Bird Summons

by Leila Aboulela

  Someone should have warned me, thought Salma, explained to me. But the explanation had always been there. Everything had a price. She had paid with her home country and medical degree. Her position in the world. And now to lose Iman too, who spoke her language, who looked up to her as no one in her household did. Salma moved away from Moni. She fought back the urge to break into a run. She was too young for resignation. A long, heavy midlife looped down ahead of her, complete with health scares and children leaving home, David losing his mother, a smaller car, holidays without the children. I can still get out, there is still time for a fresh start. Admit that I made a mistake, that it was all a mistake, that I am a ghost here, neither necessary nor effective.

  Iman sloshed through wet leaves and little puddles. Every day and every minute, her impatience with Salma and Moni was growing. Tomorrow’s visit to Lady Evelyn’s grave she was looking forward to, but the thought of leaving the loch the day after was unbearable. To get in the car again, with Salma bouncing in the best of moods, smug that they had achieved their objective, with Moni self-righteous that she was a good mother returning to care for her son. Iman did not think she could bear it. She must find a way out. Her instincts led her towards male assistance. Perhaps Mullin could help her. But he would want something in return, they always did. If her alternative to Salma’s house was the women’s refuge in the city, perhaps there was one closer to here? Then at least she would be near the loch and far away from Salma. She did not think she could live in a city any more.

  When Moni had mentioned her idea about the three of them opening a clinic, Iman had been able to visualise herself as the receptionist. The one welcoming the patients, taking down appointments, being the first point of contact. But there were bad feelings now between the three of them. And Iman could not stand this atmosphere, it made her feel suffocated.

  To be a tree or a squirrel, to be a pond or a fish, to be moving and living. Iman wished for another kind of existence, beauty that wasn’t a responsibility, needs that could be easily fulfilled. Why was I born human? I don’t want it! She walked faster, certain now that she did not want Salma to catch up with her, did not want the sort of conversations aimed at pulling her back to the cosy past. They were on the blue trail, but when Iman came across the next wooden sign dabbed with blue, she hesitated. She could follow it or head in a completely different direction. To stay on the blue trail meant that Salma and Moni would catch up with her. They would find a picnic area, sit down and eat their sandwiches. Moni would fuss over the sandwiches because she had made them. She would expect some show of appreciation or at least acknowledgement for her efforts. How tired Iman was of all this.

  Moni was struggling to keep up a decent pace. With every step, she lagged further behind the other two. At least I don’t feel cold, she thought. When they had first stepped out of the cottage, she had felt the fresh breeze on her face like a smack. Now she needed it on her flushed cheeks, swallowed it in gulps. At least the floating jellyfish and sharp black spots that usually beset her when she exerted herself hadn’t yet made an appearance. If they blocked her vision, she would stop walking. She would give up and just sit on the floor of the forest, leaning her back against a tree. Now she must keep walking. Around her, the trees rose high and the sunlight needed to work hard to filter through them. The forest would always be damp and fungal, sour-smelling. Moni knew she did not belong here, but this was the last full day in the loch. They would be at the Glencarron estate tomorrow. That was bound to be memorable, especially now that she had read Lady Evelyn’s book and been touched by her special friendship with her grandson, Toby. They had been so close that he had asked to be buried next to her. Moni trudged along after the others. Knowing herself, she guessed that she would forget this forest. It would slide from her memory. She would, though, always remember Adam. He was the loch and the loch was him, and all these past days were about him. He would stay in her memory while the physical features of the loch would blur and mix up with photos she had seen or with scenes from television. She might remember the interior of the cottage, the kitchen where she had spent most of her time. Most likely she would also remember the refectory in the monastery, the dense feeling in the place. She had been looking for Adam that day and he had suddenly walked through the door.

  The memory made her smile. The boy was the best that the loch had offered, the highlight, the pulse. She must see him later today to hug him goodbye. That’s right, think of pleasant things to take your mind off the ordeal of walking. It would be good to become old and infirm, she thought, free to indulge her natural laziness. No one would expect much of her then. She could spend the whole day in bed or in an armchair watching television. But resting was not for Adam’s mother. Her days were a variation of this walk, pointless effort, on and on. She missed him, missed his skin and presence, all the rituals she had built around his care. Most likely, no matter how fast Salma drove, they would arrive back in the city in the evening, well past teatime and it might be too late to bring Adam home. She would spend the night alone in the flat and then first thing the following morning take the bus to the nursing home. But if they set out from the loch first thing in the morning, there would be time to pick up Adam. Did they need to stay until twelve noon, the time they had agreed with Mullin, to hand over the keys and have him help with their suitcases? Perhaps he would walk around checking that everything in the cottage was in order before taking them across in the ferry. Had he not said that everything in the cottage must be as they had found it? Moni sighed. The kitchen needed attention.

  It was the perfect excuse to stop walking. Salma, who was a little ahead of her, turned. ‘Are you all right?’

  Moni, panting, explained why she needed to return to the cottage. Salma tried to dissuade her. ‘The kitchen can wait. I will help you.’ Moni shook her head. She handed the sandwiches to Salma. She turned her back and was surprised at how easy it was to exit this outing. Salma hadn’t protested as much as she thought she would. What a relief! Returning was much easier than starting out. Going down faster than climbing. She laughed a little, happy that Salma couldn’t hear her now.

  It occurred to Moni that they should have left the loch a day ago, two days ago. They had stayed too long. Every holiday had a perfect length and then it turned into an indulgence, time sitting heavy on idle hands, the mind free to find fault with life left behind, too much friction between people, familiarity turning to contempt. Every holiday was a threat.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Moni returned to the cottage, she found Adam sitting on the doorstep, waiting for her. The sight of him from afar made the last bit of the walk easier. She enjoyed moving closer to him, seeing him with greater clarity bit by bit. First, he had been a speck to be guessed at and then she could see what he was wearing, that he had his yellow ball in his hands; she could even see the expression on his face and meet his eyes with a smile of greeting. It was a good thing she had turned back and not continued with the others. She paused to catch her breath before walking the last few feet towards him. This would be their last time together. A goodbye gift would have been nice, but there were no shops in this place. Even if there were shops, she would have been lost and not sure what to get him. She would have just taken him with her and bought the first thing he pointed out. How sad that he didn’t speak and that his parents were negligent. She must remember to take a selfie with him. It would be her holiday souvenir.

  ‘Are you hungry, Adam?’ She unlocked the door of the cottage and led him into the kitchen. ‘Salma, Iman and I have to eat everything in the fridge before we leave the day after tomorrow otherwise it’s a bother packing it all again.’ There wasn’t too much food left, but there was a mismatch. Too much milk, for example. Rice with nothing to eat it with. Cheese but no bread. The eggs needed to be finished. She warmed up some soup and they each put a spoonful of rice in their bowl, but still there was a lot left over.

  Moni suddenly felt warm and sleepy.
She did not want to say goodbye to Adam, but she wished she could have a nap. Just a short nap before the others returned.

  Adam was pointing to the oven. He pulled open one of the drawers and took out the cookie cutter. She must bake for him if this was what he wanted. They had baked before and he had enjoyed it. He could take the cookies away with him and that would be her goodbye gift. Moni made herself a cup of coffee to recharge her energy.

  She spoke to him as she gathered the ingredients together. ‘I made sandwiches this morning, nice ones, but I didn’t get to eat any. I put pickles and mustard in them and made them special. I even added fresh mint from the garden.’ The sandwiches were all up on the trail with Salma and Iman. Maybe they would come back with one for her. Knowing Iman, she would crumble Moni’s share and feed it to the birds. ‘That’s how she is. There’s war in her country but the people are well fed. That’s why she has no qualms about wasting food. In my country it’s the other way round. That’s why I’m never wasteful. I never throw food away. I always eat it. Maybe that’s why I’m overweight.’

  They baked the cookies together and the smell filled the cottage. ‘I’m going to miss you, Adam,’ she said. He didn’t understand what she was saying. Abstract words. With her phone, she took photos of him wearing the oven gloves, biting into the first cookie and finding it too hot.

  She left him to go to the bathroom and after that she prayed in the bedroom. When she finished praying, the bed looked so tempting that she could not resist the need to stretch out for a few minutes and listen to the hum of her aching muscles. It had been silly to join Salma and Iman on that walk, out of character. She had done it to be nice to Salma; that was all. Now she was relieved that it was over. Tomorrow they would visit Lady Evelyn and the day after they would go back to their normal lives. Her son was waiting for her. She had been away long enough, and he could not be left to stay with strangers for ever. This holiday had been a break from caring for him. At first, she hadn’t appreciated the need for it or been grateful to Salma for taking upon herself all the organisation. She must remember to thank her, even if she did not look up to her as she had done before. That business with Amir had certainly made her reconsider.

  When Moni opened her eyes, she wondered if Adam had got bored and left. She didn’t want him leaving without the cookies. This thought propelled her out of bed and into the kitchen. No, there he was, still sitting at the kitchen table eating the cookies. There was even more of him, he was taking up more space, growing before her very eyes. She gasped at what she was seeing. Adam was ballooning, becoming wider, taller, fatter. He seemed unperturbed by this and continued chewing, half a cookie in his hand, and it was as if every crumb were making him grow. He was now her own size and yet still the child features: smooth chin, chubby cheeks, the missing tooth in his mouth. He was bigger than her, too big. Moni felt she must do something to help him. She must call the emergency services, she must contain this terrible growth one way or the other. Poor boy, poor boy. Yet he smiled when he saw her as if everything were normal, as if this was just another visit and she had just popped into the bedroom and returned to the kitchen again.

  This isn’t right, this isn’t right. The kitchen chair collapsed under his weight. She screamed. He looked more startled by her screams than by landing on the floor. She ran towards him to stem the tide of flesh rising and overflowing, to hold back what would harm and hurt him. This was too much for his own good, too fast, unnatural. He was now too big for the kitchen so that she had to back out. The kitchen was full of his springy, healthy flesh, his smooth skin and softness; and there was no space for her, she was squeezed out to the corridor. The bigger he grew, the smaller she was becoming, crushed and forced. He was now too big for the cottage. Out, Adam, out. You have to leave. You have to go. He stood up and banged his head on the ceiling. He moved forward and got stuck at the door, his head jammed at the top, his arms cutting the frame. He whimpered in pain. He sat down and his head, still growing, reached the top of the door. He was now taking up the whole width of the kitchen, his elbow wedged underneath the kitchen tap, his hair touching the ceiling. In the vestibule, there was less and less room for Moni. She was hemmed in by his expansion, squashed by his need for more space. She was squeezed by what he had become, and she knew that she hadn’t acted fast enough. If only she had got him out of the cottage in time, or if only she had run to save her own skin. Instead they were both trapped. And if he went on growing, the cottage would explode.

  Her screams and his cries of distress. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Adam. She was the responsible adult and he was a child in her care. She had miscalculated, she had overindulged, and this was the result. So much less of her, so much more of him. He’s suffocating me, she realised. He doesn’t want to, but he is. He can’t help it. It’s not in his control. She pushed back at him. To save them both. But there was too much of him pressing against her. The constriction in her chest increased. She blacked out.

  What is worse than a nightmare is waking up to find that it is not a nightmare. When Moni opened her eyes, she found herself rolling like a ball from side to side. She found herself tumbling and somersaulting in a concave enclosure crisscrossed by fine grooves. Her body had become round. Her arms hugged her legs, her forehead rested on her knees, her feet were drawn in. She had become bunched up. Constriction was her new consciousness, plus the lack of gravity, this loss of substance and weight. Where was she? Certainly not in the cottage. There was sunlight and air. She was outdoors and moving, carried along. It was Adam who was carrying her in the palm of his hand. The springy enclosure was his hand, the fine grooves that stretched out beneath her like patterns in a carpet were the life lines on his palms.

  She screamed when his face loomed in close to her. The sheer magnitude of it. Nothing menacing in his smile or eyes. The same rounded cheeks and boyish chin. He could not help any of this. He had been eating the cookies she had baked and suddenly he had grown. ‘Put me down, put me down.’ He could not hear her. Hers was a small voice under the sky and she was no longer standing tall. Moni could not untangle herself. She could not stretch out. Her hands were clasped round her knees, neck arched forward, feet drawn in. She twisted and bounced in his palm. He was holding her loosely, but he could crush her if he wanted to. All it would take from him would be a gentle squeeze.

  Rolling like a ball, rolling like a ball. Moni would be on her back looking up. Then she would be on her knees, looking down. On her left side and right side. There was no constancy, no stability. Put me down, put me down. She felt him moving in the forest, swiping at tall trees with his arms, terrifying and jolting her in the process. This is a temporary aberration, she comforted herself. He will return to normal, I will return to normal. This cannot go on. Surely. Surely. All the kindness I have given him, all the sacrifice.

  He dropped her. Inadvertently or because he had heard her, she would never know. The free fall made her scream like she had never screamed before. With all the power in her lungs, with every ounce of energy in her body. It felt as if her insides reached the floor of the forest before she did. As if all the organs in her body were squeezing down her birth canal and she must give birth to them. The landing was not as painful as she expected, if she could think straight enough to expect. Her new body shape saved her from injury. She rolled on the damp floor of the forest. She was the same size, but all perspectives had shifted.

  The silence was the absence of her screams. She was bruised, and she could not stand up. She was still contorted, forehead to knees, feet drawn in, but her body was more relaxed. Her hands were no longer gripping each other. She could unclasp them and move them around. But she could not stretch out her legs or arch her back. She lay down on her side and looked around her. Something blue caught her eye. It was a dab of paint on a wooden post. Comparing her size to that of the post, it would seem that she had not shrunk: it was Adam who had expanded. And this was where she was, back on the blue trail in the forest. Iman
and Salma would not be far. They would find her, and they would help. She could depend on them.

  ‘Iman. Salma,’ she called out.

  When hours passed and there was no response, she began to despair. The trail continued for several miles and her friends could long have passed this spot. Finally, something moved towards her. Because it did not speak out in response to her cry for help, she assumed it was an animal. A deer or, worse, a fox. Normally these forest animals were harmless, but nothing for Moni was normal any more. Her body was poised for a fight, the instinct to defend herself. But what shambled over to her was as harmless as a cow, as elegant as a cat, as lustrous as a peacock. It was an unidentified creature, a mix of mammal and reptile, horrific and yet beautiful, repulsive and yet compelling because of the sad dignity with which it carried itself.

  When it moved closer to Moni, she caught a sweet scent from it, more herb than animal. A perfume that soothed Moni’s nerves, stopped her from fidgeting and trying to unlock her body from the distorted ball position it was now in. When the creature leant over to look at Moni and their eyes met, they recognised each other. It was Iman.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After Moni had left them, Salma and Iman walked in silence, enjoying the challenge of the climb. Without Moni to hold them back, they built up speed. Salma had the longer strides, but Iman could keep up. For considerable stretches of time, they forgot the bad feelings between them. It was almost how things had been in the past, with Salma leading the way and Iman finding it natural to follow. They crossed a running stream, the water transparent over the dark rocks, the clatter of their feet on the rope suspension bridge. They passed other climbers, couples and families, three men who talked among themselves in a European language. Salma was the one who exchanged greetings, slowed down for a few friendly comments. Iman ducked her head and said nothing. She had the ability to stop thinking, to simply feel and exist in the moment. At times she almost forgot that Salma was there, just a little ahead. But Salma was not making the decisions. She was not choosing right over left, it was all about following the blue trail. This put them on equal footing. It made Iman relax and even seemed to point at a new kind of relationship. One in which they could be equals.