The Sound of Language

by Amulya Malladi

  “Tell us about the factory you work in,” Kabir suggested when the silence dragged too long.

  “They make cast-iron stoves,” Rafeeq said. “I work in the production line. I assemble the top plate and baffle —they're the top part of the stove. It's a good company and a good job. If someone falls sick on the line, the manager does not hassle about sick days. But these Danes, they take too many sick days. Not like us, they don't have pride in their work.”

  Raihana licked her lips then and cleared her throat. “I have met a few Danes and they have a lot of pride in their work. Christina does, doesn't she, Layla?”

  “Yes, yes,” Layla said.

  “No, no, not all Danes are like that,” Rafeeq said. “I know a lot of Danes who are proud of their work and are a hardworking people.”

  “Yes, yes,” Kabir agreed. “Danes are supposed to be good workers.” Silence fell again and this time no one picked up the conversation.

  “You work for a man who keeps bees,” Rafeeq said after they had eaten lunch and Layla and Raihana had cleared the plates. They were drinking tea in Layla's finest cups. Layla had also served dried fruits and nuts, bought for special occasions from Hamburg by Kabir.

  “Yes,” Raihana said and braced herself.

  “I have a colleague who keeps bees. He says it's a lot of work,” Rafeeq said. “Maybe you can find a job in Thisted. They have professional beekeepers there.”

  Thisted was about thirty minutes north of Mors, on the other side of the island. Christina had told Raihana about the city and said she might be able to find a job there. The fact that Rafeeq had bothered to find out about beekeeping and where she could get a job put her mind at ease.

  “You don't mind I work for this man?” she asked boldly.

  “It isn't our way … but this is not our land, the ways will change,” Rafeeq said.

  “So you don't approve of it,” Raihana said.

  “It's not about approval. We're in a different country; here women work and that is okay. If the wife works there is more money at home for nicer things,” Rafeeq said.

  “And after children?” Raihana asked.

  “Would you want to work if you had children?”

  “I don't know,” she said.

  “The children will need their mother,” Rafeeq said.

  Layla snorted but didn't say anything. She worked and she went to school and after she finished language school she planned on finding a job and working. She had a child and she thought she was an excellent mother to him without sitting at home all the time. Rafeeq was right, when the wife worked there was money for the nicer things. She and Kabir wanted nicer things, for their son and themselves.

  Would these Afghan men have been so liberal in Afghanistan? Did being in a different country really change them? Or would they always be this liberal, regardless of country? Would they change if they moved back to Afghanistan? Raihana realized she would never know. Whatever change happened to people like them when they had to leave their own homes and make their way in strange and alien lands could not be reversed.

  The lunch had gone very well, Kabir said gleefully after Rafeeq left. He then told Raihana that Rafeeq wanted to marry her. He would give five thousand kroner as the bride money, which Kabir said was a very good amount of money. It would be her money. In Afghanistan the money went to the bride's father; here the money should by rights go to Kabir, but he didn't want it and was giving it to Raihana.

  “My money?” Raihana asked.

  Kabir nodded. “Yes.”

  The idea that she would have five thousand kroner all for herself was almost unbelievable.

  “So?” Layla said. “Should we start planning a wedding?” Her voice was filled with unconcealed joy.

  “Can I tell you next week?” Raihana asked.

  Kabir didn't seem surprised. “But no later than a week. Rafeeq is going to Pakistan for three weeks in June-July and he would like to know before he leaves. He needs to tell his family in Pakistan.”

  That night Raihana dreamed that she was back in Kabul in the one-room flat where she and Aamir had lived. The room had a small kitchen area and Aamir had found old car seats, which they sat on to eat. Their bed was an old mattress and the one window, which had no panes, was covered with translucent plastic. It was a cold room, but Raihana had liked living there with Aamir.

  There was nothing to love about that dingy one-room flat but Raihana remembered it fondly. Life was so difficult in Kabul —the struggle to put food on the table, to go on the street, to take a bath, to buy clothes, all of it had been hard. The day-to-day business of living was like climbing tall mountains with jagged edges. Still, when Raihana remembered that flat, she remembered Aamir and along with the sadness of losing Aamir was the joy of having shared a part of her life with him.

  When Raihana woke up the next day she had a strange fear in her belly. She knew she more or less had said yes to marry Rafeeq. It didn't really matter that she had a week to give her answer; everyone knew she would say yes.

  What else could she do? If something was wrong with him, she could refuse the match. She had the right to refuse the match even if nothing was wrong with Rafeeq. But what if she did refuse him, then what? She had to get married, didn't she? She had to say yes, didn't she?

  Christina was focusing on compound sentences that month and Raihana was struggling with them.

  There was a new girl in class that week, Olena. She was from Ukraine and wore a black skirt with tall black boots and a bright red sweater. Her hair was bright red and short. She spoke German, English, Russian, and Ukrainian and seemed to be able to figure out compound sentences very easily. It was her first week in Danish class.

  “I talk in Danish with my husband,” she told Suzi, who commended her on her good Danish. “He is Danish and we work for a Danish company. So I already knew some when I started.”

  “She is one of those women … you know, the ones who marry Danes to live here,” Wahida whispered to Raihana.

  “When did you come to Denmark?” Raihana asked Olena, ignoring Wahida.

  “Just last week,” she said. “But we're here for six months and then we'll move back to Kiev. We have an apartment there.”

  Raihana envied Olena. She spoke Danish well, she understood Christina easily, and she had lived in Denmark for only a week. When she told Suzi, Suzi laughed. “And we envy you,” she said. “I have been coming to class for two years to get this far and you have gotten this far in five months.”

  Raihana liked hearing that. She was doing okay, she thought. That changed quickly, though, when Christina made them do an in-class assignment and Raihana got eight of the ten sentences wrong.

  Gunnar had thought he would never feel this excitement again. It was June —it was the first harvest. This had been his favorite time with Anna. But now, even though Anna wasn't there, he was eager and glad that Christina had brought Raihana to him so many months ago.

  When he and Raihana went to pull out the hives filled with honey, both of them wore protective suits.

  “Now you're scared they sting?” Raihana teased.

  “They sting when we take their food away,” he said.

  They brought along newly wired frames with foundation wax to replace the ones they would remove and boxes to carry the heavy, honey-filled frames back to the garage.

  Gunnar had shown Raihana the honey extractor he and Anna had saved for and bought almost ten years ago. Once the honey was stored in buckets, he used an electrical stirring machine to stir the honey every two to three days; then when the honey was creamy, it was ready. The honey was poured into honey jars with a special honey-filling machine. The official Danish Beekeepers Association labels on the jars indicated where the honey was made, by whom, and what kind it was.

  The previous year the harvest had not been so good. Anna had been disappointed but they had lost three colonies to rats and another five to starvation, so it wasn't surprising. Spring had started late and summer was short, so there had just
not been enough honey. They were left with empty jars but Anna had said that they could use the leftover jars the next year. Anna had been so sure that there would be a next year. She had never suspected that without warning life would fail her. He had never suspected it. But now he was well aware of how fragile life was.

  The bees buzzed angrily, even though Raihana used her smoker to quiet them. She and Gunnar put a large gunnysack by the colony they were removing honey from and jerked the frames filled with honey hives so the bees would fall on the gunnysack. The bees did not seem happy.

  “I would never do this without mask and gloves,” Raihana said as they worked.

  “Neither would I,” Gunnar said as he piled heavy frames into the box.

  They did not take the frames that had brood in them and since they had used a queen bee excluder, they could safely take the frames above the separator without disturbing the brood or the queen. However, Gunnar insisted Raihana check each frame. “Some beekeepers don't use excluders,” he told her. “You should be prepared for everything and learn how to harvest properly.”

  Raihana was glad that Gunnar wanted her to learn to do things the right way. But she worried she might never have the opportunity to do them again. She would marry Rafeeq, she would have five thousand kroner in her bank account, and then what? She couldn't help but feel that the money would not really be hers. It would not be money she could take and buy gold bangles or a new bed with. She would have to talk to Rafeeq and together they would decide what to do with it. Raihana suspected that Rafeeq would decide and she would have to agree.

  But if she had a job, then the money she earned would be hers. Or would it belong to Rafeeq, just like the five thousand kroner would?

  The boxes were heavy, so heavy that Gunnar loaded them on a trolley and wheeled them into the garage. It had taken Gunnar and Raihana the entire day to get the hives from half the colonies.

  “I have to go,” Raihana said, looking at her wristwatch. “Can the rest be do tomorrow?”

  Gunnar nodded. “I'll leave the frames here and tomorrow we can put them into the honey extractor.”

  “No, no, you should finish. You can do without mine help, right?” Raihana asked.

  “It can wait until tomorrow,” Gunnar assured her.

  Raihana was a little puzzled. It seemed that he only worked with the colonies when she was there. Raihana wanted to ask him why, but she didn't have the words in Danish.

  As she bicycled home, Raihana made plans for her future. Maybe she could start her own colony. Then the little labels on the jars of honey would say HONEY BY RAIHANA SAIF KHAN.

  She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice the boys. Didn't notice them staring at her. Didn't notice that one of them was playing with a stone. And she definitely didn't see the stone as it came toward her.

  The stone was large with sharp edges and caught her left temple. The pain was searing and sudden. She lost control of her bicycle and fell into the ditch next to the road.

  It had rained the previous day and her brown pants were soaked with dirt and water, as was her pink blouse. But that didn't worry her; but what almost made her hysterical was the pain in her right elbow and arm. She held her arm close to her body, a chill running through her from the pain. She saw the boys standing cockily. She knew they had thrown the stone at her. It hadn't been an accident.

  Their posture and their gaze were challenging. One boy played with another stone, throwing it up in the air and then catching it. They made no move to help her.

  What should she do? Raihana was suddenly scared.

  Nothing. There was nothing she could do. There were three boys, stronger and meaner than she. And they had only thrown a stone; it wasn't a bullet.

  She pushed her bicycle out of the ditch and then climbed out herself. The bicycle handle was twisted; she could not ride home. Tears pricked her eyes but she didn't shed them; she wouldn't give those hooligans the satisfaction.

  Raihana went back to Gunnar's house, which was a few minutes away, with as much dignity as she could. Her palm was bruised and mixed with the mud and water on her clothes was her blood.

  Gunnar was standing in his front yard pruning a rosebush when she got there.

  “What happened?” he called, running toward her.

  And the tears rolled down her cheeks, quick and fast. She stood there, sobbing loudly, holding on to the twisted handle of her bicycle.

  Gunnar's hands shook as he removed her stiff hands from the bicycle handle and took her inside. He wasn't sure what to do so he went out to the backyard and hollered for fat Ulla. He had seen her earlier and knew she was home.

  Ulla came running. Gunnar told her Raihana had been in an accident and she needed help getting cleaned up. He was afraid to clean her wounds because he didn't know how. He had kissed Julie's and Lars's hurts but he had never cleaned them. Anna had.

  “Oh poor girl,” Ulla said and got a wet towel and started wiping Raihana's face and hands.

  Raihana continued to cry, unable to stop now that she was safe again.

  “We need bandages, salve, and water,” Ulla said. “Do you have any of Julie's clothes at home?” she asked Gunnar.

  It took awhile for Raihana to stop crying. The damage wasn't so bad. The pink blouse would have to be thrown out along with her brown pants. Skin had peeled off her elbow and upper arm. Ulla cleaned the wounds the best she could and gently applied a salve on them.

  Raihana had more cuts and bruises on her feet and her sandals were a lost cause. The straps on both shoes had torn off.

  “Where did you fall down?” Ulla asked. Raihana was sitting at the dining table, her eyes red, wearing a black pair of pants and white shirt that belonged to Julie.

  “By Frederiksvej,” Raihana said. “The boys threw a stone at me.” She pointed to her temple where there was a small but deep gash Ulla had also administered to.

  “What boys?” Gunnar asked, though he had a sick suspicion he knew which boys she was talking about.

  “The boys with no hair,” Raihana said.

  Ulla sighed. “Anders and his friends.”

  “Why they do this?” Raihana asked.

  “Because they are bad boys,” Ulla said. “Hurting a girl like that. Gunnar, you need to talk with Marianne and Mogens. Those boys can't go around throwing stones at people.”

  Gunnar nodded. “No they cannot.”

  “My bicycle be okay? I have no money for making it better,” Raihana said. The tears she had managed to stem threatened to roll back again.

  “It's okay,” Gunnar said. “You can use Julie's old bicycle. It's in the back room. And I'll take care of your bicycle.”

  Raihana stared at him. She couldn't understand him, could barely hear him over the tears that were threatening to flow again.

  “Okay,” she said uneasily.

  Ulla patted her shoulder. “Don't ride back today. Gunnar can drive you in the car.”

  The woman's behavior confused Raihana. Just a few weeks ago she had been hostile and now she was cleaning her wounds and being nice to her.

  Once Raihana had had a cup of tea and was not crying anymore, Gunnar strapped Julie's bicycle to the back of his car and then walked up to Ulla.

  “Tak,” he said to Ulla.

  “You think they hit her with a stone because she's a foreigner?” Ulla whispered.

  Gunnar didn't respond.

  “It isn't right that we have so many foreigners in Denmark but that doesn't mean you throw stones at them,” she said. “Poor girl, she's so frightened.”

  “Yes,” Gunnar said. “She deserves better.”

  Kabir was waiting for Raihana outside. She had called his cell phone, before leaving Gunnar's house, to let him know she would be home late and that she had fallen off her bicycle. She didn't tell him about the boys with no hair or the stone.

  Kabir had asked if she wanted him to come and pick her up but by then Gunnar had told her he would take her and Raihana didn't want to insult him by refusing his
help. She was also scared of telling him about the boys. If he knew, he might not let her go back to Gunnar's house and work with the bees.

  “Don't tell about boys to Kabir,” Raihana said to Gunnar as soon as she saw Kabir waiting outside, his face tense.

  “Why not?” Gunnar asked.

  “Then he will say no to me to come back to your house,” Raihana said. “And I want to learn harvest.”

  Gunnar didn't want to lie, but neither did he want Raihana to miss the harvest.

  As they walked toward him, Kabir smiled tightly at Gunnar and asked Raihana if she was okay. “Go in, Layla has tea waiting for you,” he said in Dari.

  “The bicycle,” Raihana said, pointing to Gunnar's daughter's bicycle in the back.

  “I will get it,” Kabir said.

  Raihana thanked Gunnar and went inside, relieved not to have to answer Kabir's questions in front of Gunnar.

  “What happened?” Kabir asked once Raihana was inside the house.

  For a moment Gunnar thought he would lie but he couldn't. Wouldn't her family be even more upset if they found out later that he had lied? Wouldn't they think he was protecting these boys because they were Danish?

  “There are some boys in the neighborhood. They threw a stone at her and she fell into a ditch,” Gunnar said. “My neighbor, a woman, cleaned her up and gave her clothes. They are my daughter's.”

  “Boys?” Kabir asked. “What kind of boys?”

  Kabir had some fine Danish, Gunnar thought. Of course, there was an accent, but he was fluent in the language.

  “They are … they are just boys,” Gunnar said uncomfortably. What could he say? That they were racist teenagers?

  “Are they boys who shave their hair?” Kabir asked. He saw the look of surprise on Gunnar's face and added, “We used to have a few who came by and screamed at us, piss-faced drunk.”

  “These boys are young, foolish. We have known the family for years. I'll talk to them and we will settle this.”