Maps (35 page)

They were standing in front of Hilaal and Salaado. And they became conscious of how each spoke, how each responded. Now they were playing to an audience, they had to be careful Consequently there seeped into their voices an awareness of the outside world, of Salaado and Hilaal, an awareness of their own past together, an awareness of
the other
in each of them.

“I would very much like to see a shark,' she said,

Hilaal thought, what an impossible request to make. I wish I could make it happen. I wish I could take her to an aquarium—if only there were one in Mogadiscio. But why a shark? And Salaado thought, I like this woman's imagination, it is wide, it is encompassing, it is inclusive, it is larger than the world of which she isn't an integral part. Why a shark? Because she is dissatisfied with the little she's been offered and wants more, feels she is entitled to be given more and will do the best she can to acquire more. What an imagination! As for Askar, his thoughts led him away from the territory of reason to one in which he was a small child asking if it was possible for a boy to menstruate? Or if it was possible to meet “death” face to face and survive? He saw in her request a yearning, a passion for a past long gone.

After a long pause, Salaado said, “It is not every day one sees sharks in these parts. But we can go to behind the Xamar Slaughter House, the newly built one, and there we're likely to see a shark. In fact, the story goes that a woman swam while menstruating heavily and thus attracted a shark's passionate attentions and he made of her a morsel—that was all”

Silence. When Askar looked at Misra, he found her quietly standing in another comer, sulking. She was like a rolled carpet tied with a rope at both ends, leaning against the wall She stared ahead of herself, trembling a little, perhaps at the thought that she would be fed, as the menstruating woman (or rather as a sacrificial beast?) to the famished sharks behind the Xamar Slaughter House? She didn't say anything. She took the little finger offered her by Askar, whom she found to be friendly

“Shall we go?” he said, his finger secure in Misra's grip.

“Let's,” said Hilaal.

And they were in a car in less than two minutes. Askar thought, I will teach Misra how to swim. Hilaal thought, I am glad she's beginning to trust Askar again and am glad Askar is lavishing on her his affectionate warmth, in which she will rediscover their old selves so they will be happy again together. Salaado thought, as you travel further from your home-base, the cosmos shrinks proportionately in size. Does Misra expect her seeing a shark will remind her of a larger cosmos, a much more aggressive universe, one in which blood is not a life-force but that of death and self-destruction?

Salaado drove the car. Hilaal sat beside her. Misra and Askar were in the back together, their bodies very close, their fingers entwined. In the rear mirror, Salaado saw, they were so engrossed in each other they didn't need to acknowledge the existence of the outside world. When alone, and at the beach, she reported what she suspected she saw to Hilaal. And he was happy.

I

Y
ou spent less time in your house now that Misra was also there. You entered it quiet as a trespasser, showered, changed into clean clothes only to get out again, saying, at times, where you would be (“I am at Riyo's place, we're studying geography together”—Riyo being a girl your age—a neighbour and classmate), and on occasion, you didn't bother giving indications as to whether you would return home and have a meal. One thing was obvious—Hilaal and Salaado were in some kind of a moral dilemma. Of course, when it came down to making choices, they would've preferred your presence to Misra's. Also, they thought it unkind to throw her out. What they did was to pray, together and separately, for a threshold of understanding to be reached. Otherwise, thought Hilaal, they would have to precipitate a mild confrontation between the two of you. With such a prospect in mind, Karin's name was dropped. Misra picked it up, as though Salaado had flung it in the mud, and dusted it clean with the edge of her newly washed robe. All she said was, “The worst enemy in the world is one who has been your dearest and most intimate friend half your life,” And from then on, no one dared pollute the air by mentioning Karin's name again. Nor did anybody get the chance to ask her about her uncovered identity, with her name ending with “t” and meaning something like foundation of the earth”. To dissolve the thickness of the tension in the room, somebody teased you. But Misra remained standing outside your acquired freehold territory, feeling she was barred from entering it.

To provoke you (or was this meant to tease you), Salaado, on this particular evening, said: “You don't seem to us,” and she looked at Hilaal and Misra, this being as wide as the parenthesis could extend, “as though you will leave for a war zone. Such a person gets rid of all extra burdens save a gun, say a belt of ammunition or maybe two, perhaps the odd item such as binoculars, if they can be had and, who knows, a revolver. Why, I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you appear to me like a young man who has found a new love—Riyo what's-her-name—who, I hear, you're intending to take with you to the war front, God knows as what.”

Hilaal called Salaado's name—they all got his meaning!

“Are you saying, Salaado,” you began your self-defence with a newly acquired confidence, “that I am the proverbial coward who is reported to have told every child and adult in his village that he was preparing for a fight and went into the forest, returning thence, burdened with so many clubs he couldn't even walk When the villagers asked why he was carrying so many, in contrast to his opponent's one, the coward said, wish everybody to know that I, who can cut so many trees and carry so many clubs, can floor any number of contestants.' Are you saying I am like that proverbial coward, Salaado?”

Hilaal appeared pleased with your robust state of mind. He was happy your enthusiasm was again ablaze with the same kind of informed argumentativeness as before and that you were like your old self again. He commented: “I've never heard it told so elegantly Or is this not Cigaal Shiidaad's story?”

By then, Salaado had risen from her seat and switched on the light; by then, Misra had discreetly asked Hilaal if it was true you were intending to travel to the war front with what's-her-name, Riyo. And when Misra wanted to comment, Hilaal raised his hand—
bastal
Silence. Salaado took her chair. You got up from yours. Misra half got up from hers, as if she were following you to wherever you were going. And Hilaal watched all of you behave in this nervous way with a certain disquiet.

Salaado, suspecting that you were about to go out of the house, said, “Isn't it too late to go out for your shooting practice?”

You could hear Hilaal intone, Dio mio, Salaado, don't you know when to let go, when to stop?” You looked up at the ceiling and your stare met the burning bulb's. “Too late,” you said.

Again, you looked up at the bulb, like one who expected it to say something. You told yourself there was something upsetting about how Salaado was getting possessively interested in your movements, probing into your affairs, reading your notes and interrogating you whenever there was a chance. She didn't want you to leave for the war front, that much was apparent. But neither did Hilaal. Silent, you looked at the electric bulb, when, pop! And the bulb fell to the floor within a couple of inches of you, rendering your half of the room dark. You stood where you were for a moment, before you bent down to pick it up. You shook it gently, then a bit harshly, you brought it nearer your ears and listened to it. You certified it dead.

Hilaal said, “Bulbs give so many light hours and then they go pop and are dead.”

Misra looked from him to you, then from you to Salaado and then back at you, for she knew, somehow, that you wouldn't let that go without a comment. You said, “A man, however, doesn't have a set number of hours, days, months or years to live. Why do you think that is so?” And you addressed the question to no one in particular.

Hilaal was beyond himself with delight. You were well, your head was working, you were thinking and were not morose, silent, withdrawn. You were fun. As before. “Tell us. Why.”

“Imperfections or perfections … or if you prefer … the absence or presence of… er … imperfections and perfections in the order of things. Man. Woman. God. Eh?”

Hilaal was clearly delighted that you had put the ball back into his side of the court. In his, there was light; in yours, darkness. You knew what he would say —- or so you thought. But he didn't have the slightest idea where you might bounce from next. He said, “Depends.”

“If one believes in God or no?”

He nodded his head. You made as though you would leave.

Salaado said, “Where are you going, Askar?”

Hilaal to Salaado, “Peramordidio, Salaado!”

But she disregarded his comment. She said to Askar, “I'm asking because next door they are having a
mingis
ceremony tonight and I remember your telling me you wanted to attend it. Would you like to stay for dinner and then go later with whoever is coming?” And she spoke in such a gentle voice you couldn't bring yourself to refuse.

You nodded your head in the darkened half of the room and were not sure if anyone
saw
your answer. But it didn't matter. In an hour or so, you knew the kitchen would receive you all, the tables would seat you, the cutlery would feed you (unless Hilaal ate with his fingers) and Misra would be uneasy, sitting awkwardly at table, her knife every now and then ending in the wrong hand, her fork dropping to the floor. Hilaal would say “All this is nonsense. Eat with your fingers the way I am doing.”

Salaado would say “Chicken is best eaten with one's fingers,” although she herself might be using a fork and a knife. Something was happening to Salaado. Askar was unhappy about it,

Hilaal said, “Let's go and cook.”

II

When chopping up onions, Salaado forgot an elementary principle Hilaal had taught her—that she should cut it in two halves and let them soak in water for a couple of minutes. Then she wouldn't drop tears as big as French onions, sniffing, onion-eyed and complaining, “Oh, what must I do now?”

Hilaal gave her a napkin with which to wipe away the tears. As she was leaving the kitchen, he said, not so much for your benefit as for Misra's—Misra, who was standing near the sink, staring at the thawing meat—“When two persons have been living together for over a decade, they tend not to listen to each other's advice. I've told her time and again, perhaps a million times.”

But what was he thinking, staring at Misra? Was he thinking ill of her? It wasn't something he said. It was the way he kept looking at her as she looked furtively at the meat thawing in the kitchen sink. The trouble was, you were wrong. It seemed your prejudice bred monstrous ideas. In fact, he was saying amicably, “And you, Misra? What would you like to do?”

She didn't know what to say.

“I suggest you season the meat,” he said. “You did it so handsomely well, the other day, it
ate
superbly” However, he stopped in mid-thought, like a man who discovers a richer diamond deposit than the iron-ore he has been mining all this time. “Why don't I leave the two of you together? I'll join Salaado and help her pick the rice clean. Is that all right?”

For a long time, neither you nor she spoke. Then you both filled the emptiness with conversation equally uncontroversial and empty of real substance. She talked of how much she liked the kitchen you were in. She touched the washing-machine which was standing next to the fridge, one switch bright red and on, the other dull and not on. Karin's name, Qorrax's, Aw-Adan's were not mentioned. Nor was any reference made to herself or to the lieutenant whom she had befriended. You were saying something as agreeably pleasant and banal as, “When I see a woman carrying on her head firewood, on her back a child and in front, hugging to her chest, the day's shopping, my heart bleeds in sympathy for such a martyr.”'