Salif wants to avoid getting caught in Nairobi rush hour traffic. And so, leaving again, he says, “I’ll be in the car, Auntie, waiting.”

  The pin dropping, Bella hugs and kisses Catherine, stressing how much she would have liked for the two of them to meet under different circumstances. Though she has no children of her own, Catherine clearly has both the maternal instinct and the disciplined oversight requisite to a boarding-school principal’s wife. And not for the first time Bella is effusive in her praise of Catherine and James and thanks them for providing a safe and comfortable home to Salif and Dahaba in these difficult times. She adds she is sorry not to have met James, but that she looks forward to doing so in the near future and requests that Catherine please give him her kindest reg
ards. “I am sorry he is not here for me to thank him personally and I pray that he meets with good news at his village and that there is nothing to worry either of you.”

  Eventually, Bella and Dahaba leave holding hands, and together they sit in the back, speaking today’s language of choice, Somali. When Salif opens the car door to sit by the driver and finds there is a clutter of maps and other paraphernalia on the seat, he hesitates, and this time it is the chauffeur who apologizes and moves his stuff.

  Bella says, “Catherine is lovely, isn’t she?”

  “Even though she has no children of her own,” says Dahaba, “she treats the children as though they were of her own flesh and blood.”

  “I am sorry I haven’t met the principal.”

  “There is plenty of time.”

  And during a pause, Bella remembers hearing on a past visit Salif’s comparing his experience as a boarder to that of a prison inmate who knows all the ins and outs of the system. She had assumed that he hated being a boarder and was loath to return to it, but he had corrected her, saying, “On the contrary, I often have a different kind of fun when I am a boarder. The rules are clear. Mr. Kariuki is very strict but fair, and Mrs. Kariuki is very caring. What more can you want?” Now, Bella knows that the pair of them, one as the principal, the other as his spouse, have set the bar high. But she feels cut out for this sort of challenge.

  And as if to put that confidence to the test, Salif and Dahaba begin to war with each other, as if on cue. He accuses his sister of dillydallying and telling stories of no importance whatsoever. “We are going to run into terrible traffic and will be lucky if we get there before dark.”

  “I was just being polite.” Dahaba recruits Auntie Bella’s support, adding, “That was okay, Auntie, wasn’t it, and you were just being polite too, weren’t you?”

  Bella says she thinks it is time the two of them have outgrown quarreling, bickering about petty things, and getting on each other’s nerves. “Especially you, Salif. She is your sister and is younger.”