“And? Did you save her?” asked Amira, excited. Maryam snapped, “Don’t be crazy! It was just a silly dream!”
Amira looked at me. I gestured to say, just leave it. Holding out the corner of a sheet that looked like a white flag of surrender, Maryam said to Amira,“Here, take this.”
As a sisterly peace offering they wrapped the dreams of our losses in a shroud made of white sheets.
“So if Madam Lilla’s right,” I said, “these dreams should say something about the lies we tell ourselves. As we all know. A camel dream!”
Maryam wouldn’t let me say any more.
“Oh leave it. We’re not even up yet.”
The door creaked open and a little girl came in and said with sweet arrogance, “Hello. My name is Melika. I’m six years old. I think you all need to get a move on. Because it’s going to get really hot and you’ll lose your appetite. I can’t tell you how fed up I am up with all these people getting up so late.”
The little girl finished with a supercilious hoisting of her eyebrows as she stood still in the doorway.
“Allah Allah!” I said, laughing. Amira laughed, too.
“OK then,” I said. “Melika Hanım. And what if we don’t come?”
Standing at the door like an angry housewife, Melika said, “Then you will have to go fishing. And that might be a little difficult because my swordfish is nowhere to be found. She was the swordfish who knew these parts best.”
Open-mouthed, Amira and Maryam were on the brink of laughing out loud. Keeping a straight face, I went back to folding sheets and said, “Well it’s a good thing I brought my banana fish with me. So it won’t be a problem for us. You just need to point us to the sea.”
Suddenly full of excitement she looked like an alien reuniting with someone from her home planet. She carried on with her mischievous little game.
“I’ll show you where the sea is but right now I need to take care of Amin. Have you met?”
“No, but we would very much like to. That’s just what we were hoping to do this morning.”
Thrilled she had found someone to take part in her game, Melika slipped out of the know-it-all routine and dashed out of the room. Before we could even laugh she was back. With a box in her hand, she said,“This is Amin!”
She opened up the cardboard box full of leaves and brushing the leaves aside she whispered:
“Amiiin! Amiiiin!”
Then she squeaked, “Ah, here you are, you little devil.” There was a spot at the end of her finger. A ladybird. “Hello Amin,” we said, as gravely as we could. “Sometimes he gets out and tries to hide from me. But today he didn’t because we have a TV programme,” said Melika. As if she were a man, Maryam said to Melika, “So what kind of programme?” She stroked the little girl’s hair. Flinging open her two little arms, she loudly announced, “Summer Nights with Melika!”
Until then she probably hadn’t thought of a name for the programme or exactly what she would say. But as we sat down Melika made the flash decision to play an imaginary piano:
“Ta da! Melika and the Summer nights! Yeeees, ladies and gentlemen (she thought for a moment) Yeeeees! Now the horse is on the way (she paused, unable to come up with what to say next and twirled her finger at Amira) you tell me, what is a horse?”
Taking the game very seriously, Amira blurted out, “An animal with four legs!”
“You’re wrong! It’s a brown animal that runs straight ahead!”
Then she pounded away at the piano again.
“Ta da! Now ladies and gentlemen, a zebra is on the way Pointing at me, she said, “so what’s a zebra!?”
“A horse in pajamas!”
“Hmmm,” she said and left it there. It was becoming clear that she wasn’t used to people taking her games seriously and that she was a lonely child. She turned back to the piano and made it clear she wouldn’t stop tinkling with the keys until we changed the topic. Maryam said: “You have such beautiful hair, Melika.”
Melika dropped the TV programme and said, “Yes, I got my hair in Tripoli.”
“How much did you pay for it?” I said.
On the next beat, she said, “1,500.”
Swiftly she turned her focus to Maryam’s head.
“I think you’d look good with red hair. I think we should get you some red hair.”
That was probably the best possible comment anyone could make about Maryam’s hair and we couldn’t help but laugh. Melika, however, was a little put out. “Didn’t I tell you that breakfast was ready!” she shouted and suddenly she was gone.
In the whole wide world there couldn’t have been a more beautiful morning sprite. She had rubbed the rust off our dreams. Or at least that’s how it felt to me then. When she was going over to the pavilion in the garden, Maryam said, “How do they break the spirits of these little girls later on? How do they make them fall into line? It’s like murder. Maybe we were like this once too. If only we could have grown up without being crippled. I wish there was a computer program. One that could show how we might have turned out if our spirits weren’t crushed along the way. To show us how we might have been,” she said, wistfully. I didn’t realize Amira was listening.
“If only we hadn’t suffered,” she said. “Imagine the kind of women we’d be if we hadn’t suffered a single major setback. How wonderful we might have been?”
“We wouldn’t have seen those dreams,” I added. “I mean, if nothing else.”
We heaved a communal sigh. I imagined Melika as a grown woman but in her current state. What a truly wonderful woman she would be.
“Melika wouldn’t give an inch to all those fools and tyrants,” I said, “if she could grow up without losing that spirit.”
“She would need to be loved the way we are,” said Amira.
“She could go on adventures alone and never feel lonely,” said Maryam. The tangled nerves in our heads had turned Melika’s cheerful mood into a source of sadness. Surely it was ridiculously melodramatic to feel so low so early in the morning, but we weren’t laughing. Suddenly the bubbling voice of an old woman, who had materialized behind us like a playful ghost, interrupted our communal lament.
“Oh my lord! Good morning to you all. Good morning!”
This woman had the joy of a pressure cooker.
“No need to fret my pretties. You can still get back to that pure state. I’m here to help. Not a problem!”
Then she waddled out, her entire body giggling. It was sweet to think of our sorrow as something like a headache you could beat with an aspirin and a glass of water. Laughing at the old woman we were caught by Melika’s mother standing there with Melika between her legs.
“So you have met Melika,” she said, stroking her daughter’s hair.
“We even joined her TV programme,” I said. Widening her eyes, her mother said, “Ooooooh… I suppose that’s something new. We still haven’t been on that one.”
Melika was too young to know the value of the joy she brought to our lives and ashamed by our laughter she scurried off. “Where is she going?” said Amira. Not even looking over her shoulder, her mother said, “She’ll be back.” And she laughed. “Come, have breakfast. The pavilion is still cool.” For a second Maryam looked at the woman, stunned.
I was just wondering how the Judas trees could survive in this heat when Amira said, “Judas trees.” Echoing her, Maryam said, “Judas trees, how strange.” They looked at each other. As if surprised they could think the same thing at the same time and understand it without words.
Madam Lilla had long since stretched out in the pavilion when she called out, “Samira, tell your granny to get ready. We may need a cure.”
The bright-faced young mother smiled and, after running her eyes over the table she had set for breakfast, she left.
Maryam then asked the question that must have dented her pride.
“So where are we? Dido’s house? Who in their right mind would think of opening up a hostel in the middle of the desert and call it Dido�
��s home?”
We started tearing off pieces of bread, catching whiffs of fresh butter and some kind of wonderful unsalted cheese. After so many days without a proper breakfast, our anticipation was high. Madam Lilla waited for us to calm down before she answered.
“It’s mine!” she exclaimed.
She spent time relishing her good mood, swishing the end of her skirt over her feet and striking poses.
“You already know Dido’s story. She falls in love with some fool and kills herself. I decided there should be a place in the middle of nowhere for women, a kind of oasis that men could never find. Over the last few years I think many people have heard about it. Tourists and the like are coming. I made the place for women on the run and I donated it to Fatima. She looks after everything. Of course now she’s a grandmother. But she’s only five years older than me.”
She said all this with such grace we might have thought she felt for the woman and wasn’t simply pleased with her own situation by comparison … if we didn’t know Madam Lilla better. Letting out a phony sigh, she said, “The only thing she has to do is keep those Judas trees alive.”
The expression on her face fell.
“So, Madam Lilla, I think you have something to share with us,” said Maryam.
“Yes indeed!” said Madam Lilla.
“So, getting to the essential story. Dido shouldn’t have killed herself but the one who stole her heart. Show no mercy to people like that. Rip out the roots of those barren hearts so that they will do no harm to anyone again. So that they can never hurt people like us again…”
She paused and looked at me.
“You saw the whip at my home. You looked at it carefully. I saw you. Well that whip…”
I had forgotten all about the whip. Now addressing everyone, she went on:
“It belongs to a heartless man. The only thing he left me was a whip. As a sign of his taking me prisoner.”
Turning to Maryam, she said, “You, mademoiselle, you know all too well what I’m talking about. You know Dido, and how she fell, gave herself to the dogs. You know how such a seductive, independent woman (she turned to Amira) could turn out to be such a coward, leaving her fate to be written up as a tale of defeat, fear and shame. You know too. That’s how I fell. (Now turning to me.) The only way we can have a say is to write our own stories. But you also know that perhaps it’s sweeter to watch the miserable wretch suffer than to write the greatest love story. To stay up on your feet … that’s the most important thing. To never give up.”
Madam Lilla had taken the joy out of breakfast. I could feel the lumps of food stuck in my throat. The moment breakfast was over Samira came out with little sweets. She held the tray out to Madam Lilla, who instead of taking the tray and placing it on the table grabbed a sweet. Slowly she munched. Samira stood there with her back bent. Madam Lilla took another sweet. She was making the girl wait. Samira started to smile. Without looking at her, Madam Lilla took another sweet from the tray. In such a gentle voice Samira said, “Thirina, mother and gran have always said so much about you. But you’re something else altogether. You’re truly wonderful.”
There was such a ring in her voice … balanced on the fine line between compliment and mockery. Madam Lilla wasn’t pleased with the sass and she immediately dropped the game of sweet torture she was playing with Samira for her own pleasure. Samira had sweetly schooled her elder and we hadn’t missed it. Madam Lilla turned to us and said, “Samira’s grandmother is a healer. She saves women from the weight of secrets and the shadow of fear. In my opinion what you need is…”
As Madam Lilla went on, Nana Fatima came chuckling into the pavilion, holding a long broom handle. She paid no attention to Madam Lilla holding court, perhaps thanks to her unstoppable cheer, or maybe she was just too old to care about much at all. It seemed she didn’t even realize she was cutting Madam Lilla off.
“Would the pretties like their healing now? In that case,” she giggled, “we will walk forward and not backwards.” We were shaken by a strange need to laugh. There was such a cloud over the woman that the moment you saw her you began to think less of the world. Squinting her eyes she practically had to sniff out Amira. She took her arm. Though her hands were trembling once her plump fingers got a hold of her, Amira couldn’t move. With a century’s worth of knowledge of the human body, she could take any part of Amira and slowly lower her onto the divan. Mumbling a prayer, her hand found Amira’s forehead and she breathed over her face as she continued to recite the prayer. “Ah! Ah!” she moaned, as if on Amira’s behalf, as if sucking out all her pain through the palm of her hand. Then placing the end of the broom on Amira’s belly button, she said:
“Now there is no longer any need for you to fear. Your belly contracts from fear. I will bring it back. But your belly will be strong again, my pretty. You will believe again.”
She clutched the broom handle with both hands as she continued mumbling her prayer. Then Amira started to cry. Freely and smoothly. It was like something else was pouring out from her mouth with her breath. As she cried, Nana Fatima kept her hand on Amira’s forehead, caressing, blowing over her face. Amira shut her eyes but the tears still ran out from under her lids. Nana Fatima was still moaning as she opened her heart to all the grief. When all was done Amira would be able to float away without an ounce of sorrow. With the slightest gesture, she brought Amira to an upright position. Wiping away her tears she mopped the sweat on Amira’s brow with the palm of her hand. She fixed her hair and said:
“My pretty, you can’t forgive him. If you did you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself…”
With a gentle motion she lifted Amira off the divan and sat her on the ground. Amira knew who she was talking about and like a puppet whose strings had been cut she collapsed.
With her hands in the air Nana Fatima was looking for someone else, a big smile on her face, and she found me. She pulled me to the divan. I could feel the strange coolness of her hand holding onto my shirt. It was like she wasn’t made of flesh and bones but of cloud. The slight movement of her fingers set me down on the divan. I understood why Amira could cry. There was something about this woman that pulled you in. A kind of void. A void of mercy. She touched the back of my neck. Took hold. Palmed away the sweat. “You’re so very afraid. But you have done it despite your fear. Wait and let’s see,” she said. Placing the end of the broom stick on my belly, like the needle of a compass in the middle of my body. “Hmm,” she said before starting her prayer.
“So that’s the way it is… That’s the way…”
I kept quiet but it was like she’d taken me aside and was speaking directly to my heart.
“My pretty, you can only really see yourself when others cannot see you. Don’t be afraid. You are brave like a lion. Don’t be afraid to be a lion.”
I didn’t cry. But I felt like I might never speak again.
Then with her hands in the air again she searched for Maryam. And that’s when Maryam snatched the broomstick out of her hand and raced out of the pavilion, screaming.
“I don’t want to be healed.”
Maryam was not going to give in.
*
Madam Lilla was still laughing when Maryam’s outburst was finally over. The three women of the household were watching, too. And of course, Amira and I had become a part of the episode as a form of revolt against Madam Lilla. After she had called out to Samira, who quickly came back with that dark red velvet pouch, Madam Lilla turned to Maryam and said, “You don’t want to be cheated on, is that it? You want something real. A real story with a real end. Fine then, you’ll get what you want. A story that’s both real and that has a real end. Give it here, Samira!”
Samira held out the velvet pouch. Saying bismilla, Madam Lilla opened the pouch and said, “This will change the course of our lives. We won’t stop until we have broken all the heartless in this world.”
Then she reached into the pouch and pulled out a silver gun with a mother of pearl handle. She unlocked
the safety catch, raised the weapon in the air and boom! She fired off a round. It was so sudden that we hardly even realized that she had met our revolt with an even greater one, raising the bar higher, showing us that there were no limits. The gun still in her hand, she went on.
“Ladies, you will break the ones who broke you. You will wound the ones that wounded you. With me you will come to kill a man. Because…”
From a distance Melika came running over to us shouting joyfully.
“I found the swordfish! I found it!”
“Because once the scar forms it will always be with you. After that there is only revenge.”
She addressed Maryam.
“Fine then, mademoiselle, seeing that you are too much of a hero to be drawn into my game. But are you brave enough? Do you have the courage to change the course of your life? Or will you run away from this as well?”
There was a terrifying glimmer in her eyes. In a sudden rush of movement totally unlike her, Amira stood up in front of Madam Lilla and cried, “With that Madam Lilla? You’re going to change the course of our lives with a gun?”
That’s when Maryam did something entirely unexpected. She walked straight over to Madam Lilla. Looked her in the eyes. They were like two cowboys. She put her hands on her hips. With her eyes fixed on Madam Lilla’s she spoke to Amira.
“I’m all in, Madam Lilla. I’ll go as far as we need to go!” Instead of allowing her secret to come out through a broomstick she must have decided it was better to try Madam Lilla’s madness. “But on one condition,” she said. Madam Lilla lowered her gun and standing opposite one another like that they both looked like two knights with heads held high, ready to take an oath of honour. Her eyes still fastened on her opponent. “You will tell us the true story. Not all the nonsense you have been telling us up till now, but the truth… And if you do that…. I’m in!”
And that was when Madam Lilla sat down in the pavilion and asked for a cigarette. Somehow Nana Fatima was still smiling, and stroking Melika’s head. This woman was watching us as if she were watching the happy ending of a goodhearted film. Then breaking off the branch of a Judas tree, she placed it in Melika’s hair. She plucked another branch and put it in her own hair. I didn’t know which was more interesting. Madam Lilla’s gun, Maryam’s sudden fit of madness or the secret of the Judas trees that had no business being there and would tie all our stories together…
Women Who Blow on Knots Page 22