The Sound of Language (14 page)

“I wouldn't go back,” Layla always said. “I miss home, I miss my life there but I don't miss the fear, the futureless living. Here I don't worry about Shahrukh when he goes to kindergarten. He is safe, he will always be safe.”

And Denmark was safe. Safe, white, and foreign. Raihana had been here ten months now and she was forgetting her life in Kabul, like it happened to someone else, like it never happened. But the terror of her life in Afghanistan crept up on her from time to time and found its way into her mind, scaring her once again, even in safe Denmark.

Raihana and Layla decided that Gunnar should see a twenty-year-old movie,
Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak
, which meant from the day of doom to the day of doom. Since he had said he would like to watch a Hindi movie, Layla and Raihana had debated about what would be the best first Hindi movie for him to watch.

Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak
was the superstar Aamir Khan's first movie and one of the biggest hits of its time.

The story was about two feuding Rajput families from Rajasthan and how the daughter from one family and a son from another fell in love and were killed in the end. It was a tragic story but one of Raihana's favorites. She hoped Gunnar would enjoy it.

Raihana had learned a lot about the Danish man in the past few months. They communicated adequately in Danish and when they worked with the bees they did so in harmony. Raihana put the tools exactly where Gunnar would find them and he did the same for her. There was an intimacy in working together like this and now whenever Raihana heard the buzzing of a bee she thought of Gunnar.

He didn't drink during the day anymore, at least not during the days she was there. And he didn't hide inside the house while she pretended to work in the garage. He came out and they went to the backyard together. Taking care of forty colonies of bees was not easy and since Raihana suspected that Gunnar did no work on the days she didn't come, there was all the more to do when she was there.

Raihana was eagerly waiting for the first honey harvest. Also, at the end of June the language school would close for summer vacation until late August. The students could continue their
praktiks
if they wished and Raihana decided to do so.

She had read about the harvest in the black book Gunnar's wife had written. She read the book now with less joy than before the scene with Maria. Every time she looked at it now she was reminded of being accused of stealing and of Maria yelling at her and the Danish man. But the notebook was still her best source of bee information and she continued to read it.

According to Gunnar's wife, during harvesttime, the frames would be so laden with honey that they would be very heavy to lift. The frames would be removed from the hives, loaded up into a small wheelbarrow, and taken to the honey extractor.

The frames would be put inside the extractor machine and honey would slowly start pouring out of the machine. This honey would be stored in buckets and stirred often for a few days before being poured into jars, ready to eat.

Gunnar had told Raihana they didn't really sell that much honey, not commercially. Most of their sales were from the back door to neighbors and friends. They gave a lot of it away to relatives as well, but during a really good honey season they would set up a sign outside their house indicating there was honey for sale.

Since she had started working for Gunnar, Raihana paid more attention to the honey available in the supermarket. Usually Layla and Raihana and most Afghans shopped at Netto because it was the cheapest supermarket, but Netto had a limited selection of honey. If they wanted to buy different types, Layla and Raihana went to Kvickly, which was more expensive but offered a wide variety of honey. There was the soft-flowing acacia honey that Shahrukh ate in great quantities with and without bread. There was the creamy Danish honey. There was heather honey, which had a very strong flavor and which Raihana liked best.

As reluctant as Layla had been about Raihana's
praktik
, she had also become a big fan of honey.

“Will you be making acacia honey too?” Layla asked as they browsed the honey shelf at Kvickly one afternoon.

“No,” Raihana said. “We don't make acacia honey in Denmark. It is mostly made in America and France.”

Layla looked at Raihana in admiration. “You know so much about honey.”

Raihana grinned. “Well, I'm showing off a little for you.”

Layla laughed. “You don't have to show off; I'm already very impressed. So how about we try this chile honey?”

Raihana examined the label on the bottle. “It's from New Mexico. I wonder how they make it,” she said.

“You should ask the Danish man,” Layla suggested and put the chile honey in their shopping basket.

Layla thought that if the Danish man was to watch a Hindi movie, then he should also eat Afghan food. So she helped Raihana make
samboosas
with mint chutney. Her help was, however, limited to peeling potatoes and grinding spices.

Then Layla watched while Raihana made
kheer
with cream, milk, almonds, rice, and sugar. Kabir always tried to buy silver foil when he went to Hamburg, and since it was quite difficult to replace, Layla and Raihana used it very sparingly. But for this occasion, Raihana put a thin layer of the shiny foil on top of the
kheer
and it looked like something out of a cookbook.

Now that it was obvious that Raihana's safety was no issue, it annoyed Layla that she had to go clean a supermarket while Raihana was going to watch a Hindi movie with her boss.

But Layla couldn't really complain about Raihana's
praktik
because it seemed to make her so happy. When Raihana first came to their house she had been a ghost, hiding in her room, stiffening at sharp sounds, and not talking much to either Layla or Kabir. She played with Shahrukh and took care of him when Layla wasn't at home. Those first three months she just lay there most of the time. She helped with the household chores but she did it quietly and rarely spoke until spoken to.

Once Raihana began language classes she became more talkative, less of a ghost. Now Raihana even had a marriage proposal in hand. It would be a pity if Rafeeq didn't let her work for the Danish man, but if he didn't, Raihana would just have to accept that. A wife didn't argue with her husband, not about important things such as these.

To his surprise, Gunnar liked the movie. He liked the splashes of color, the singing and dancing and the love story. The Danish subtitles probably did not convey the entire message because Raihana was crying at the end and he couldn't dredge up much emotion, but nevertheless, he liked the film.

The story was a lot like
Romeo and Juliet.
A young couple in love caught between their feuding parents, finally dying tragically for their love. The girl was pretty but Gunnar wasn't sure what to make of the actor who played the boy. He was a little fellow and didn't look much more than eighteen. Raihana said he was a big film star in India. He seemed like a good enough actor, Gunnar thought, but what did he know and it didn't really matter; he had enjoyed the movie and he had enjoyed the food Raihana had brought.

“The family I live with and I think this be a good movie for you,” Raihana told him when he said the movie had been fun.

“Is the family you live with okay with you working here?” Gunnar asked.

“Jeg kan ikke forstår,”
she replied and Gunnar smiled. She rarely admitted that she didn't understand what he said in Danish.

“Do they like it that you work here?” he repeated.

Raihana paused for a moment, thinking about how she could phrase what she wanted to say in Danish. “Layla is little jealous, maybe. Kabir think it is not right, but he does not say no to me come here.”

Her tenses were still mixed up. Christina always said that the hardest thing to learn about Danish was how to use the verbs.

“Why does Kabir think it is not right?” Gunnar asked as he picked up another of the pastries stuffed with potatoes.

“He is Afghan man,” she said as if that explained it all.

“And the other Afghans, what do they say?”

“Not nice things.”

Gunnar thought it was interesting that the Afghans thought just like so many Danes about their
praktik
setup.

“It is sad,” she said. “I want to learn new thing and they say bad things.”

“It is sad,” Gunnar agreed.

He had never thought about the courage it must have taken for Raihana to work in a house alone with a strange man. He knew enough about Eastern cultures to know that they were very conservative. Anna would have been proud of Raihana. She would have helped her. Regardless of what Maria remembered Anna to be, he knew that Anna would never turn away a helpless woman who wanted to learn something new.

“Do you like working with the bees?” Gunnar asked then.

“A lot,” Raihana said. “I never work this way with bees before.”

“I know,” Gunnar said.

“I didn't lie to Christina, she think I work a lot with bees,” Raihana said.

“You know a lot about beekeeping now,” Gunnar said.

“Yes,” Raihana said.

It was the longest conversation they'd ever had.

As Raihana bicycled home she felt intensely proud of herself. She'd had a conversation in Danish. A real conversation, not something in the language school designed to improve language skills.

But as she got closer to home she realized that she had asked him nothing. He had asked all the questions. She promised herself that next time she would ask him questions. What would she ask? What did she want to know?

She wanted to know more about his wife. The woman named Anna who had written in that black leather notebook and had taught her about bees and Danish. Yes, she thought, she would ask about his wife. But would it be rude to ask him about his dead wife?

She rehearsed her questions in Danish.

How did she die?

How old was she?

What did she do?

Would she have said yes to me working with your bees?

But even as she repeated the questions in broken Danish in her mind and imagined his answers, she knew when the time came she would be too shy to ask him about his wife. Just as she would be tongue-tied if he asked her about Aamir.

THIRTEEN
ENTRY FROM ANNA'S DIARY
A Year of Keeping Bees

12 JULY 1980

Only the queen bee produces queen substances, which are pheromones. I heard from a friend who visited the United States last year, and went to a county fair there, that some beekeepers tie caged queen bees under their chins to attract males into a “bee beard.” Gunnar and I wondered if they get stung and how badly.

The queen substance is a powerful love potion. It is the love potion's allure that makes worker bees flock to their queen and tend to her every need. Young queens produce great amounts of queen substance but as the queen ages, the power of her pheromones fades. The decrease in the production may spark a revolt by the worker bees who replace the old queen with a younger one.

H
e was taller than Aamir. He had a very short and well-kept beard. He was darker than Aamir. He smelled of cigarettes.

She had been Aamir's first wife. She wouldn't be Rafeeq's, though it didn't really matter. His wife was in Pakistan, his children were there, but his life and he himself were here, in Denmark. Many Muslims had wives in their home countries that Danish authorities didn't know about and so getting married again in Denmark was not considered to be polygamy.

Layla had planned the menu and Raihana had cooked. Shahrukh had been told to behave himself and Layla crossed her fingers that he would take a nap right after lunch so the adults could sit and talk.

This marriage proposal was very different from her first one. When she and Aamir married, Aamir's uncle had come to Raihana's father with the marriage proposal and her father and his uncle had bargained about money. Aamir had given a small sum of money to marry Raihana; her father had quibbled, but not much.

But now they had no elders talking about the marriage, it was just them. It somehow seemed wrong to Raihana, and somehow it also felt liberating, like she could make the decisions of her life.

Rafeeq had a stern voice, and even when he laughed it was a little harsh. Raihana knew she was looking for flaws on purpose. If this were Afghanistan, no one would ask her anything and she would have to do what she was asked. But now she had a choice. She could say no.

“Mors is a small island,” Rafeeq told her while they were eating lunch. “Not too many Afghans. There are some Iranian families but that is about it. And there are some families from Somalia, I think, but I don't know them.”

Conversation didn't flow easily at the table. Raihana wanted to ask Rafeeq questions, but she felt shy and stayed silent. Layla, like Raihana, was quiet, shoving a piece of chicken in Shahrukh's mouth and holding his glass to him when he wanted to drink water.

“Tell us about the factory you work in,” Kabir suggested when the silence dragged too long.

“They make cast-iron stoves,” Rafeeq said. “I work in the production line. I assemble the top plate and baffle —they're the top part of the stove. It's a good company and a good job. If someone falls sick on the line, the manager does not hassle about sick days. But these Danes, they take too many sick days. Not like us, they don't have pride in their work.”

Raihana licked her lips then and cleared her throat. “I have met a few Danes and they have a lot of pride in their work. Christina does, doesn't she, Layla?”

“Yes, yes,” Layla said.

“No, no, not all Danes are like that,” Rafeeq said. “I know a lot of Danes who are proud of their work and are a hardworking people.”

“Yes, yes,” Kabir agreed. “Danes are supposed to be good workers.” Silence fell again and this time no one picked up the conversation.

“You work for a man who keeps bees,” Rafeeq said after they had eaten lunch and Layla and Raihana had cleared the plates. They were drinking tea in Layla's finest cups. Layla had also served dried fruits and nuts, bought for special occasions from Hamburg by Kabir.

“Yes,” Raihana said and braced herself.

“I have a colleague who keeps bees. He says it's a lot of work,” Rafeeq said. “Maybe you can find a job in Thisted. They have professional beekeepers there.”

Thisted was about thirty minutes north of Mors, on the other side of the island. Christina had told Raihana about the city and said she might be able to find a job there. The fact that Rafeeq had bothered to find out about beekeeping and where she could get a job put her mind at ease.

“You don't mind I work for this man?” she asked boldly.

“It isn't our way … but this is not our land, the ways will change,” Rafeeq said.

“So you don't approve of it,” Raihana said.

“It's not about approval. We're in a different country; here women work and that is okay. If the wife works there is more money at home for nicer things,” Rafeeq said.

“And after children?” Raihana asked.

“Would you want to work if you had children?”

“I don't know,” she said.

“The children will need their mother,” Rafeeq said.

Layla snorted but didn't say anything. She worked and she went to school and after she finished language school she planned on finding a job and working. She had a child and she thought she was an excellent mother to him without sitting at home all the time. Rafeeq was right, when the wife worked there was money for the nicer things. She and Kabir wanted nicer things, for their son and themselves.

Would these Afghan men have been so liberal in Afghanistan? Did being in a different country really change them? Or would they always be this liberal, regardless of country? Would they change if they moved back to Afghanistan? Raihana realized she would never know. Whatever change happened to people like them when they had to leave their own homes and make their way in strange and alien lands could not be reversed.

The lunch had gone very well, Kabir said gleefully after Rafeeq left. He then told Raihana that Rafeeq wanted to marry her. He would give five thousand kroner as the bride money, which Kabir said was a very good amount of money. It would be
her
money. In Afghanistan the money went to the bride's father; here the money should by rights go to Kabir, but he didn't want it and was giving it to Raihana.

“My money?” Raihana asked.

Kabir nodded. “Yes.”

The idea that she would have five thousand kroner all for herself was almost unbelievable.

“So?” Layla said. “Should we start planning a wedding?” Her voice was filled with unconcealed joy.

“Can I tell you next week?” Raihana asked.

Kabir didn't seem surprised. “But no later than a week. Rafeeq is going to Pakistan for three weeks in June-July and he would like to know before he leaves. He needs to tell his family in Pakistan.”

That night Raihana dreamed that she was back in Kabul in the one-room flat where she and Aamir had lived. The room had a small kitchen area and Aamir had found old car seats, which they sat on to eat. Their bed was an old mattress and the one window, which had no panes, was covered with translucent plastic. It was a cold room, but Raihana had liked living there with Aamir.

There was nothing to love about that dingy one-room flat but Raihana remembered it fondly. Life was so difficult in Kabul —the struggle to put food on the table, to go on the street, to take a bath, to buy clothes, all of it had been hard. The day-to-day business of living was like climbing tall mountains with jagged edges. Still, when Raihana remembered that flat, she remembered Aamir and along with the sadness of losing Aamir was the joy of having shared a part of her life with him.

When Raihana woke up the next day she had a strange fear in her belly. She knew she more or less had said yes to marry Rafeeq. It didn't really matter that she had a week to give her answer; everyone knew she would say yes.

What else could she do? If something was wrong with him, she could refuse the match. She had the right to refuse the match even if nothing was wrong with Rafeeq. But what if she did refuse him, then what? She had to get married, didn't she? She had to say yes, didn't she?

Christina was focusing on compound sentences that month and Raihana was struggling with them.

There was a new girl in class that week, Olena. She was from Ukraine and wore a black skirt with tall black boots and a bright red sweater. Her hair was bright red and short. She spoke German, English, Russian, and Ukrainian and seemed to be able to figure out compound sentences very easily. It was her first week in Danish class.

“I talk in Danish with my husband,” she told Suzi, who commended her on her good Danish. “He is Danish and we work for a Danish company. So I already knew some when I started.”

“She is one of those women … you know, the ones who marry Danes to live here,” Wahida whispered to Raihana.

“When did you come to Denmark?” Raihana asked Olena, ignoring Wahida.

“Just last week,” she said. “But we're here for six months and then we'll move back to Kiev. We have an apartment there.”

Raihana envied Olena. She spoke Danish well, she understood Christina easily, and she had lived in Denmark for only a week. When she told Suzi, Suzi laughed. “And we envy you,” she said. “I have been coming to class for two years to get this far and you have gotten this far in five months.”

Raihana liked hearing that. She was doing okay, she thought. That changed quickly, though, when Christina made them do an in-class assignment and Raihana got eight of the ten sentences wrong.

Gunnar had thought he would never feel this excitement again. It was June —it was the first harvest. This had been his favorite time with Anna. But now, even though Anna wasn't there, he was eager and glad that Christina had brought Raihana to him so many months ago.

When he and Raihana went to pull out the hives filled with honey, both of them wore protective suits.

“Now you're scared they sting?” Raihana teased.

“They sting when we take their food away,” he said.

They brought along newly wired frames with foundation wax to replace the ones they would remove and boxes to carry the heavy, honey-filled frames back to the garage.

Gunnar had shown Raihana the honey extractor he and Anna had saved for and bought almost ten years ago. Once the honey was stored in buckets, he used an electrical stirring machine to stir the honey every two to three days; then when the honey was creamy, it was ready. The honey was poured into honey jars with a special honey-filling machine. The official Danish Beekeepers Association labels on the jars indicated where the honey was made, by whom, and what kind it was.

The previous year the harvest had not been so good. Anna had been disappointed but they had lost three colonies to rats and another five to starvation, so it wasn't surprising. Spring had started late and summer was short, so there had just not been enough honey. They were left with empty jars but Anna had said that they could use the leftover jars the next year. Anna had been so sure that there would be a next year. She had never suspected that without warning life would fail her. He had never suspected it. But now he was well aware of how fragile life was.

The bees buzzed angrily, even though Raihana used her smoker to quiet them. She and Gunnar put a large gunnysack by the colony they were removing honey from and jerked the frames filled with honey hives so the bees would fall on the gunnysack. The bees did not seem happy.

“I would never do this without mask and gloves,” Raihana said as they worked.

“Neither would I,” Gunnar said as he piled heavy frames into the box.

They did not take the frames that had brood in them and since they had used a queen bee excluder, they could safely take the frames above the separator without disturbing the brood or the queen. However, Gunnar insisted Raihana check each frame. “Some beekeepers don't use excluders,” he told her. “You should be prepared for everything and learn how to harvest properly.”

Raihana was glad that Gunnar wanted her to learn to do things the right way. But she worried she might never have the opportunity to do them again. She would marry Rafeeq, she would have five thousand kroner in her bank account, and then what? She couldn't help but feel that the money would not really be hers. It would not be money she could take and buy gold bangles or a new bed with. She would have to talk to Rafeeq and together they would decide what to do with it. Raihana suspected that Rafeeq would decide and she would have to agree.

But if she had a job, then the money she earned would be hers. Or would it belong to Rafeeq, just like the five thousand kroner would?

The boxes were heavy, so heavy that Gunnar loaded them on a trolley and wheeled them into the garage. It had taken Gunnar and Raihana the entire day to get the hives from half the colonies.

“I have to go,” Raihana said, looking at her wristwatch. “Can the rest be do tomorrow?”

Gunnar nodded. “I'll leave the frames here and tomorrow we can put them into the honey extractor.”

“No, no, you should finish. You can do without mine help, right?” Raihana asked.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Gunnar assured her.

Raihana was a little puzzled. It seemed that he only worked with the colonies when she was there. Raihana wanted to ask him why, but she didn't have the words in Danish.

As she bicycled home, Raihana made plans for her future. Maybe she could start her own colony. Then the little labels on the jars of honey would say
HONEY BY RAIHANA SAIF KHAN
.

She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice the boys. Didn't notice them staring at her. Didn't notice that one of them was playing with a stone. And she definitely didn't see the stone as it came toward her.

The stone was large with sharp edges and caught her left temple. The pain was searing and sudden. She lost control of her bicycle and fell into the ditch next to the road.

It had rained the previous day and her brown pants were soaked with dirt and water, as was her pink blouse. But that didn't worry her; but what almost made her hysterical was the pain in her right elbow and arm. She held her arm close to her body, a chill running through her from the pain. She saw the boys standing cockily. She knew they had thrown the stone at her. It hadn't been an accident.