“What’s going on, Mr. Husayn? Where’s this idiot taking us?”
“Which idiot’s that, sir?”
“What? No, you’re right. There are a lot of them around these days, and out fate is in their hands, Who else but Abd al-Karim Qasim?”
Husayn lifted his hands from his lap and intertwined them in front of him, then let them hang by his sides. “I really don’t know. I mean...” He gave a short laugh which he checked abruptly “I really don’t know what’s going to become of us.”
He twisted his neck as if he was clicking a bone back into place. Sana’s mother suddenly spoke. “Husayn, why are you acting as if you don’t understand? Do you have any news of Midhat? Tell us quickly. We’re desperate to know”
Husayn sat back in his chair, frightened by the unexpected burst of words. Sana saw his eyelids blink rapidly He looked at Munira, appearing to notice her for the first time, and examined her intently. She neither spoke, not lowered her gaze.
“Er—Munira, isn’t it?” he said, then turned inquiringly to Karim, who nodded his head. Her father seemed to be coming back to life. “Very pleased to meet you.”
Munira inclined her head slightly but said nothing and continued to stare sharply at him.
“You know, I don’t have anything to say,” he almost shouted. “Nothing important. But I wanted to tell you, I mean Midhat’s like a brother to me, and his problems are my problems.”
“What’s going on between you and Midhat?” asked Sana’s mother loudly. “For the love of God, tell me!”
Husayn stared at her in amazement, then stole a glance at Munira, before looking bewilderedly back at Sana’s mother. “Nothing, really. I mean, I don’t think there’s anything going on between us. You know— where does he stand, where do I stand? But the thing is that he’s been— for the past two or three days—he’s been living in my room with me, if that’s of any interest to you.”
“What? Where?” shouted her grandmother, mother, and aunt in unison.
Munira leaned forward eagerly, her eyes fixed on Sana’s father.
“How long has he been with you?” asked her grandfather.
“A couple of days, sir. Maybe three.”
“I came to ask you about him five days ago,” said Karim. “He must have only arrived after that.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Husayn. “But please .. .”
They looked upset. Sana stretched out her leg and it knocked against something. She breathed in sharply and withdrew into her corner. Her father spread his arms wide, raising his voice. “Please, I beg you, I came without him knowing. I left him and came to see you. I said to him, ‘It’s Thursday today and I’ve got things to do’. He thinks I’ve gone drinking. Please, I swear to God I haven’t touched a drop today. But he doesn’t know. I didn’t tell him where I was going, I mean. So please . . .”
“How is he?” asked Uncle Karim. “Is he well? I have to see him. I’ll go back with you.”
“So will I,” exclaimed her mother. She turned to Munira. “We’ll both go.”
Her father raised his arms high above his head for several moments. “No, no, no. Please, no. For God’s sake. You don’t understand. Slow down a bit.”
He brought his hands down and covered his eyes as if he was in pain. Sana heard her mother whispering to Munira, “He needs a drink. I know the signs.” Munira reached out and patted her gently on the arm, nodding her head. Husayn returned his hands to his lap. “Sorry, everyone. You don’t understand. And I’m a bit—a bit tired. But it’s Midhat’s life we’re talking about. No. Please. Give me a minute, just a minute, so that I can concentrate and finish what I’m trying to say. The problem is—how can I put it, damn it—the problem is, he hasn’t eaten or drunk anything for two days, maybe more. No, no, he’s not ill. No, my dear Karumi, I can tell whether someone’s ill or not. But he doesn’t want to eat or drink.”
“Why?” shouted Grandmother Nuriya in anguish. “He should have stayed here. God knows what the food’s like there.”
“Take it easy, Mother,” said Uncle Karim.
“Honestly, Auntie, you know .. .” began Husayn.
“Leave it, Husayn,” said Karim.
“Yes, but there is food at my place,” finished Husayn.
“Listen, Husayn,” persisted Karim. “I want you to tell me a couple more things. First of all, and this is the main thing, is Midhat ill? Does he need medical help?”
Sana’s father opened his arms randomly and crossed one leg over the other. “No, I’ve already told you. He’s not ill.” He looked around him, and Sana had the impression his eves came to rest on Munira again. “But I mean, he’s got things on his mind. You know Midhat. But I’m a hundred per cent sure he’s not ill. That’s definite. Yes, he’s not eating or drinking, and doesn’t seem to be sleeping that well, but he’s not ill.”
“Where’s he sleeping? Why didn’t he stay with me?” said Grandmother Nuriya.
“At my place. In my room, Auntie.”
“The sultan’s palace!” whispered Sana’s mother sarcastically.
Husayn turned to her and laughed suddenly, interrupting himself with a series of coughs. “Yes, but, to make up for it, I’m sleeping on the sofa.”
Uncle Karim interrupted him. “Please spare us your comments, Madiha. Listen, Husayn. There’s something else I want to ask you. When can I see him? Can I come with you now at least, even if nobody else does?”
“No, no. Give me some time, Karumi. Please. Two or three days. Let me discuss things with him. You know, it’s a bit complicated, everybody But let’s hope it’s nothing. I came purely to reassure you.”
“God bless you, dear,” said Grandmother Nuriya.
“Thank you, Auntie. I’m only doing my duty.”
A sudden silence descended. It was broken by Sana’s grandfather. “Look, Mr. Husayn,” he said in a quavering voice. “I know you well. You’ve got a good heart, and you’re decent and godfearing.” Sana’s father looked at him with surprise as he continued: “But sometimes circumstances intervene in people’s lives and change them against their wishes. Despite the twists of fate, Almighty God allows compassion and love to remain in their hearts because they are fundamentally noble and good. Husayn, Almighty God has put my son Midhat in your safe keeping and nobody can resist God’s will. Neither you nor I nor anyone else. He’s entrusted him to you, Husayn. Do you understand? You are responsible for his safety.”
Her father looked around him in some astonishment. “Yes, yes, sir.”
“We don’t oppose the judgment of the Almighty. My son Midhat, who didn’t consult me before he left, when he knows that I . . .” He paused and began on a different tack. “I’m a believer, and I have faith in God and His Prophet, and now I’m on my sickbed and everything is in the Lord’s hands. I want you to take him one message, Mr. Husayn, one message from his father, blessed words I want you to deliver to him which I’ve borrowed from the Holy Quran.” He lowered his voice and began to murmur, “In the name of God the Compassionate the Merciful. ‘Have you seen the man who has turned his back and has given little? Does he possess knowledge of the Unknown, so that he is able to see it? Has he not . . .”‘ he paused, forgetting the words, then resumed, ‘“been informed of what is in the books of Moses, and of Abraham . . .”‘ he raised his voice in the silence which had descended, ‘“and of Abraham who was faithful? That a burdened soul shall not bear the burden of another. That Man shall only have that which he has striven for. That his strivings shall be seen, and thereafter he will be fully rewarded. That with your Lord is the end of all things. That it is He who causes people to laugh and to cry’”
Sana heard a stifled sob.
‘“That it is He who causes people to laugh and to cry. That it is He who causes people to live and to die.’ Let us trust in the word of the Almighty.”
Grandmother Nuriya was sobbing with her hand over her eyes. Sana noticed a sudden movement from Munira and saw her stand up and leave the room rapidly without
a sound. Sana’s mother looked questioningly at Munira as she left, but when there was no response, she transferred her sad, surprised gaze back to Grandmother Nuriya. Sana’s father sat frozen in his seat. So did her uncle. They hadn’t even noticed dear Auntie Munira leave. Sana felt a heavy weight descend on her heart and began to be afraid. She didn’t understand much of what was going on.
“Let us trust in the word of the Almighty,” pronounced her father, then coughed several times and resumed his immobile stance.
“Why are you crying?” Grandfather asked Grandmother. “Is there a reason? Do you despair of the Lord’s mercy?”
Her grandmother stopped crying at once and wiped her eyes with her hand. “I’m not crying. why would I be crying? I wish I had tears to cry But every time I hear the Quran I feel a sob rising in my chest.”
“Glory be to God.”
“Go and make the man a glass of tea, Madiha.”
At the sound of the word tea her father started and jumped to his feet. “No, thanks. I’m fine. It’s not tea time. Excuse me. I have to go now.” He paused. “I hope you don’t think badly of me. Don’t worry In two or three days everything will be fine. Be a bit patient with me.”
“Let’s hope so, son. Don’t forget to give Midhat my message. Tell him his father wants him to hear God’s word and understand it and be guided by it. Tell him his father’s on his sick bed and this is his bequest to him. Do you understand?”
“God willing, not a bequest. . . Yes, yes. . . I’ll tell him everything you’ve said. Excuse me now. I hope you get better soon. Good night, everybody.”
He raised his hand in farewell and walked towards the door. Sana’s mother and uncle stood up. Her mother stood to one side, and he passed without looking at her. Uncle Karim followed him out.
“He never once asked about the girls,” said her mother to Grandmother Nuriya.
Grandmother clapped her hands in a dismissive gesture, and Sana’s mother said as she left the room, “God help Midhat if he’s got people like that looking after him.”
Sana got up quietly and edged along the wall without looking at her grandparents. She could hear the regular click of the prayer beads dropping on to one another. Her grandmother sighed. Sana reached the door and slipped out.
The gallery and alcove were empty. She hurried over to the balustrade and saw her uncle and father disappearing through the middle door and her mother walking slowly across the dimly lit yard. The water gleamed for a moment in the little pond. She wanted to call her mother but stopped herself. She was bursting with a mixture of incomprehensible feelings. She was tired by everything that had happened that day, and nobody had taken any notice of her. She gave a small yawn, resting her hands on the wooden balustrade. A slight shudder passed through her body She yawned again. Her mother stopped at the middle door to watch her father and uncle disappear. “Little Sana,” she heard someone calling softly.
She turned round. The voice was gentle and musical. She saw Munira beckoning to her from the door of her room. Sana didn’t need to be asked again and ran towards her. Munira drew her into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Listen Sana,” she said, talking rapidly. “I want you to do something for me. This note,” she held up a folded sheet of paper, “I want you to get it to your father. Run after him and give it to him and tell him to give it to—Midhat. To Uncle Midhat.”
Her hazel eyes were clouded over, and the kohl had rubbed off them. Sana continued to look at her. Munira took hold of her arm. “Sana, do you understand?” She gave her arm a squeeze.
“Yes, Auntie Munira,” answered Sana.
“Do you love me, Sana?”
Sana gulped and tried to answer, bur Munira began talking urgently again. “I want you to run after them now. Don’t let anyone see you. Give this note to your father and tell him this is from Auntie Munira for Uncle—Midhat. See? Go on, Sana darling. Hurry.”
She gave her the note and opened the door for her. Her heart pounding, Sana ran off along the gallery and down the stairs, then stopped at the bottom Her mother had moved away from the door and gone into the kitchen. The kitchen light was on, and there were sounds of dishes being picked up and put down. Sana ran along close to the wall furthest from the kitchen until she reached the middle door, which stood ajar. She slipped through it and confronted the long passage. The two of them, her uncle and her father, were standing out in the street by the open front door, talking. She stood silently catching her breath in the darkness, clutching the note in the palm of her hand. Her mother wouldn’t remember her for a while. She was busy washing the dishes and thinking what she needed for the dawn meal before the fast began again, if she was asked when she returned, she would say she had been with Uncle Karim. She inched forward silently went up the step, then stopped again. She didn’t understand what they were muttering to each other. She could see the red glow of the cigarette in her father’s hand. He raised it to his mouth every now and then, coughed, and blew out smoke. It was pitch dark around her, and she could only make them out with difficulty by the light from the road outside. She started walking forward cautiously again and saw them shaking hands.
“Yes, yes, of course. Good night,” she heard her father saying. Her uncle responded and her father disappeared. She was seized with anxiety. Her uncle went on standing there, looking after her father. She kept walking, with no specific plan in mind, until she was close to her uncle.
“Uncle,” she called, and he turned abruptly, seeming startled by her voice. “Who’s there? Sana? What are you doing in the dark?”
“I’ve got some business with my father,” she replied at once.
“What sort of business?”
“I have to tell him something. I’ve got a message for him.”
He was looking at her, but she couldn’t make out his face properly in the dark. Would he ask her who had sent her? What would she say? Munira had told her not to let anyone see her. Perhaps her uncle would force her to show him the note, would open it, and read what was in it. She was torn by doubts and, without waiting to find out what her uncle might decide, she climbed the step leading to the street. “I’ll be back soon, Uncle,” she said, and ran off in the direction she had seen her father take.
“Careful,” her uncle called after her. “Don’t run like that. Have you gone mad or something?”
The alley which she knew so well, was illuminated by the faint light from a distant street lamp. The important thing was for her to catch up with her father before he was lost among the crowds in the main street. She saw him suddenly beside the house of Mr. Mustafa, the joiner, the house with the huge jujube tree, swaying from side to side in front of her. He held himself erect but as he walked he rocked in a strange way to the right and to the left. He veered abruptly over to the other side of the road, then straightened up again and continued swaying in a regular rhythm.
“Dad. Dad,” she called.
He didn’t look as if he had heard. She called him again when she was two meters or less from him. The she tugged gently on his jacket. He didn’t turn round. He kept on walking, unaware of her presence. She smiled in amazement. They were a few steps past Mr. Mustafa’s house when she realized that she had no time to lose, so she pulled hard on his jacket and shouted, “Dad.”
He jumped in alarm. “Huh? What?”
“Sorry Dad. I’ve been shouting at you and you didn’t hear.”
He was staring at her face. “Where have you come from? What do you want?”
“Dad, I’m Sana.”
“Who? Yes, yes, Sana my dear. How are you? Where are you going? Do you want something?”
“No, Dad, but . . .” she gripped the little sheet of paper. “Auntie Munira says, she says . . .” She held out her hand. “Give this note to Uncle Midhat.”
He remained stock-still, looking at her, with his arms hanging at his sides. She didn’t know what to do. She jiggled the piece of paper in her hand. “Dad. Here’s the note. Take it and give it to Uncle Midh
at. Tell him it’s from Auntie Munira.”
“Yes, dear. All right. But,” he took the paper cautiously, “I’m afraid I may not see Midhat tonight. Tomorrow will do, won’t it?”
“I don’t know, Dad. Auntie Munira told me to deliver it quickly.”
“Okay, okay. That’s fine.”
He put it away in the inside pocket of his jacket, then leaned down towards her suddenly “Tell her not to worry about it.” He kissed her twice on both cheeks. He stank unbearably. His voice shook as he straightened up. “Give her my very best wishes, Sana dear. Tell her the letter’s arrived and she shouldn’t worry about it for a moment. Go on, dear. Go home now.”
“Yes, Dad.”
Sana ran off home along the dark potholed alley. She saw her uncle in the distance, waiting where she had left him, and felt glad. As they made their way along the passage into the house, he told her off and kept asking her why she had gone after her father. Her refusal to give him a straight answer annoyed him, and he began to scold her again. They bolted the door behind them and followed Sana’s mother upstairs. Sana noticed that Munira’s room was in darkness. Her uncle went in to see her grandparents and she ran off lightheartedly, feeling she had an important secret which made it easy to bear reprimands, fatigue, and other inconveniences. She found them sitting in front of the television: her mother and sister, Munira’s mother, and Great-grandmother Umm Hasan, but not Munira. She sat down quickly to one side, afraid that her mother would see her and ask where she had been, and even more afraid that she would be unable to lie to her. Her sister turned to look at her once or twice, but didn’t say anything. Gradually her heart stopped pounding.
“Here, Suha. Is there a film on today?” her mother asked her sister.
“Yes, Mum. An Arab film.”
“You’d better not be lying.”
“I swear, Mum. Either a film or a play.”
“It’ll be a miracle if you ever learn to tell the truth.”
“Honestly, Mum.”
“Shut up, you stupid little girl.”
Munira’s mother was smoking in silence, eyes glued to the small screen. Sana heard footsteps on the gallery, which she recognized as Munira’s. The door opened and in she came. “Madiha,” she asked, “can I talk to you for a minute?”
The Long Way Back Page 30