The Good Daughter

by Amra Pajalic

  ‘No it’s not,’ I snapped. ‘The Five Pillars are: the profession of faith in Allah, the five daily prayers, paying of alms, fasting during Ramadan and the pilgrimage to Mecca, which is compulsory once in a lifetime for those that can do it.’ I recited them effortlessly.

  My plan had been to forget the hodja’s homework from mejtef, but then Dina had told me I’d be expected to recite the Five Pillars in front of class. There was nothing like the fear of public humiliation to provide incentive.

  ‘Do you do all those things?’ Brian asked.

  ‘No way,’ Adnan said emphatically.

  ‘We never used to, but now Mum is trying to catch up for the years when she didn’t do anything.’ Her current gripe was about not eating ham because she’d found out I ate a Hawaiian pizza at school, when for years ham and bacon had been regular shopping items. ‘The reason we circumcise is for the same reason that we don’t eat pork—’

  ‘Because it’s in the Kuran,’ Adnan interrupted.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ I snapped again. ‘It’s in the Hadith, which means it’s a tradition that was practised by Muhamed and then became a tradition for all Muslims.’ I was so full of it since mejtef.

  ‘Who actually is Muhamed?’ Brian asked.

  ‘Muhamed is the last prophet.’ It was sort of fun showing off my new knowledge. ‘First there was Moses, then Jesus, then the prophet Muhamed who received messages from God that were collected into the Kuran.’ I’d been skimming pages from the junior mejtef book.

  Adnan waved his hand. ‘I’m a communist and don’t believe in all that superstitious crap. Anyway, that’s not the real reason we circumcise.’

  ‘Really, Brainiac,’ I taunted.

  ‘Yes, really. Circumcision began because people living in the desert found it necessary to maintain hygiene. Just imagine sand, heat and foreskin.’ He shuddered.

  ‘So now you’re the fountain of knowledge, are you?’ I demanded, shoving my face in his.

  ‘At least I’m not brainwashed by religion.’ Adnan and I glared at each other.

  ‘Did I tell you about my party?’ Brian interrupted.

  ‘Party?’ I demanded.

  ‘My folks are visiting my Mum’s family in the country in a few weeks and my brother and I are throwing a party.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘I want a costume party, but my brother reckons people won’t go for it. I’m thinking comic book characters.’

  ‘That’s a great idea.’ I glanced at Adnan, but he was flicking through the magazine again.

  ‘Hey, Sabiha, let me get that CD for you.’ Brian had promised to burn me the latest Justin Timberlake album.

  I followed him down the hall. His bedroom was so neat. Just as well he’d never get to see my room and realise what a slob I was.

  ‘I’ll put it on.’ He opened the plastic case and pulled out the disc. ‘Hey Adnan, come here!’ he called.

  ‘In a minute!’ He was still engrossed in the magazine.

  Brian turned up the stereo and sat on the bed, plumping the pillow under his head. ‘Tonight is going to be hard.’ He rubbed his hands over his face.

  ‘You’re doing okay at school.’

  He smiled at me sadly. ‘That’s the problem. I’m doing okay.’ I sat on the bed next to him. ‘My Dad only allowed me to stay at school as long as I got good marks.’

  ‘He doesn’t want you to go to school?’ I was shocked.

  ‘He’s a brickie,’ Brian said. ‘My two older brothers are a plumber and an electrician. They all expect me to be a tradie like them and start an apprenticeship now.’

  I put my hand on his. ‘What do you want?’

  Brian shrugged. ‘Dunno. What about your mum?’ he turned to look at me and I felt his breath on my face.

  ‘Mum doesn’t care what I do. She doesn’t really have expectations I have to live up to.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve got it as bad as I do,’ he said.

  ‘Mmm,’ I murmured.

  There were flecks of yellow in his eyes. My lips tingled with the expectation of a kiss. Our heads nudged closer.

  ‘Shit, I’m late!’ Adnan burst into the bedroom.

  Brian and I sprang apart as if we’d caught fire. Adnan’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at his watch. We clambered to our feet and followed him out.

  ‘See you at school,’ he called. The slam of the front door reverberated.

  ‘I’ll help you with the dishes.’ I picked up a plate from the counter and took it to the sink.

  ‘We’ve got a dishwasher,’ Brian said.’ He opened the door and put the plates in as I handed them to him, our fingers touching.

  The awkwardness eased and we were once again two mates hanging out together. We both stiffened when we heard the sound of car doors closing. ‘My folks are home,’ Brian said.

  ‘Shit, I should leave.’ I squeaked with panic.

  ‘Relax.’ Brian squeezed my arm.

  The back door opened. Brian was the spitting image of his mum: he had her colouring and delicate facial features. Brian’s father was a big man, almost as tall as he was wide. His blue singlet stretched across his basketball tummy. His arms were lobster-coloured from being outdoors all day. Brian introduced me, his hand on my back. His mum said hello, while his father stared at me in silence.

  ‘I’d better get going,’ I said.

  I always felt uncomfortable around friends’ parents. I was used to calling people by their first name, and not acting as if adults were superior. Some parents hated that. At least Kathleen’s parents did. Kathleen pulled me aside and asked me not to call them by their first name, but rather Mr and Mrs Gianni. The whole time we’d been friends I’d avoided addressing them.

  Brian’s mum turned around. ‘We can give you a lift to school. When are your interviews?’

  ‘At six-thirty, but it’s okay. I’ve got my bike here.’ I waved towards the front of the house.

  ‘It’s too late for a young girl to be riding at this time of night. Frank.’ Brian’s mum turned to his father.

  ‘Brian, put the bike in the car,’ his dad said.

  When they’d gone, Brian looked at me quizzically.

  ‘I don’t want your parents to think I’m a loser because my Mum isn’t attending parent–teacher interviews.’

  ‘They wouldn’t think that. Seriously. My dad thinks I’m a loser for going to school, remember,’ he whispered.

  Brian’s father drove like a programmed android. Eventually his mother tried to fill the silence, but petered out after two sentences about the weather.

  At school Brian took my bike out of the station wagon. ‘See you Tuesday.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming to school on Monday?’

  ‘I swear, Sabiha.’ Brian was exasperated. ‘Monday is a public holiday.’

  ‘Oh…’ I remembered how I’d been surprised at Mr Kumar’s deadline for our Science assignment on Tuesday, but since I hadn’t planned on completing it, I hadn’t paid much attention. I sat on my bike.

  ‘Aren’t you coming inside?’ Brian’s mum asked.

  ‘My folks will meet me here.’ I nodded vaguely at the car park. I was about to push off when I heard my name. I turned and saw Auntie Zehra, with Merisa and Adnan.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Auntie Zehra asked.

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Isn’t your mum coming?’ she demanded.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Does she know where you are?’

  I shook my head again.

  Auntie Zehra clucked in annoyance. She grabbed my arm and I clambered off the bike. ‘Merisa, you go with Sabiha to meet her teachers.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I tried to stop, but she kept tugging me along as I waved goodbye to Brian and his parents.

  ‘If your mother won’t take an interest in your schooling then I’ll have to.’ Auntie Zehra squinted at my bike and then at the dark around. ‘You were going to ride in the dark?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You don’t have any reflecto
rs on it.’ She pointed at the bike and shook her head.

  ‘Adnan, fix her bike tomorrow.’

  I started to protest, but Adnan glared at me. At the library they waited while I locked the bike to a pole. ‘But I didn’t make any appointments,’ I complained as we walked in.

  ‘Merisa, you explain it to them,’ Auntie Zehra said briskly, then she and Adnan disappeared into the crowd.

  Merisa hung her handbag across her shoulder so it crisscrossed her body. She took out a notebook and pen. Why did she have to be so bloody organised? It took a while to see all my teachers because we had to wait until they finished their official appointments. Auntie Zehra and Adnan joined us at the end.

  Auntie looked smug and I knew that Adnan had received glowing reports, the turd. It made it even worse when every one of my teachers had said something along the lines of: ‘Sabiha has potential, but doesn’t apply herself ’, which translated as: ‘She might be smart, but we don’t know.’ I expected Auntie to rip into me.

  She shook her head in disappointment. ‘No wonder you’re not doing well.’ She rubbed my back. ‘Auntie Zehra will take care of you.’

  This did not sound good. I untied my bike. ‘See you later.’

  Auntie Zehra grabbed my arm again. ‘We’re taking you home.’ She hitched her handbag higher as we walked arm in arm. ‘Your mum and I are due for a little chat.’

  Wonderful. Another family night of torture.

  When Auntie Zehra walked into the house she and Mum squared off like two roosters in a cockfight. Auntie Zehra glanced at Dido. ‘You have more colour in your cheeks.’

  ‘You know how it is at my age.’ Dido put on his pitiful old man routine. ‘Every day is a gift from God.’

  Auntie Zehra nodded and sat. Mum watched her warily. Merisa, Adnan and I shuffled into the kitchen and I stealthily opened the back door. I knew the signs and this would be a situation when you needed a quick exit. Adnan nodded in approval and we huddled next to the door, eavesdropping on the conversation in the living room.

  ‘I was at parent–teacher interviews at Adnan’s school,’ Auntie Zehra said. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘I don’t need to go. Sabiha does well at school.’

  ‘Merisa!’ Auntie Zehra yelled. ‘Bring me your notebook.’ Merisa took the notebook in, then returned to the kitchen. Auntie Zehra read out my teachers’ reports.

  It sounded much worse now. My Science teacher hated me because he caught me reading in class. My Literature teacher said I had the ability to deconstruct texts, but I showed apathy. At my old school I’d breezed through Literature with As, but I didn’t like my new teacher and couldn’t focus in class.

  The only positive report was English where the teacher said I showed promise with my writing, but I needed to address tasks in a disciplined manner. I always picked the creative option and wrote a short story, but we could only do that in three out of six assignments and I’d used up my quota.

  ‘It’s a new school. She needs time to settle,’ Mum said.

  ‘Perhaps if you spent more time being a mother, and less time with your boyfriend, your daughter would be doing better.’

  ‘Zehra,’ Dido said, but it was too late.

  I agreed with her, but when she said it I wanted to rip her head off. Defences sprang to my lips. ‘She does the best she can.’ People were always talking about Mum’s parenting. As if being bipolar made her mentally deficient.

  I headed for the living room, but Adnan and Merisa dragged me out the back door and into the backyard. ‘I have to help her.’ I tried to pull away from them. After the night at the zabava I’d promised myself I wouldn’t stand by again while my aunt attacked Mum.

  ‘Dido will help her,’ Adnan said.

  ‘The only thing he does is put people down.’

  ‘They want to help, not hurt her,’ Merisa said.

  I was unconvinced. All anyone wanted to do was dump on Mum. ‘I need to hear.’ I crept closer to the door.

  They were talking normally and it looked like the crisis had passed. Dido and Auntie Zehra were telling Mum again that she had to discipline me. I winced. It wasn’t looking good for me, but at least Mum was okay.

  Adnan and Merisa went into the living room while I made myself a sandwich. I’d never got to eat my sandwich at Brian’s after Adnan’s dick conversation. I ate quickly and walked through the living room.

  Mum wasn’t letting visitors interfere with her Friday night routine. ‘If I’d known you were coming I wouldn’t have made plans to go to Safet’s.’

  ‘Going to do your homework?’ Adnan shit-stirred as I walked down the hall.

  ‘Where’s my lamp?’ I called from my room.

  Mum was putting on her shoes in the hall. ‘I gave it to Nura.’

  I didn’t know Nura, but I knew that she’d arrived in Australia a few months ago. Over the past few months Mum had given our possessions to anyone who expressed an interest. ‘But it’s my lamp,’ I whinged. This wasn’t the first time she’d pillaged my bedroom.

  ‘Allah will provide.’ She picked up her handbag and left the house.

  I hid my favourite clothes and make-up and was heading back to the living room when I overheard Auntie Zehra.

  ‘Babo, you have to find out Safet’s intentions.’

  ‘He’s looking for a wife.’ Dido’s voice was gruff. ‘It’s normal, he lost his wife and children in the war.’

  ‘I have no doubt about that, but have you thought about why he’s settled on Bahra?’

  ‘She can still be a good wife to him. She can cook, she can clean.’ Dido was nodding to himself as he spoke.

  ‘Yes, she can, but can she have another child? She’s barely been a mother to Sabiha and it’s a miracle she’s turned out so well. Bahra can’t deal with having a baby.’

  Dido didn’t say anything.

  ‘We’re her family,’ Auntie Zehra said. ‘If we don’t look out for her no one else will.’ She waited.

  I heard the clinking of china, but still Dido didn’t say anything.

  ‘If you don’t talk to him then I will.’

  ‘All right, I’ll talk to him!’ Dido shouted.

  ‘Ask him about how he will support her,’ she urged. ‘He’s supposed to be a taxi driver yet he barely does a shift a week.’

  ‘He has a war injury,’ Dido protested.

  ‘Injury? He’s supposed to have a sore back yet I saw him at Cash and Carry in Laverton with a car part that weighed more than he does.’

  ‘He was a professor in Yugoslavia.’ Dido talked about Safet like he was the messiah and, according to the Bosnian community, he was. Anyone who was a doctor or a professor was like a celebrity and Dido would get a lot of cred if his daughter married a professor.

  ‘And now he’s too good to get a job that will dirty his hands,’ Auntie Zehra sniffed. ‘Why should he when his sister Safeta works to support him? He’s latched onto Bahra because she owns her house and gets a pension. If he marries her he won’t ever have to work again.’

  ‘Zehra, stop it.’ Dido sounded tired. ‘He treats Bahra well.’

  Auntie Zehra was silent. ‘He doesn’t look like a man who’s capable of taking care of anyone but himself,’ she said in a rush. She couldn’t help herself.

  ‘If she’s with him she won’t be screwing around,’ Dido exploded.

  I wanted to yell at him.

  ‘Bahra deserves better than being a meal ticket,’ Auntie Zehra said.

  ‘Do you see anyone else lining up to be with her?’ Dido demanded. ‘I know you’re right, Zehra, but if she marries him she’ll be with a Muslim. She would have stability and respect.’

  I went back to my bedroom. I hated what Dido said and I hated him for saying it, but I wanted that thing so badly I could almost taste it. Respect. If Mum married Safet, people would stop treating her like she was a joke. We’d finally be normal and Bosnians would no longer regard us as an exotic soap opera. Maybe with Safet our luck could change. I made a vow: I would st
op being a bitch to Safet. If he wanted to be with Mum, then I wouldn’t stand in his way.

  I needed to change my headspace. I grabbed my journal and began my article for the local newspaper competition—it had to be on a community issue, so I plundered my mejtef experience and started scribbling about what the mosque meant to the Bosnian community. The prize was publication.

  Auntie Zehra called me. She, Merisa and Adnan were putting on their shoes. Auntie kissed me on the cheek. ‘Adnan will come tomorrow to fix your bike.’

  ‘I’m going to mejtef in the morning.’ Why couldn’t I have a parent who was a communist?

  ‘I’ll come in the afternoon,’ Adnan said. ‘You can make me lunch as a reward.’ He waggled his eyebrows.

  ‘Help yourself,’ I muttered.

  I went to the kitchen for a glass of water and saw Mum’s pill-box on top of the fridge. Her medication was in a weekly pill-box because she had to take her tablets throughout the day. I reached for it. The Friday night compartment was full. Shit. No. It was happening again.

  going cold turkey

  I ran for the phone and flipped through our address book for Safet’s number. ‘You forgot your meds,’ I blurted when Safet put Mum on.

  ‘I’ve got the Lithium with me,’ Mum said blankly. ‘I’ll be fine with them and I’ll take the others when I come home.’

  She hung up and I felt like I’d missed an oncoming train. These white tablets were the mortar that held Mum’s sanity together. If she stopped taking them it was all over.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Dido asked.

  ‘I thought Mum didn’t take her pills.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘She’s an adult, she can take care of herself.’ He butted out his cigarette.

  I returned the pill-box to the top of the fridge. It was easy for him to be relaxed. He didn’t know what happened when she got sick. The way she broke into a thousand pieces and it took months for her to recover into something resembling the person she was. But thankfully I didn’t have to worry about that now because she was still taking her medication.

  When I came home from mejtef the next day Adnan was in the backyard. My bike was upside down and he was attaching reflectors. ‘Where is everyone?’ I asked.