“No. Let him rest now,” replied his mother. “He drank some tea with milk this afternoon. He hasn’t got a temperature, but he’s still tired. He’s getting better, God willing.”
A loud bang from the radio made her jump; it was followed by the voice of the muezzin,
“See, that really scared you, Sana,” whispered Suha.
Their grandmother lifted the lid off the soup tureen, and a white cloud of vapor rose in the air accompanied by a pungent smell of fat. Munira’s mother went and sat beside the tray, and Sana and Suha jumped up in unison and sat near her on the floor.
“Madiha,” called their grandmother again. “Come on, for heaven’s sake. We’re breaking the fast, not having dinner!” She turned to Munira. “Come along, Munira dear. Shall I give you a little soup, Karim?”
Munira rose wearily “Give me a plate. I’ll serve it,” she said.
“No. Thank you,” said Karim. “I’ll do it.” He stood up, taking the cushion from behind him, putting it on the floor and sitting on it next to her and Suha and his mother, opposite Munira and her mother. Sana pictured that when her mother finally came she would sit on the sofa between her grandmother and Munira’s mother. Her grandmother was ladling the soup into bowls and distributing it to those sitting there. All Sana could see was the steam rising from the soup tureen and the ends of the herbs and bread on the dish of kebabs, because the tray was too high up.
She sat waiting in silence, her hands in her lap. She was hungry and hoped the food would reach her as soon as possible. She could hear some of them eating, and the clatter of spoons against china, then she noticed Munira sitting there quietly, her face in the shadows, its features indistinct.
“Here you are, Suha,” said her grandmother.
Her sister took the plate and immediately began drinking the soup. Her Uncle Abd al-Karim had been eating for a while; she and Munira were the only ones still waiting and this pained her a little, although she did not want to complain.
“Bibi. Auntie Munira hasn’t got anything to eat.”
They all paused momentarily spoons in mid-air.
“Don’t worry Sana,” said Munira quickly “I’ll have something in a minute. You eat.”
“Why aren’t you breaking the fast?” interrupted Abd al-Karim. “You shouldn’t put it off. You ought to eat now, shouldn’t she, Mother?”
“That’s right, Karumi. It’s not good to wait once the cannon’s gone off. I’m just serving her soup. And Sana’s. I forgot yours, dear.”
“Thank you, Aunt,” said Munira in a faint voice, and Sana felt her looking reproachfully at her and hung her head. As she waited for her bowl of soup and kebab sandwich to reach her she heard her mother’s footsteps rapidly crossing the yard then fading away. Her grandmother handed her down a bowl of soup, and Sana balanced it on her lap and brought the spoon gingerly up in her mouth. Again she heard her mother’s footsteps coming along the gallery, then she appeared in front of the alcove carrying the brazier. She put it down next to the balustrade.
“What’s all this, Madiha?” exclaimed Sana’s grandmother. “Why put yourself to so much trouble? We would have come down for out tea. You didn’t have to bring the brazier up here when you’re so worn out. Come along, dear. It’s not good to go without eating once the cannon’s gone off. The soup’s getting cold.”
“I’m coming, Mother. I’m washing my hands. Are the girls with you?”
“Yes, Mum, we’re here.”
The soup had a nice taste, but it was cold. When no one was looking, Sana licked up the last few drops then put the spoon back on the plate and returned it to the tray Munira was eating slowly and looking in her direction. Had she noticed her licking the soup bowl after all? But she had kept her head well down below the level of the tray. Her mother came and sat between Munira and Karim. “Where’s your bowl, Sana” she asked.
“I’ve finished my soup, Mum. I’m waiting for the kebab.”
“What about you, Suha? Have you finished? Mum, please make everybody a kebab sandwich while I have my soup.”
“Yes, dear. At once.”
“Are there any human beings there, anyone born of a mother’s womb? Where are you all, people of the house?” Aunt Safiya was standing in the doorway of her room calling interminably “Has the ground opened and swallowed you all up? Madiha, my dear, what’s become of you, my darling? And my little Sana? What? Are you mad, Umm Hasan? Who would they go and visit? This is no time for social visits. They’re sitting eating in the dark there. That’s it! Lucky people! And I’m left with you, you miserable old crow. We’re stuck in here, two hungry old women about to die of hunger. Perhaps we deserve it.” Then she called again, “My dears! People of the house! Mothers’ sons!”
Sana laughed and Suha copied her.
“Didn’t you make them kebab sandwiches, Madiha?” asked their grandmother.
“Half a round of bread, a kebab, pickles, and some salad each. But they’ve never had enough.”
“My dears. My brothers and sisters ...”
“Take it easy, Safiya,” interrupted their grandmother. “We’re here.”
“Where were you, dear? I’ve been calling you for two hours.”
“All right. We’ll bring you something to eat. Just wait a minute.”
“Hurry please. We can’t last much longer. We’re hanging by a thread.”
Sana took the piece of bread wrapped expertly around the kebab by her grandmother and bit into it eagerly. The taste of the meat mixed with pickles and salad was delicious. She chewed it slowly, observing the shadowy faces around her. The light had faded in the alcove, and she could no longer make out their features. However, this did not concern her much, hating when she was so hungry and tired made her pleasantly drowsy and gave her a sense of great satisfaction with the world around her. Later she would have tea with them and help herself to an extra spoon of sugar. The tea would have a very special taste after the kebab and pickles, as long as she drank it before rinsing her mouth out. This would give it more flavor.
She pushed the last piece of bread into her already full mouth, then looked up to see What was happening round about her, chewing unhurriedly. They were all still in their places, eating in silence, enveloped by the darkness.
“Have you finished, Sana?” asked her mother.
“No, Mum.”
“What about you, Suha?”
“Yes, I’ve finished.”
“Then take this plate to Grandmother Umm Hasan and Aunt Safiya.”
“Why me? Sana can do it.”
“Off you go, you little wretch, or it’ll be the worse for you. Come on, up you get, or I’ll give you a slap. I’ve had just about enough of you.”
Her sister stood up laboriously, giving Sana a nudge with her foot as she did so, not hard enough to bother her, then she took the plate and went off towards the old women’s room. Sana’s heart was full of joy as she continued to chew her last mouthful of food and watched her sister trail miserably away. She would get her tea before Suha. If Suha had been sitting next to her mother, her mother would certainly have slapped her hard round the head to make her hurry.
“Can I have a glass of water, Mother?” Uncle Abd al-Karim asked.
“Yes, of course. Sana dear, pour your uncle a glass of water.”
“Yes, Bibi.”
She stood up quickly, filled the glass and brought it back to her uncle. He caressed her affectionately and thanked her as he took it. She sat down on the sofa.
“Mum, shall I put the light on?” she asked after a moment.
“Yes, dear. I can’t see where I’m going,” answered her grandmother.
Sana jumped up from her place and switched on the light. Her uncle was going over to sit on the long wooden seat away from the rest of them, and Munira was putting her plate on the tray. Her mother and grandmother and Munira’s mother remained in their places.
“Shall I pour the tea?” said Munira.
“In a minute. It might not have brewed yet.”
Munira went off to wash.
“Can I go and see Grandpa, Mum?” asked Sana.
“Why? He’s not there for your entertainment.”
“Let her go, Madiha,” said her grandmother. “I’m afraid he might want some water and not have the energy to call us.”
“All right. Off you go, Sana.”
He was sitting up in bed, telling his prayer beads. “Ah, little Sana. Have you broken the fast?”
She sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not fasting! But you should have tasted the kebabs, Grandpa. They were out of this world!”
“You had a good meal then?”
“Yes, thank you, Grandpa. Can I get you something?”
Her grandfather reached out to stroke her hair. “A bit later, Sana. I’d like soup with some lemon squeezed into it.”
“It was such good soup today! It was out of this world! Shall I bring you some now?”
“No. Later on. Let Bibi bring it and tell her to squeeze some lemon juice on it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandpa. But not now, later on?”
He nodded.
They were in the alcove, preparing tea. Her sister Suha was sitting next to Uncle Abd al-Karim. Sana looked for Munira but she wasn’t there, not was her own mother. She repeated her grandfather’s request to her grandmother who acknowledged it in silence with a slight dip of her head. She was busy arranging the tea glasses on a small tray on the floor. Munira’s mother sat next to her, stolidly smoking a cigarette.
The silence was complete, unexpected, and Sana suddenly felt confused, not knowing where to sit although there was plenty of space in the alcove. She thought of going to their room to watch television and saw her mother approaching slowly from the east side of the house, her dark dress merging with the surroundings so that her pale face stood out. Her feet made no sound. Munira’s mother muttered something to her grandmother, too quiet for her to hear although she was so close to them. Everything—the air, the house, the light, the walls—was wrapped in a fragile, indefinable veil of silence. She leaned against the edge of the wooden couch and looked at the sky for a moment, then back at her mother making her way towards them. All at once there were strange muffled hangings on the outside door. Astonished, she turned to look at her grandmother, then at her mother and her uncle. Her mother stopped by the brazier, peering vaguely into the dark courtyard.
“I pray it’s not bad news,” said her grandmother.
“I’ll go and see who it is,” said her uncle abruptly.
As he passed her, she glimpsed his face for a moment, filled with anxiety.
“Wait a minute, Karim,” said her mother. “I’m coming with you.”
He didn’t answer and the two of them disappeared down the stairs, then Munira emerged from her room. “Is that someone at the door?”
“Yes, Auntie Munira,” Sana answered. “Uncle and Mum have gone down to see who it is.”
“I hope everything’s all right.”
The knocking continued: a double knock, followed by a single knock, then another, and another. Light flooded the courtyard. Sana ran to stand at the balustrade. Her mother and uncle were hurrying to the middle door. She noticed Munira heading for the stairs.
“Where are you going, Munira?” called her grandmother. “Stay with us, dear.”
“Yes, Aunt. I just want to see who it is.”
She kept walking on slowly, looking at the courtyard, at the big far door which separated the outside passage from the house. Sana followed her in silence, moving very cautiously so that no one would notice her, then she heard her grandfather calling her grandmother.
“Bibi, Bibi,” she shouted. “Grandpa’s calling you. I don’t know what he wants.” She was anxious that her grandmother wouldn’t notice her closing in on Munira, who had disappeared down the stairs.
“What’s wrong now, for God’s sake?” said her grandmother, rising wearily to her feet. “All right, dear, I’ll go and see what he wants.”
Resting a hand on the wall beside her, she walked off without looking at Sana. Then Sana noticed Suha in the light from the alcove, sitting in her place watching her. Munira’s mother was smoking and seemed to be in a world of her own. That pest Suha was the only one who might tell on her. Her grandmother disappeared into her room. Nobody could stop her going downstairs now. She started to run.
“Hey, you idiot, where are you going?” shouted Suha, “I swear I’m going to ...”
Sana didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence. She hesitated at the top of the dark stairs then, supporting herself on the wall, began descending in a series of little jumps. She saw Munira standing by the middle door, holding it open slightly, and watching what was going on at the end of the passage.
“Sana?” she said, turning round, then put a hand gently on Sana’s shoulder. Sana was breathing rapidly and felt the soft touch of Munira’s arm as she stood close to her.
“I’m going to see who’s at the door, then I’ll be back, Auntie Munira,” she said, but received no reply.
The passage seemed darker and longer than usual as she tried to see where to put her feet by the light from the sky They were standing at the end by the outside door. As she stumbled on the step leading down to the door she began to be able to hear their conversation and thought she knew all the voices. Her mother was holding the big door open and leaning against the doorpost, and her uncle and a third person were standing out in the road.
“Why don’t you come in and talk to them?” said her mother, her voice raised. “What’s wrong? Are you embarrassed?”
“No. Why?” said the third person. “I mean, there’s nothing stopping me, but is there any point? It’s nothing important.”
The long drawn out way of speaking, the indolent, hesitant tone, were not unfamiliar to her; they were part of her life.
“Look, Husayn,” said her uncle. “Have you got something to tell us or not? Do you need anything? Or do you want the two of us to talk alone?”
He was dressed in black or dark blue. Only his crooked nose was visible. “No. There’s nothing to discuss. Nothing important. Why would you and I need to talk? No, no. It’s just the question of Midhat.”
“Midhat? What’s wrong with him?” interrupted her uncle and her mother with one voice.
Her father looked from one to the other for a second. “Didn’t I just say I’d come about him?”
“Why don’t you tell us then?” shouted her mother. “Have you got some news of him? What’s wrong with you? Can’t you talk? Have you usually had a drink by now?”
Husayn backed away.
“Take it easy, Madiha. Calm down,” said Uncle Karim.
“What do you mean, a drink? You’ve got a right to be angry, I suppose. Anyway, the point is ...” He straightened up and it seemed to add inches to his height. “Yes. You’ve got some news. I mean, I’ve got news of Midhat, of course. And for your information—1 haven’t had a drink today. That’s the problem.”
Uncle Karim took his arm and led him indoors. Her mother stood back for them, and Sana jumped to one side.
“Come on in, Husayn,” said her uncle. “You must see my mother and father and Munira. Come along. We should all see you.”
Her father tripped.
“Whatever are you doing here?” said her mother, noticing her as she was shutting the door. “Get inside quickly.”
Her mother followed her father and uncle down the passage, and Sana fell into step beside her.
“Why don’t you get an electric light in this damn corridor, or a candle at least? Sorry” she heard her father saving.
He tripped again just before the passage opened out and muttered irritably as he gripped her uncle’s arm. They pushed open the middle door and entered the yard. The light was on above the kitchen door, casting its red glow over part of the garden.
“Where are we going, Karim?” said her father. “I don’t have much to say. We don’t need to sit down. I’m quite happy to stand.”
They crossed the yard uncertainly, her uncle and father still ahead and her mother in the rear. It was then that she noticed Munira standing in a corner near the door, and she took hold of her mother’s hand and squeezed it urgently At once her mother went over to Munira and whispered something in her ear. Her father and uncle had almost reached the stairs. Sana stood waiting anxiously beside the dark water of the little pond. Munira and her mother caught up with her and she felt a hand gently take her arm, then the three of them followed the men upstairs, in a somewhat awkward silence.
Her mother and Munira hurried ahead of her into her grandfather’s room. She slipped in with them and sneaked behind a pile of cushions and bedding on the far side of her grandfather’s bed, breathing rapidly as she peered out at them from her hiding place. She saw Munira close the door behind her and sit down on a chair next to her mother just inside the room.
Nobody spoke for some time. Her grandmother was sitting on the bed beside her grandfather, and her father and uncle occupied two chairs standing a short distance apart from one another at the foot of the bed. Still no one was speaking; the atmosphere in the faint reddish light of the room was unusually mysterious, like dreams or frightening scenes on television. Sana could hear her grandfather’s prayer beads clicking against one another. Her father, in a dark suit, his face drained of color, was sitting with his feet neatly together and his hands in his lap.
“Well, Mr. Husayn, how are you?” said her grandfather finally, in a soft voice. “We don’t see much of you these days.”
Her father raised a hand, touched his nose and his mouth, then let it fall back on his lap. “Fine, thank you. You’re right. I owe you a visit. I’ve been a bit busy How are you, sir?”
“Thanks be to God. Thanks be to God. This will pass, God willing. It will pass. You’re well, are you, Mr. Husayn?”
“Yes. I’m fine, Uncle. Can’t complain.”
He raised his hand again and pushed his hair back, then wiped his nose. Sana could see the left side of Munira’s face, watching Husayn attentively.
The Long Way Back Page 29