The Sound of Language

by Amulya Malladi

  The words that eluded her came out her like warm honey. “Det ok, jeg er foerdig med det.”

  Maria stared at her and Raihana knew that whatever this woman had expected she had not expected her to speak proper, if accented, Danish and say, “It is okay, I am finished with the book.”

  “Ne/,” Gunnar said. He gently took the book from Maria and held it out to Raihana. “You can give this book back when you speak Danish as fluently as I do.”

  Raihana's heart was beating so hard that she only heard a part of what he said, the part about her needing the notebook. She nodded, took the notebook, and placed it back on the worktable.

  After this scene in the garage, Raihana thought Maria would leave them alone, but she didn't. She came with them to the backyard.

  “Late, we're late,” Gunnar said, holding up a frame to Raihana and explaining, “When bees start making a new queen, it means they are ready to swarm.”

  “Bees do dance now?” Raihana asked.

  Maria was standing close to them and Raihana wanted to show off what she had learned from the notebook and from Gunnar. Raihana was ready to put on the same performance for Maria as she had for Ulla, the fat neighbor.

  Gunnar's wife had written in detail about bee dancing and once Raihana understood what it was, she had been fascinated and wanted to see a bee dance.

  Bees communicate by dancing. When scout bees find a nectar source, they do a special waggle dance to show where the nectar is. When the bees are ready to swarm, scout bees look for a new home and when they find one, they do the figure-eight dance. The center of the eight formed by the dance, in relation to the sun, points the bees to their new home.

  The entire paragraph made little sense to Raihana; not only was the Danish difficult, but the whole bee dancing business was confusing. Christina had explained with diagrams the previous week and now Raihana felt she knew all there was to know about the subject.

  “What does she mean about dancing bees?” Maria asked.

  Gunnar grinned, obviously proud of his pupil. “Bees talk to one another by dancing,” he told Maria. “Anna wrote quite a lot about it in her book. Maybe when Raihana is done with it, you can read it.”

  It was the first time he had said Raihana's name aloud and Raihana's eyes shot up. For the longest time she thought he didn't know her name and the fact was she still thought of him as the Danish man, not Gunnar.

  Maria didn't answer her father-in-law and watched Raihana with curiosity as Raihana looked for the second queen bee in the tenth colony.

  Raihana was startled at how much she had learned in the past few weeks. Maybe she could get a job as a beekeeper? Could she find such a job? She would ask Christina the next time she saw her in school.

  It was almost time for her to leave when Johanna and Brian woke up. Raihana couldn't imagine how these two little angels had come out of that suspicious, angry woman.

  “Jeg hedder Brian,” the blond, blue-eyed boy said. “Hvad hedder du?”

  “Raihana,” she said and kneeled down in front of him.

  “You are the Muslim girl, you are darker than us,” Johanna said and cleared her throat because her mother shushed her. “I wish I had skin like yours,” she added and then giggled.

  At the end of the day, right before Raihana was about to go home, Maria stopped her. They were alone outside, and Raihana was holding on to her bicycle for dear life.

  “I am sorry about Anna's book,” she said.

  Raihana didn't say anything.

  “I miss my mother-in-law and that's why I was so angry,” she added. “You can keep the book.”

  Raihana didn't thank her. She knew the book wasn't Maria's to give.

  “Why don't you wear a scarf like other Muslim women?” Maria asked.

  This question Raihana did understand. Many people had asked her that. Some of them had been curious; others, like Maria, were suspicious.

  “Why you ask?”

  “Because I want to know,” Maria said.

  “How matter it? I same woman under scarf or hair,” Raihana said.

  Maria seemed staggered by that response. The two women looked at each other for a moment and then Raihana left, smiling at her victory.

  “So what did you think?” Gunnar asked Maria as she packed the car for the second time that day. They had stayed for dinner, which Maria cooked. She had made pork roast with baked potatoes, so that Gunnar would have food for the next day as well.

  “She's not a thief. I don't think so,” Maria said.

  “Well, I'm glad your mind is at rest,” Gunnar said.

  “She wasn't like I thought she would be,” Maria said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought she wouldn't be able to speak Danish at all, would be lazy and useless… I thought she would be dumb,” Maria admitted.

  “Why did you think that?” Gunnar asked.

  “I don't know,” Maria said. “I just did.”

  ELEVEN

  ENTRY FROM ANNA'S DIARY

  A Year of Keeping Bees

  4 JULY 1980

  The weather has been ugly. Last summer was beautiful, sunshine all the time and no rain; but this summer, the sun has hardly made an appearance. We had some good days in May, but that was pretty much it.

  But this morning the sun was shining, even if it started raining by nightfall. During the day, however, we had fabulous weather. The temperature rose to almost twenty-four degrees.

  We spent the day with our bees. When Gunnar pulled out the frames they were laden with nectar and wax. The bees have plenty of food despite the bad weather and without any help from us.

  I smoked away the bees from a frame full of honey, brushed the remaining ones, and dipped my finger in. I had my first taste of raw honey this year. It was warm, smooth, like liquid gold.

  Yesterday, while it rained, I read that thousands of years ago, ancient man knew about bees. Several cave paintings show man drawing honey from natural beehives. I'm fascinated by this. What techniques did they use? How did they discover the first load of honey? It must have been quite a thrill to find honey, a source of sweetness in a world where there is so little sweetness. Did ancient man eat honey like dessert? Or was it sacred, only eaten on special occasions?

  I like to think that honey was sacred to them, something special, because to me this whole process of making honey, harvesting it, and then putting it in jars is a spiritual experience. For beekeepers, bees and honey are a religion.

  From the end of April through the middle of May is confirmation season. Fourteen-year-old Danes around the country are confirmed in the Lutheran faith. The church ceremony is followed by lavish parties for friends and families.

  Anna had pulled out all the stops for Lars's confirmation. Lars patiently went to church for religion classes leading up to the confirmation and was actually fairly enthusiastic about it. But Julie had rebelled; she wasn't going through the farce of confirmation.

  According to Julie, it was just an excuse to get gifts, and Gunnar agreed that was the big part of it. Lars got almost five thousand kroner in cash and a hoard of gifts, including a color television for his room, Nike running shoes, and a bicycle from Anna's parents.

  Anna had been furious that Julie wouldn't be confirmed. Gunnar supported Julie but halfheartedly. He believed that sometimes you just went with the flow. They celebrated Christmas even though no one went to church for mass? They roasted a leg of lamb for Easter without paying any attention to Christ?

  Confirmation was similar. You went to church, got confirmed, wore white, and had a big party. You invited all your friends and family to your backyard, had a big tent, good Danish food, and plenty of beer and wine.

  It was a reason to celebrate, to meet friends and family, eat good food and get drunk. It was about having fun. But Julie would not have any part of it. For her fourteenth birthday she asked Gunnar and Anna to send her to Israel, which they didn't.

  Instead they gave her enough money for her trip and the practic
al Julie saved it, added to it with summer jobs, and used the money to get out of Denmark and their lives.

  It still hurt that she lived far away in London. It still hurt that she spoke English flawlessly and sometimes grasped for Danish words. She'd had a string of English boyfriends. There was even a French guy who had been a total snob. Both Anna and Gunnar were relieved when they broke up.

  Julie had only dated two Danish boys. One she broke up with because he believed that Denmark should have the death penalty. She was fifteen. The second she broke up with because he'd had a confirmation for the presents.

  Anna had longed for one of Julie's relationships to become serious—so that they could have another wedding in the house. Anna loved confirmations, weddings, and baptisms, and in the years they had been married, Gunnar had learned to tolerate these occasions.

  Now he had to go to a confirmation without Anna. Marianne and Mogens had lived on the next lane for twenty years, almost as long as Gunnar and Anna had lived in their house. They had always been good friends. Mostly Anna and Marianne had been good friends. Gunnar and Mogens got along well but they weren't friends; Mogens was an engineer working for a pipe factory in Viborg and Gunnar had the impression that Mogens felt he was superior to Gunnar, who only taught carpentry at the technical school.

  Julie had babysat for both of Marianne and Mogens's children, Anders and Anker, who were now sixteen and fourteen. How time had passed! It was Anker's confirmation and Gunnar had no idea what to buy for him. Marianne had given him Anker's wish list and Gunnar could see the boy wanted white Nike Air Jordans, a portable DVD player, a leather jacket from Royal Skin, and some other expensive items. Gunnar had no inclination to go down to gägade, the walking street, to buy a gift from the list. When he hinted as much to Marianne, she said, “You can just give him money.”

  That sounded good to Gunnar. Of course, Anna would not approve, but he was starting to come to terms with the fact that he couldn't live his life according to her wishes and rules. But he missed her. God he missed her.

  He was sixty-four years old. He had another ten years left, maybe fifteen; how was he going to live for so many years without her?

  “Buy one of those pretty envelopes,” Maria suggested on the phone. “Or why don't I put your name on our gift?”

  Maria, Lars, and the kids were coming for the confirmation. Since she had met Raihana, Maria had not said anything about her. In contrast, Julie asked about Raihana whenever she called and kept saying that she was so proud of her father. He wasn't really sure what she was proud of.

  Now that two months had passed, he and Raihana had fallen into a rhythm and it didn't seem that strange anymore to have her in his house. She arrived in the morning; she went to the backyard with him, they checked on the bees and then she cleaned the house, had lunch, and then she left.

  The previous day, while he and Raihana worked together, Gunnar had noticed that she was getting bolder about asking questions and expressing opinions.

  “I like bees,” she told him. “I like the sound. I like the work.”

  “Good,” Gunnar said, and then asked her a question that he had been wondering about. “Do you like living in Denmark?”

  “Much better than Kabul,” she said after a pause. “Much better.”

  Gunnar almost invited her to the confirmation then. Wouldn't it be good for her to meet more Danes? He hadn't asked, though. He had felt uncomfortable. In any case, he didn't think she'd say yes.

  “You could at least have had it dry-cleaned, Gunnar,” Maria complained when she pulled out his dark blue suit from the closet in Julie's room. Anna had used Julie's old closet to store clothes that Gunnar and she didn't wear often. Her clothes still hung there. Her maroon pantsuit that he liked so much. The white frock that made her look twenty years younger. The golden vest that he disliked immensely. The closet smelled of Anna's perfume. He felt a punch in his gut. He had erased most of Anna's presence from their bedroom. Julie had packed Anna's clothes, shoes, makeup, everything away and put it all into the attic. But they had forgotten about these clothes for special occasions.

  “I am not wearing a suit,” Gunnar said grumpily. “I am wearing pants and a shirt. No suit, no tie.”

  “Gunnar, this is — ”

  “No,” Gunnar said. Anna had made him wear that suit for Lars's confirmation and every other confirmation they had been to even though Gunnar was not a suit kind of man. Now he was on his own and he wouldn't be coerced into a wearing a suit.

  “Okay,” Maria said and sighed. “I will iron your white shirt.”

  Gunnar grinned, pleased that he was besting his daughter-in-law.

  “You look handsome,” Gunnar said to Brian. His grandson stood tall in corduroy black pants, a white shirt, and a red tie with teddy bears.

  “And me, me?” Johanna asked as she twirled in her frothy pink dress. There were frills and flounces everywhere and her blond hair was tied in some fancy way with pink ribbons. She looked like a princess and Gunnar told her so.

  “You didn't get a nice envelope?” Maria asked when Gunnar put three hundred kroner inside a plain white envelope.

  “You have a good hand, write it to Anker from me,” Gunnar said, handing a blue pen to Maria.

  “If you had told me you were going to be stubborn about this, I would have bought one for you,” Maria said.

  “Just write it pretty like you did on your wedding invitations,” Gunnar said and patted her cheek. “Anker won't care about the envelope. He won't even care who gave him the money.”

  “Have you heard how Anders is doing?” she asked as she wrote.

  “Fine, I think,” Gunnar said. He had no clue how Anders was doing. Was something wrong with the boy? Anna would have known.

  “You think?” Maria asked. “Haven't you talked to Mogens and Marianne lately?”

  After Anna died, it was hard enough for Gunnar to just do the basics. Shopping, cooking, making coffee, picking up clothes from the floor, doing laundry. He just hadn't had the time or inclination to keep up with the neighborhood gossip.

  “You know he has been hanging around with the wrong kind of boys,” Maria said as she painstakingly wrote Anker's name on the white envelope. “Two boys moved to the area recently and he shaved his hair off last month, just like them. Haven't you noticed?”

  “No,” Gunnar said.

  “Gunnar.” Maria sighed in exasperation, “He's talking a lot about Hitler and Nazis, Marianne said. She and Mogens are worried out of their minds.”

  “He's a boy, he'll come around,” Gunnar said. “I don't understand why these boys have this fascination for Hitler. He lost the war.”

  “Marianne said she found some white supremacist brochures in his room. They tried to talk to him but he doesn't listen,” Maria replied. “Anyway, you know how they are, letting their children run around doing what they want. They never disciplined Anders and they never say anything to Anker. There are consequences if you don't teach children right from wrong.”

  Gunnar was only half listening to Maria. He wasn't that interested in the lives of these children. That was Anna's job, to stay on top of gossip; he only listened when she ranted on about it. Into one ear and out through the other.

  Ole and Gunnar often commiserated about their respective wives’ penchant for talking about things that no one in their right mind would be interested in.

  “As long as I have a beer in my hand I have no problem with Christina's chatter,” Ole once said.

  Gunnar nodded. “A beer definitely helps, but how about a glass of whiskey.”

  “That would be even better,” Ole said.

  The church was packed. About ten thirteen-year-olds were being confirmed, so the family and friends of all the ten boys and girls were squeezed into the church. Vor Frue Kirke, Our Lady's Church, was small, high up on a hill with a brilliant view of Skive. The church had almost been torn down in the early nineteenth century because it was considered too small. But then murals from the sixteenth centur
y were discovered underneath the modern plaster and the church was saved.

  Gunnar didn't care for the religious sentiment portrayed in the murals, said to be the largest presentation of all known medieval saints in Denmark, but he did think they were beautiful. The church was built around the year 1200 and rebuilt several times, with the latest renovation in 1992. Gunnar had taken his students for a tour of the construction to show how the workmen were restoring the windows and doors.

  Three years ago a new junior minister had been hired by the church. A woman. A young woman. A beautiful and young woman. Annette was a sweet girl, Gunnar thought, though she didn't look like a minister. She wore knee-length skirts with high boots when she wasn't in church and Anna had reported that Annette had been seen on a date at the bar Crazy Daisy. A minister going to Crazy Daisy had certainly raised eyebrows but she was twenty-five years old, and she was a good minister—Gunnar didn't see the problem. He sort of liked having a young woman for a minister. It was better than seeing some ugly old stodgy fellow spout scripture.

  “Those are the boys I was talking about.” Maria nudged Gunnar as soon as they were settled in their pew. “Look,” she urged Gunnar.

  They were hard to miss: three boys with shaved heads shining under the lights of the old church. They stood in the pew right in front of Gunnar. Two of the boys wore jeans and T-shirts. Gunnar recognized the third as Anders. He seemed to have grudgingly put on a suit, but without a tie.

  During the ceremony Anders took his jacket off and underneath was a short-sleeved white shirt. Anders stroked his bald head often and each time he did, his sleeve slid up. Gunnar tilted his head a little and was surprised at the shape of the tattoo on Anders's arm. A swastika? Had the boy really gone and gotten a swastika tattooed on his arm?

  “He used to be such a nice boy,” Maria continued. “And now … what a shame for Marianne and Mogens.”

  “You can't always blame the parents for the children,” Gunnar replied as quietly as he could.