The Sound of Language (21 page)

“There'll be a trial. You'll be called in to tell the court what happened. Don't worry, there will be a translator and you can testify in Dari if you like,” Jon said when he saw the panic in Raihana's eyes.

“By the time you have a trial, her Danish will be better,” Kabir said confidently. “How long will it take, a year or so?”

“I expect we'll get a court date within a month at the latest.”

“Court? Will they say it my fault?” Raihana asked.

“How is it your fault?” Jon asked, confused.

“I work with bees, with Gunnar, that wrong people think … court also think that wrong and …”

“No matter what you do, Raihana, no one has the right to hurt you,” Jon said.

As they drove back, Kabir seemed pleased with the meeting at the police station. “That was a good policeman,” he said. “In the past few days I have met many good Danes.”

“And some bad ones tried to burn your house down,” Raihana said.

“Yes,” Kabir agreed. “But no one thinks it's okay for them to do that. All the Danes I have spoken to say it was wrong. That makes me happy. It makes me feel safe.”

“I don't know when I will start feeling safe again in this country,” Raihana said bitterly.

“It will happen slowly,” Kabir said. “After nothing bad happens for a while you'll stop feeling afraid.”

“I know this is going to cost you a lot of money,” Raihana said. “I have some saved up and … don't say no, Kabir, that money is yours to fix the house.”

“I wasn't going to say no,” Kabir said. “We need the money. But it'll be a loan. Once I have a job we'll pay you back … and you don't say no to that.”

When they got back Layla was standing outside their house on the street, talking with Helle. Two trucks were parked outside the house and workmen were going in and out.

The burned computer, the sofa, and almost everything from the living room was in the driveway. Kabir parked behind one of the trucks, then he and Raihana walked up to Layla.

“They showed up right after you left,” Layla said, half laughing, half crying. “They just came, seven or eight of them, and started to move things out. Told me I shouldn't clean and one of them asked me to get out.”

“But what are they doing?” Raihana asked.

Kabir started toward the house. He smiled when he understood what was going on.

Gunnar peered out of the window through which the boy had thrown the firebomb and waved at Raihana.

“What is he doing here?” Raihana asked.

Helle smiled. “Gunnar, Lars, and their friends are fixing your house. Gunnar used to teach carpentry at the technical school —he's a really good carpenter.”

Gunnar's friends, like him, were in their sixties. A raucous bunch, they talked loudly and drank beer while they cleaned up the debris and laid down a new wall-to-wall carpet in the living room.

“We thought we'd help,” Gunnar said and when Raihana was about to say something, he added, “We'd do it for any friend.”

“What are you standing there for? Come here and hold this,” one silver-haired man called out to Kabir. He handed him a hammer.

Kabir took the hammer and stared at it. “We're building a new desk for your new computer. The computer won't come until next week.”

“At least Mogens shelled out the money,” Lars said. “Come on, Kabir, get to work. Maria and Julie are going to show up with lunch. God knows what crap they'll bring.”

“Your wife shouldn't be allowed to cook,” another man said.

“You shouldn't talk,” Lars said and whispered to Kabir, “His wife makes bread you can play football with.”

Raihana and Layla slipped their arms through each other's.” You have good friends,” Helle said to Raihana and Layla.

“Yes, yes we do,” Raihana said.

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

21 SEPTEMBER 1980

The bee season is almost over. We will be harvesting heather honey soon and after that it's time to put the bees away. There are so many things to do to prepare for winter. This is the part that inspires me least but it needs to be done because we want our bees to come out of winter alive and healthy.

We check to make sure there is a queen in each colony painted in the right color. We make sure there are enough frames in all the boxes. We check on the brood and the larvae. We make sure the hives have enough food for the winter and start feeding the bees thick sugar syrup.

The hives must be properly ventilated and if there are any cracks they must be sealed with propolis. Mouseproofing is very important and not foolproof but we do it every year.

And as I watch the skies get dark more quickly with every passing day and feel the chill in the air, I feel a pang that it all ends so soon.

Next bee season we will have ten colonies. We plan to buy four or five to add the four or five we have now, depending upon how the winter goes. Gunnar worries that ten colonies might be too much but I know it will work out fine. There will be five colonies for Gunnar and five for me. It is going to be a great bee season. I can just feel it.

P
eople stared at him and his family, Gunnar knew, but he ignored the stares.

He fidgeted with his tie again. Maria was very uncomfortable in her black knee-length dress and had asked Lars at least five times if they could go back to Gunnar's house so she could change into something more appropriate. Lars said that she looked beautiful and she shouldn't worry about the dress.

Julie was surprisingly comfortable in the traditional Afghan clothes Layla had loaned her. The
salwar-kameez
, a kind of pantsuit, was pink and golden and the silk scarf was printed with the same pattern as the dress. Layla draped the scarf around Julie's head, holding it in place with hairpins.

This was the strangest and most interesting wedding Gunnar had ever been to. The ceremony was rich with color, food, drink, and music.

The official part of the wedding had taken place in city hall the day before, with Gunnar and Kabir as witnesses. Gunnar had been honored when Raihana asked him to be a witness.

“Are you okay with being his second wife?” Gunnar asked her.

“He'll be my second husband,” Raihana had said. “And his wife lives in Pakistan. She isn't really part of his life.”

He wasn't sure if Rafeeq was a good man or even the right man.

Anna would have had a wonderful time at this wedding, he thought as he looked around the room.

“How is Raihana's Danish?” Gunnar asked Christina.

“It slipped a little in the summer, but it always does,” Christina said. “Raihana's one of the fastest in her group. She'll be finished with language school by next December.”

“Good, good,” Gunnar said. “But what do you think about her husband having two wives?”

“Many Muslim men have two wives,” Christina said. “We can't judge them by our cultural standards.”

“I know,” Gunnar said, but he couldn't help feel it was strange to be married to two women at the same time. Raihana obviously didn't seem to care that he had a wife and two children in Pakistan.

“She looks beautiful, different, and so settled … I'm so happy to see her get married,” Christina said watching Raihana sit in her green dress next to her husband.

“And I'm glad you brought her to my house,” Gunnar said, thanking Christina for the first time.

Kabir was hovering around, as was Layla, making sure everyone was being taken care of. Rafeeq had no family in Denmark so Kabir and Layla acted as the relatives for both the bride and the groom. A few of Rafeeq's friends were helping with the food and the drinks, ensuring the guests were comfortable.

“Hello, Gunnar,” Walid said. Gunnar had met Walid when they worked on fixing up Gunnar's house.

Within just two days, the house was in better shape than before the fire and water damage. Layla's mother's rug had been irreplaceable but one of Lars's friends had a contact in Århus who had found an Afghan rug. It was a different color, a different size, and a different design, but it was from Afghanistan and Layla had seemed happy enough to get it.

Walid had just gotten Danish citizenship and was planning on getting a loan to open an ethnic store in Skive, he told Gunnar at the wedding. He said it would do well because the Afghans and Pakistanis he knew had to go to Randers or Fredericia to buy spices, clothes, magazines, movies, and other ethnic wares. He would not be short of customers.

Gunnar knew nothing about retail so he listened to Walid speak in his imperfect Danish. Walid might have passed the exams at language school, but his Danish was so accented Gunnar sometimes had to guess what he was saying.

The food was wonderful, Gunnar and Lars agreed, though Maria had a tough time eating. Brian cleaned his plate and asked for more, just like he had at the beach.

For a wedding gift, Gunnar gave Raihana five colonies of bees, the ones she had taken care of, the ones that had belonged to Anna. Her husband hadn't objected and Gunnar hoped that meant that Raihana would actually be able to start her own business. Since she would not live in Skive, she would have to take the bus to the language school. To make it easier for Raihana, Gunnar had found a beekeeper on Mors who would continue her
praktik.

The music at the wedding was fairly jarring, very different from what Danes were used to, but some of the melodies were quite catchy. Gunnar felt like a foreigner in his own country. He was the odd one here, he and his family. The Afghans had carved a piece of Afghanistan in Denmark. Julie said there was a group of Danes in London that did the same. They got together and ate Danish food, drank Danish beer and liquor, and talked in Danish. Maybe when you were an immigrant you gathered people from your own country close to feel like you were at home.

These immigrants, most of them refugees, hadn't had a choice about living in a foreign country. So many of them had run for their lives. Raihana definitely had. Her husband had been killed. If she had stayed, she would have died too.

For a moment, Gunnar mourned the other Raihanas who had not been able to get out of Afghanistan, who had died without getting a chance to live a normal life. But this Raihana, she had done well, and he was proud to know her.

“They are all looking at us,” Maria said to Gunnar.

“No,” Gunnar said, though Maria was right, most of the Afghans were surprised that so many Danes had come for this wedding. They were welcomed by most, shyly and sometimes with a little suspicion, but Raihana had promised Gunnar that everyone would treat them with respect.

“They all know how you fixed up Kabir's house and bought him a new computer,” she said.

“I didn't buy the computer. Mogens and Marianne did,” he told her.

“You made it happen. I know. I just know,” Raihana said.

Gunnar shrugged. He had gotten his friends from the carpentry school together and told Mogens what he needed to do to make things up, in monetary terms, but they had all pitched in of their own free will.

“Admit it,” Julie said to Maria as they prepared to leave late in the night. “You had a good time.”

Maria laughed. “It was quite an experience; something to talk about at my book club next week.”

“The food was great,” Lars said, patting his belly.

“Can you think beyond food?” Julie asked.

“Sure, I can, I thought that
sherbet
thing was great too … too bad they don't serve alcohol; a beer would have really worked well with all that spicy food,” Lars said.

“Bedstefar
, why was this wedding not in a church? When Tina got married, she got married in a church,” Brian wanted to know.

“Let's get into the car and I'll tell you why Raihana didn't get married in a church,” Gunnar said.

He waved to Raihana as they all left and she held her hand up and waved back. They were meeting the next week at his friend's apiary on Mors. There was to be no honeymoon, but she and her husband would go to Pakistan next summer. Raihana had said she was looking forward to meeting her husband's family.

“Thank you for coming,” Kabir said as he shook hands with everyone. “It means a lot to all of us that you came.”

“It means a lot to us that we were invited,” Gunnar said and Kabir flushed with embarrassment.

They got into Lars's car, saying
farvel
, good-bye, and
vi ses
, see you again.

Kabir stood in the lit doorway of the
forsamlinghus
until Lars's car disappeared into the night.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is my first book that isn't about Indians and/or India. It's about an Afghan refugee and a Danish beekeeper and their unusual friendship. Since I'm not a Dane, an Afghan, or a beekeeper, I needed the help of many people to research and write this book.

Abdullah and Shaima Saghar made this book come alive and I couldn't have written it without their help. They opened their hearts and their home to me, answered my persistent questions, and shared Hindi movies with me.

Flemming and Dorthe Vejsnaes taught me almost everything I know about beekeeping. They never hung up on me even though I called very frequently, answered all my questions, and keep us well supplied with honey.

Linda Mølgaard, the finest Danish-language teacher I have ever had, shared her experiences with me and offered me a glimpse into the life of a teacher who has to be intensely sensitive to the circumstances of her students. I wish I had found her earlier because my Danish would be a lot better.

Masha Hamilton, an excellent writer and reporter, told me what she saw in Afghanistan. I thank her for the story about the nail paint; I couldn't use it but it still warms my heart. Another excellent journalist, Eva Arnvig, read my manuscript in record time and shared her intimate knowledge of Afghanistan (and Denmark).

Politiassistant
Martin Bjørnskov Jensen helped me understand the Danish law-and-order system and answered several questions that began with “What happens when …”

Two books and one blog helped me with my book: A
Book of Bees
by Sue Hubbell,
Letters from the Hive:
An
Intimate History of Bees, Honey, and Humankind
by Stephen Buchmann, and the blog “Diary of a Bee Keeper” by Oriondog from Western Massachusetts.

There are, of course, the usual suspects: my editors, Allison Dickens and Anika Streitfeld, who kept me on the straight and narrow; my agent, Matt Bialer, whose faith in me keeps me going; my husband, Søren Rasmussen, without whom not much writing would take place; my children, Isaiah and Tobias, who bring great joy to my life; and last but not least, my mother, Lakshmi Malladi, who listens to me complain (many, many, many times) and is always supportive.

If there are any factual errors in this book, I take full responsibility. I apologize and promise to do better next time.

Happy reading!

Amulya Malladi
14 June 2007