by Shamim Sarif
Amina took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly, and silently, feeling the muscles of her slim body relax in the bed. She turned to look at Rehmat once more, but at that moment, the guttering candle expired, dousing them in a darkness that was thick as a liquid. Amina turned on her side and closed her eyes, and slipped into sleep to the slumbering breaths of the woman who lay beside her.
Chapter Fourteen
Only when she had finished the last of her breakfast did Amina fold up the newspaper she had been reading. She was sliding out of her booth when she noticed the large, lumbering frame of a man standing almost over her. He was Indian, but she did not recognise him as a regular customer of the café. She nodded to him politely but he only regarded her nervously, fiddling with his watch strap.
“Miss Harjan?”
“Yes.” She was standing before him now, putting on her jacket, waiting.
“I am Sadru, Rehmat’s brother.”
Amina was surprised. He was most unlike either Rehmat or Omar in his features and build. He did not seem to be as articulate either, and appeared to be struggling to address her.
“What can I do for you?”
“My sister. Where is she?”
His tone was almost plaintive, an incongruous tone from such a large man, and Amina glanced around the café to give herself a moment to think. Sadru followed her look with hope, as though it might reveal Rehmat to him. Amina looked back at him, gauging her response. She did not think he had had anything to do with calling the police—she was sure his wife had managed that by herself—but Rehmat had come too close to getting away for her to take any chances.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Why do you ask me?”
“Farah told me she came here.”
“Did she really?”
Sadru frowned and his shoulders dropped, as though he sensed that yet another woman was about to run rings around him. Amina smiled, and leaned in towards him so she could lower her voice.
“Listen. She is fine. I promise you. She’s not here, but she’s fine.”
“Really?” he looked relieved. “Because, I don’t want anything to happen to her, you know. And James has been phoning.”
Amina looked interested. “Her husband? Where is he?”
“In Nairobi, already. He’s flying to Paris tomorrow.” Sadru frowned. “He didn’t waste any time. He just left.”
“Good thing,” said Amina. “Easier for them both. Listen. tell James . . .”
“He’s phoning again in an hour,” Sadru interrupted, pointing to his watch.
“Okay. Tell him, she’s fine, and that he should just concentrate on getting home? Okay? Will you remember?”
“Concentrate on getting home,” Sadru repeated, earnestly, as though sifting the sentence for a hidden meaning.
“Yes. Anyway,”Amina said, glancing out to her truck. “If you don’t mind excusing me, I have a delivery to make, Mr . . .”
“Sadru. Please, you must let me thank you for helping us . . .”
“I didn’t do anything.”
He held out a massive hand, which Amina took, while guiding him out through the front door.
“We can never thank you enough, Farah and I . . .”
“There’s really no need. I didn’t do anything.” She looked into his face, and repeated the words. “I didn’t do anything.”
He frowned. “No?”
“No. If anyone ever asks you. Okay?”
He nodded, and gave her a wink as he ducked into his car. She watched him lower the window so that he could lean his meaty arm on it, before he revved up the engine and motored out into the road.
Amina watched him go until his car had disappeared completely, in the hopes that, if the police were still around, they would follow him instead of her. Then she waved at Jacob through the front door. He gave her an encouraging smile, and watched as she went to her truck.
She walked around the vehicle quickly, making her habitual check on the tyres. The roads, especially the side roads, were poor in the Asiatic Bazaar and all the other Indian and Coloured areas, and since the introduction of the group Areas Act, they had only deteriorated further. Amina rarely had reason to drive into the African areas but she knew the roads there were much worse, if they existed at all. Once she was satisfied that all was in order, she opened the door and raised a foot to climb in.
“Just a moment.”
She felt the fine hair on the base of her skull prickle as she recognised the voice of Officer De Witt. His hand was on her shoulder. She stepped down again, turned and smiled at the policeman.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said. “People will talk.”
He flashed her a smile that was barely more than a grimace. “That’s something you should already be used to, ja? People talking.”
Amina shrugged and looked past the policeman. She frowned as she saw his car parked no more than fifty feet away, across the road—how had she missed it? Officer Stewart was sitting inside the car, but when he saw her looking over, he came over to them, his face drawn into a frown. He tipped his cap as he arrived, and spoke with some annoyance to his partner.
“We have things to do. If you’ve said your good mornings to the lady, we should be on our way.”
De Witt paid little attention. He moved to the rear window of the truck and examined the interior. The back seat was covered with tins and a cardboard box from which various grocery items protruded. The long hollow floor space between the front and back seats was also filled with supplies and covered over with layers of sack cloth.
“Do you always carry so much stuff with you?” he asked, his tone belligerent.
“You know how it is,” replied Amina. “There’s always something to pick up or deliver. Half the time you can’t rely on people delivering goods when they say they will. Easier to do it yourself.” She glanced at Officer Stewart for affirmation of this generality, and he nodded politely. She remained very still, trying not to betray her anxiety, trying to slow her movements to give the impression that their interest in her truck was of no concern to her.
“Is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen, or can I get on with my day?” she asked finally and as she spoke, she stepped up behind the wheel. Even as his partner smiled and began to say that they should also be getting on with their day, Officer De Witt yanked open the back door and plunged his fist twice, and with great force, into the sacking that lay across the hollow behind Amina’s seat. The girl’s heart stopped. De Witt shouted in pain and withdrew his hand, shaking it.
“What the hell have you got in there, rocks?”
“Tinned goods,”Amina replied automatically. She felt dizzy with tension, and started the truck, shifting immediately into first gear. “I’m sure I’ll see you both around,” she called as she pulled away.
De Witt stood nursing his fist and shouting after her. “Go on,” he yelled. “If I never see you again, it would be too damn soon.”
Amina was already too far away to hear the words, but inside the café, Jacob heard the commotion as he poured a cup of coffee for his first customer of the day, and he looked up briefly, and allowed himself a smile.
Amina drove down the road at a pace that was sedate and, she hoped, not suspicious, watching the policemen in her rear view mirror. They were walking back to their car, and appeared to be arguing.
“I don’t think they’re going to follow us,” she called out over her shoulder. “Are you okay? He punched so hard.”
She was met with no reply other than the sound of the engine, and she looked around at the sacking. Slowing down even more, she flicked back a couple of pieces to find nothing but the tinned goods she had just claimed.
Amina sighed and braked slightly but realised she would only draw attention to herself if she stopped.
“Where are you?” she called, as though the missing woman might somehow appear before her.
Amina stared out at the road tried to think what to do. If she went back, they’d see her
. Amina had sent Rehmat out to hide in the truck over an hour before. She must have seen the police then. Or did they already have her? A chill grasped her. Maybe that whole exchange just now was a joke on her. That bastard De Witt was probably laughing at her right now.
She had to swerve to avoid an African woman who had stepped out without warning, almost under her wheels. Amina stopped and looked back to check that the woman was okay, only to find that she was running after her, and losing her colourful blanket and headscarf as she came. Without a word she pulled open the door and began clambering up into the truck.
“Give me a hand, would you?” Rehmat said, breathlessly. Amina grasped her wrists, hauled her up and pulled back onto the road at once, pressing the truck to move more quickly. Rehmat sat back, her eyes closed, and took a deep breath. Amina glanced at the blanket which Rehmat still held over her shoulders.
“Don’t tell me—you got tired of the same old Paris fashions?”
Rehmat smiled. “Yes. Wanted to try something new.”
“What on earth happened?”
“I saw them when I came out,” Rehmat said. “I had a feeling they might be back, so I crept around and I saw them from behind the tree in the yard.”
“And then?”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Rehmat said. “I started to come back to your room, and then I thought, no, that’s the first place they’ll come. So I started walking up the road, away from them, and I was hoping that you would start driving, thinking I was in the truck, and see me.”
“I did think you were there,” Amina smiled. “I thought that you got hurt. That bastard policeman smashed his fist into the sacks and hurt himself on some tins.”
“Which? The one that hit you?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Rehmat, and laughed.
She shivered suddenly and turned to look back, but the road behind them was still clear.
“You gave yourself away just now,” she said, after a moment, and Amina frowned and looked into her rear-view mirror but Rehmat smiled.
“No, not with them,” she said. “With me. You lied to me yesterday. You told me they didn’t hit you.”
Amina smiled.
“Why did you lie to me?” Rehmat asked.
Amina shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel bad.”
“You’re very considerate,” Rehmat replied. “It’ll be a lucky man . . . or a lucky person that has you as their partner.”
“A lucky person,” repeated Amina with a smile. “So even you have heard the rumours about me?” She laughed, but Rehmat bit her lip and concentrated on looking from the windscreen before her. After a minute had passed in awkward silence, she spoke.
“What you do and how you live is your own business, and nobody else’s,” Rehmat told her, annoyed that her acknowledgement had been cast aside. “If anyone should understand that, it’s me. I was trying to be nice, not make a comment about the way you live.”
Amina glanced at her.“I know. Don’t be angry. I was just surprised, that’s all. No one ever gave me such a compliment before.”
Rehmat shrugged slightly then smiled.
“I didn’t think you were going to stop back there,” she told Amina. “I was waving and waving.”
“Sorry, my mind was all over the place. When I realised you weren’t in the truck, I panicked. And your disguise confused me.”
Rehmat shook her head. “This poor African woman. She was walking along with her child, and I came running up and begged her to sell me her scarf and her blanket. She must have thought I was mad.”
“But she gave it to you anyway?”
“You should have seen how much I paid her,” replied Rehmat.
They drove along in silence for few minutes, and Amina kept an eye almost continuously on the road behind her. She felt sure, though, that the officers had given up.
“Your brother Sadru came in the café this morning.”
“Really?”
“He wanted to know where you were, if you were okay. I said I didn’t know, but to tell James that you were fine.”
“James is all right?”
Amina nodded. “He’s in Nairobi, so there’s nothing to worry about. He’s going to Paris tomorrow.”
Rehmat sank back in her seat. “Thank god,” she said.
“When you’ve taken off, I’ll make sure that he gets your flight details.”
Amina said nothing more, content to just drive and leave Rehmat to her own thoughts. It was several minutes before Rehmat spoke again.
“I feel sorry for my brother,” Rehmat said.
Amina looked at her. “Sadru?” she asked.
“He’s so naïve. He’s so . . .” An edge of anger appeared in her voice. “Can’t he see what she’s like?”
“You don’t worry about Omar, then?
“No. Not Omar.” Rehmat laughed. “Omar is shrewd. He can take care of himself, and he knows what he wants in life. And he is lucky to have a wife like Miriam. Just what he wanted, I’m sure. Someone to live out in the sticks and cook for him.”
“I think she is more than that,” said Amina, a little sharply.
“I’m sure she is,” replied Rehmat, looking at her. “But whether my brother knows it, or even cares, is another matter.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette. She held one out to Amina, but the girl shook her head.
“Are you friends with Miriam?” Rehmat asked.
Amina hesitated. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. The way you were in the café . . .”
“That was only the second time I’d ever seen her,” Amina said.
“Really? Because you didn’t talk much, but there seemed to be . . . I don’t know, an understanding between you. Like you get between people who are comfortable with each other.”
Amina shrugged. “I like her. She seems very intelligent, but she’s not used to speaking much. Or being listened to, probably. We talked a bit when I went to work there.” She shifted a little in her seat.
“So you do know her well?”
“Not as well as I’d . . .” Amina bit off the sentence and looked away. “I know her a bit. She seems nice.”
Rehmat nodded and took a drag on her cigarette, but Amina’s slip had not escaped her.
Several miles later, Amina turned the wheel sharply, veering off onto a smaller, tarred road. “We’re nearly at the airport,” she said.
Rehmat looked at her. “I’m glad I met you. And not just because you saved my life.”
“I hardly saved your life.”
“You saved me from jail, and that’s the same thing,” Rehmat replied. “Anyway, I’m just glad we met. I hope you always do what you feel is right in your life.”
“I will,” Amina reassured her.
“Good. Because for years, I wondered in the back of my mind whether I had really done the right thing. Eloping. Not because I’m not very happy with James—I am. But because for so long my whole family made me feel I had done something so terrible. It can wear you down.”
Amina smiled. “If you let it. I took responsibility for myself and my decisions a long time ago, and now I don’t have to listen to anyone I don’t respect.”
The road narrowed as they entered the airport terminals.
“Do you think they’ll have someone here?” Rehmat asked.
“No,”Amina said, with a confidence she did not quite feel. “Don’t worry. I’ve arranged for someone to take you straight onto the plane without having to check in and all that.”
“How did you manage that?”
Amina just smiled, and pulled the truck up to the pavement outside the terminal. Inside, the building teemed with people and Rehmat paused for a moment, taken aback by so many noises and smells and sights after the long, open road with only Amina in her sights and the roar of the truck in her ears. Amina had already darted away and within a few minutes she had returned with her contact. He was a pleasant man, a Cape Malay, and he shook Rehmat
’s hand cordially before inviting her to follow him through check-in and customs and onto the plane.
“This is where I leave you,” Amina told her. Rehmat nodded and looked at the girl, unable to speak. Amina hated all attempts at goodbyes and, in line with her instincts, hung back from effusiveness but Rehmat quickly stepped forward and hugged her.
“I can never thank you enough,” Rehmat told her. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”
She turned away, and looked to the waiting airport official, indicating that she was ready to leave. As they walked into the crowds, she turned to wave but Amina had already placed her hat back on her head and was hurrying back to the truck, for she had decided already that her first task on returning home would be to get Miriam’s telephone number, if there was one, and let her know that all was well.
Chapter Fifteen
The day had been cool and overcast, a long, drab day, unremarkable from any of the others that Miriam found flowing surely past. Since Rehmat had left, and the commotion surrounding her departure had died away, their lives had settled once again into the familiar patterns. None of the family had seen her leave, but Amina had left word for them that she had safely boarded her flight. Miriam had wanted to thank Amina for her help, but she had no telephone and no other convincing reason to go to Pretoria; and Omar insisted abruptly that Sadru had thanked her enough for all of them.
As it was the end of the month, they had expected a visit from their landlords, but the long, gleaming car failed to materialise, and early in the evening, Miriam changed out of the new cotton dress that she had worn in anticipation of them, and Omar removed his tie. They ate dinner with the children, sitting as usual around the vast wooden table, but the baby was ill-tempered and tired, and Miriam put her to bed before the meal was over. They listened to her crying for a few minutes as they ate, until the noise stopped abruptly.