The Sound of Language

by Amulya Malladi

  They started the day at the porch, drinking coffee and eating cookies, and then went for a stroll down to the beach. Lars and the children started making a sand castle, while the adults got their feet wet in the waters of the North Sea.

  “We should drive down to where we left the colonies yesterday,” Gunnar said when there was a lull in the conversation. “Have you seen bee colonies before?” he asked Kabir and Layla. They shook their heads.

  “Oh, this is going to be quite an experience for you then,” Gunnar said.

  “My father thinks everyone is as obsessed with those bees as he is,” Julie said drily and Kabir smiled for the first time.

  Gunnar had to hand it to Maria. She was behaving herself. She had not said one untoward thing, even though he knew she was uneasy about this whole inviting-Afghans-to-the-summer-house nonsense, as she called it. Lars on the other hand didn't care about Shahrukh's skin color or that his parents were immigrants, and neither did his children.

  Raihana hung close to the other Afghan woman. What was her name? Layla. If he was honest he would admit that these names were difficult for him. It had taken him awhile to get the hang of Raihana's name, and that boy's … he wasn't even going to try. It started with an S, and that was all he remembered.

  “Shahrukh,” Lars called out to the Afghan boy as they walked together to the beach. “Look, look, a seagull.”

  Kabir immediately sidled up to his son and said something in Dari. It was obvious that the boy responded better to Danish than to Dari. When Julie had mentioned that, Layla had proudly said that it was the vuggestue, the day care's influence.

  “The day care is almost next door, just a five-minute walk,” Layla said. “And they're so careful about not giving him any pork, but accidents do happen. We don't care so much.”

  Her husband didn't seem that complacent. “No, no, they should be more careful, more thoughtful of our culture and traditions. Shahrukh is a Muslim and we don't eat pork.”

  Maria didn't agree. “But he lives here now, don't you think he should try to be more Danish?”

  “My son isn't Danish, he'll never be Danish, no matter how good his Danish is and how much pork he learns to eat,” Kabir said firmly.

  “Your son is being raised here,” Julie said. “Don't you think he's going to be more Danish than Afghan?”

  “I don't think Danes will accept him as Danish,” Kabir said softly. “I don't think they ever will.”

  “You're right, you're absolutely right. But an old country like Denmark can only change slowly,” Julie said.

  “Do you understand what everyone is saying?” Gunnar asked Raihana as they walked toward the bee colonies.

  “Not so much at some times. Language school closed, so I not speak in Danish … so I forget, I think,” Raihana said.

  Gunnar had heard this from Christina, that her students went home on vacation and it took a few weeks for them to get used to Danish after they were back.

  “But you come and take care of the bees and we'll speak in Danish. You won't forget then,” Gunnar said.

  “I don't know,” she said in a small voice.

  “Those boys will not hurt you,” Gunnar promised.

  “I know, I know,” Raihana said, and turned to look at Layla speaking with Julie and Kabir holding his son's hand while Lars held the hands of Brian and Johanna in each of his own.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Raihana smiled at him uneasily. “I will marry,” she said.

  Gunnar was shocked but broke into a polite smile. “Congratulations! Congratulations!”

  “Tak,” Raihana said, blushing.

  “Who is your future husband?” Gunnar asked.

  “Han header Rafeeq,” she said. “He works in a factory on Mors.”

  “When will you marry?”

  “Rafeeq is in Pakistan now, when he come back we know when wedding,” Raihana said. “Layla says September, but he will have to say final when.”

  Raihana and Gunnar went to work as they always did. Raihana put on Anna's protective suit, which Gunnar had brought along, this time with no comment from Maria, and helped Gunnar as he sorted through the colonies. For Raihana this was a special moment, when she could show Kabir and Layla what she had learned about bees.

  Lars, who found bees truly uninteresting, took the kids to stroll farther down the beach to the water. Kabir didn't like the idea of Shahrukh going away with some strange white man, and he meant to follow, but Layla grasped his hand.

  “It's okay, we can see him from here,” she said.

  As they moved box after box and added frames, checked on the brood, and stuck in queen bee excluders, Raihana explained to Layla and Kabir what she did.

  “This”—Raihana held up the queen bee excluder—“makes sure that the queen bee stays in the bottom box so that we can get honey from the top box.”

  “What's wrong with the queen being in the top boxes?” Kabir asked.

  “Then there will be brood in the top cells from where we'll get honey and that is not good,” Raihana said. She wasn't sure why that was not good but she was not about to ask Gunnar and taint her know-it-all image. She would ask Gunnar the next time they were alone.

  Raihana wished she didn't have to wear the protective suit, so that she could impress Layla and Kabir some more by being as confident as Gunnar, but she wasn't ready. This was her first bee season, maybe after she'd had five or six she'd be that confident.

  She offered Layla and Kabir a taste of honey from a honeycomb as Gunnar had done for her. They both said it was the best honey they had tasted.

  As all of them walked back to the summer house, Layla hugged Raihana close. “You know so much,” she said. “I can't believe how much you have learned.”

  “I do know quite a lot about this, don't I?” she gushed.

  “I am glad we came,” Layla said to Raihana, swinging her slippers in one hand. They had all abandoned their shoes and were letting their feet curl into the warm sand. “They're good people,” she added.

  “You think Kabir is still angry?” Raihana asked.

  “No, he is not. He thinks he should be, so he's pretending,” Layla said.

  Next year she would come here with Rafeeq, Raihana decided. Gunnar would invite her again, wouldn't he? And she would bring Rafeeq along.

  Kabir had already told Rafeeq about Raihana's decision. September sounded promising to Rafeeq for the wedding. Rafeeq had spoken to Raihana as well. A short conversation in which Rafeeq asked if there was anything she would like and Raihana had asked him to bring back some good tea, which she missed. Raihana had felt an excitement before the call and after she was disappointed because it was a very short conversation.

  Raihana wondered what Rafeeq would think of this outing. He worked in a factory with Danes, so obviously he must be comfortable with them. Would they have a nice house? A house of her own, she thought in excitement. She could have a garden and decorate as she wished.

  How life had changed. Just a few years ago all she wanted out of life was to live. She and Aamir had lived in a shabby one-room apartment with bullet-ridden walls and sheets of plastic for windows. She was caked with dirt almost all the time, her body smelly, covered with a burkha, her belly empty, and her heart constantly drumming with fear.

  Now she was eating good food, sitting outside a charming summer house imagining her future. Her past seemed like something on television, not real, someone else's life.

  They ate lunch outside. Maria and Layla had spread out blankets on the grass for them. Lars seemed uncomfortable until Kabir picked up a beer from a bucket.

  “You drink?” Lars asked surprised.

  Kabir nodded. “I also smoke.”

  “That's not a good habit,” Lars said.

  “I know,” Kabir replied. “But I can't quit.”

  “I used to smoke,” Lars told him. “But haven't in ten years, not one cigarette.”

  Kabir started asking questions about how much Lars used to smoke, how he qui
t, and what he thought about those nicotine patches, did they really work?

  Layla nudged Raihana. “See, he's already getting friendly,” she whispered.

  Maria did not eat any of the Afghan food, nor did Johanna, who made faces at all the dishes. She stuck with Danish rye bread with liverwurst and a cucumber on the side. Brian happily ate the korma and pilau his aunt fed him. Gunnar ate a little of everything, Raihana noticed. Julie, like her father, tried everything but seemed partial to Danish food.

  Lars ignored the Danish food and ate the food Layla had brought. He took two helpings of the korma and pilau, one helping of the mutton biriyani, and two helpings of the rice pudding, fimi. Layla was pleased at how much Lars seemed to like Afghan food and dug her elbow into Raihana's waist each time he took another helping.

  “Far says you're getting married,” Julie said to Raihana.

  “Yes,” Raihana said.

  “Congratulations,” she said and the others joined in.

  “She's marrying a very good man,” Kabir said. “He works for a factory on Mors.”

  “That's great,” Lars said. “Why didn't you bring him along today?”

  “He's in Pakistan on holiday,” Layla said.

  “He has family in Pakistan,” Kabir added. “They left Kabul ten years ago.”

  “When did you come to Denmark?” Julie asked Kabir.

  “Four years ago,” Kabir said. “A few years after the Taliban came to power.”

  “What was it like with the Taliban?” Julie asked.

  Silence fell outside the quaint summer house.

  “It was hard,” Kabir said.

  “It was harder for the men than the women at times,” Layla said. “I was already wearing a burkha, I was already at home … but Kabir had to work with them. He had a garage, he repaired cars, and he had to work on the cars of the Taliban.”

  Raihana knew talk of the Taliban made Kabir very uncomfortable.

  “I'm sorry,” Julie said. “We have reporters who have been to Afghanistan and they tell us horrible stories.”

  “It was a violent time,” Kabir said slowly. “Violence everywhere. No safety, no peace. Only fear. People were taken away to prison, beaten, tortured, thrown back out, then taken back in. They were killed in the stadium, executed in front of everybody. Everyone's life was affected.”

  “I'm glad you got away,” Lars said. “And I'm glad you're here to build a new life.”

  “Not everyone is,” Kabir said wearily. “Not all Danes, but I am thankful that you are.”

  Silence fell again.

  “Is there any more of that?” Brian asked Layla, pointing to the fimi. “It tastes very good.”

  Conversation started to flow again.

  The rest of the day slipped through their fingers like sand.

  · · ·

  Raihana and her family stayed until dinner. They had eaten leftovers, with the little boy eating fiskefrikadeller, fish cakes, and drinking saftevand, juice made with homemade strawberry concentrate. Maria was pleased that the Afghan boy was eating food she had cooked, considering how Lars and Brian had betrayed her and eaten that spicy Afghan food.

  Julie looked at her father with pride, as if he, single-handedly, had managed to bring together two cultures. Gunnar's only concern was Raihana's impending marriage. From tidbits he had picked up, the man she was marrying already had a wife and two children in Pakistan. Raihana would be a second wife.

  “They have second and third and fourth wives,” Maria said. They sat on the patio with glasses of port and some chocolate Julie had brought. The sun was still bright, the day warm. Not all Danish summers were good, most were cold and rainy, but this one was a summer that would be talked about for years to come.

  Johanna and Brian had fallen asleep as soon as they started watching television and were lying on pillows in the living room.

  “All Muslim men don't have four wives,” Julie retorted. “And this man's first wife isn't here.”

  “It's still sad that she has to be a second wife,” Gunnar said.

  “But he'll be her second husband too,” Lars pointed out.

  “Her first husband is dead,” Maria said. “His first wife is still alive. What a strange culture.”

  “At least Muslims want their widows to get remarried; Hindus don't believe in that,” Julie said. “It's changed now but in the good old days, Indian women died with their husbands.”

  “Totally barbaric,” Maria said. “All that talk about the Taliban and what they did. I mean what kind of people do such things?”

  “The same kind that followed Hitler,” Julie said. “It isn't a cultural or national thing, Maria, people are good and bad, regardless of where they are from.”

  “I thought that Kabir seemed very solid, very capable,” Lars said. “You know, he's going to handelsskole. He has a high school degree from Afghanistan but they won't validate it here, so he has to go to school again. He's going to start his apprenticeship next year and has already lined one up with Grundfos in Bjerringbro.”

  Gunnar sipped his port. “Sounds like a decent man, working hard to make a living.”

  “It's nice to hear that this man wants to work and not take welfare money. Not all immigrants work, though,” Maria said. “Do you know that half of all immigrants are on welfare?”

  “And how do you know that?” Julie asked.

  “I read it in jyllands Posten,” Maria said. It was Julie's former newspaper, one she had been proud to work for.

  Julie leaned back on her chair and put her feet up on the white plastic garden table. “Statistics can be twisted any way you like. Why didn't they do a story on immigrants who are working, people like Kabir who work so hard?”

  “That's up to you journalists, isn't it? What we, the poor public, should know or not know?” Maria said.

  “Maybe I should write a story about Kabir and Raihana. What do you think, Far?” Julie said. “I'm sure I can sell it to jyllands Posten, Allan is still there, he would buy it.”

  “A good project for your vacation here,” Gunnar said, toasting her with his glass of port.

  “Working during your holiday?” Lars teased. “Not much has changed, has it! You always found some work to do during holidays and you never spent any of the money you earned, always hoarded it.”

  “Well, you spent enough for both of us,” Julie said in good humor.

  Lars grinned. “So I did. I am glad you never kept track of all the money you loaned me. If I ever had to pay you back, I'd be broke.”

  “Who says I never kept track? I have a file with all the details on my computer,” Julie said. “So, I hear your work is going very well.”

  “Yes it is,” Lars said. He had recently become the deputy mayor of Odense, which was an administrative position, not a political one. “I have a very cushy job.”

  “Cushy?” Maria said reproachfully. “Working all the time. He comes home at eight at night some days. He has terrible work hours.”

  “Terrible but flexible work hours,” Lars put in. “I can go in when I like and leave when I like. There's just been a lot of work lately with the whole H. C. Andersen anniversary, but the hours are getting better. I'm home by six most days.”

  “How about you, Far? You must be glad to be retired,” Julie said.

  “Your mor was,” Gunnar said. “And so was I. But it's been tough without her.” He looked around as if Anna would step out of the darkness and share a glass of port with them. “I really miss her.”

  “We all do,” Julie said and put her hand on his.

  “Until Raihana showed up I was drinking, sleeping, and watching some television in between drinking and sleeping,” he said. “But then once she started coming … my bees would have died if it weren't for her.”

  “You sound lovesick, Gunnar,” Maria said almost affectionately.

  “Maria,” Lars said in embarrassment.

  “What?” Maria asked.

  Gunnar laughed. “No, not lovesick, just fortunate to h
ave found someone to help during a time when I had no idea how to get up in the morning and get on with my day. She gave me purpose. And I have taught her. She could work for a beekeeper once her Danish is good enough, or she could have her own colonies.”

  “You did a good thing here, Far,” Julie said. “Mor would have been proud. If she were around, she would have helped Raihana … and you know what, Raihana's Danish would be far better than it is now. Mor would have made sure of that.”

  “Yes, yes,” Gunnar said, smiling at the thought. “Anna was one hell of a teacher. She taught me everything I know … about almost everything in life.”

  What Raihana liked best about the Danish summer was how it was light almost until midnight. The sun stayed up and up and up and set so late and rose so early. When she had commented about it in class, Christina had said that in Norway, there were places where the sun never set in the summer and never rose in the winter.

  Raihana wanted to visit Norway. She wished she could go to these places and see how darkness engulfed the land or sunshine lit it all through the day, for months.

  Shahrukh had fallen asleep in the backseat of the car and Layla was dozing in the front.

  “So, was it too bad?” Raihana asked Kabir from the back.

  “No, not at all. They are good people,” Kabir said. “Lars seemed to be okay with all of us, like he really liked having us over. He works for the mayor's office in Odense. He has so much self-confidence, did you see?”

  Raihana had been thrilled to see him eat the food she had cooked, and even more thrilled to see that little boy, Brian, eat fimi like there was no tomorrow.

  “I liked him very much,” Kabir said. “Gunnar was very nice, very friendly. Good people.”

  “Yes, they are,” Raihana said, giddy with relief.

  When they got home, Layla and Shahrukh were still sleeping. “Why don't you take Shahrukh inside? I'll take Layla and go to the kiosk to buy some cigarettes,” Kabir suggested.

  He hadn't smoked the whole time they were at the summer house and Raihana knew he was itching to do so.