Chapter 40
Since death is part of life it does not stop it nor does it make changes to existing courses at least not in this village. In the same week of a funeral was a wedding, and this wedding replaced everything else in Safia's thoughts. The roll of dice, the high rate of birth mortality, was another reason why she did not wish to give up Mayloun for marriage at such an early age and why she was so virulent in protecting her from any chance of teenage pregnancy. She tried to calm herself by saying that Mayloun was older, that her hips were wider, that the father was different, and that these differences would give a greater chance. Mayloun however was as unconcerned as ever.
She was happy to be pregnant, happy to get married, happy to die if either of them was denied her. Her sadness at losing her niece and friend Afrah was completely overshadowed by the happiness of an imminent new life even if the new life had started when she told her mother that she was pregnant. She hadn't tasted these little freedoms since she was a child. At times she used to wonder when the last time she touched a rag to clean the floor, though she knew it was only a few weeks before, giggling at this silly little joke. What was truly funny to her was that her mother wanted this child more than her.
'Ridiculous,' she laughed to herself, as she looked at herself holding her little looking glass.
She had gained a little weight for lack of exertion and over eating to mask any sudden change in stomach enlargement. She absolutely had to prevent any hint of pregnancy for the next few weeks. After this night, when the ceremony was being held, she would start laying the groundwork for a legitimate child. But why was she so certain that she was pregnant? In fact, Mayloun wasn't absolutely certain and it didn't matter. What this fictional or real pregnancy did was to speed matters up. Without it she was sure not to get married any time soon.
She thanked Xemi with all her heart as she looked at her dirac, her wedding dress. It was of light fabric but dark hue, black and purple with indeterminate patterns. She wore a black headscarf with golden linings and would wear no hijab. She also had on light makeup and red lipstick. The worry that Safia had was mingled with earnest admiration. Mayloun looked breathtaking.
'Yah, mother?' Mayloun said grinning.
'Where did you come from?' Safia said genuinely moved. 'You look like no one in our family.'
'Come. Howa, let's go! We have to be there before the others.'
This was the last stage of the ceremony, the bride's wedding party, where the women would get together and dance. Earlier that day they had an uneventful dinner at her husband's house and they had returned home to change. Since they lived so close she didn't want to take all her stuff with her. Plus she wanted as many people as possible to see her beauty and joy and so she created situations where she would be seen by not just the guests but the public as well. She had brought Howa along so that she wouldn't be walking alone.
Howa was affected more by Afrah's death than Mayloun was but as the day wore on the excitement and elation of the occasion infected her too. She had the same desire as the bride and all the other girls that would be at this little wedding party. This was to be pretty and have a good time. She was fourteen and this would be the first time she had ever been to one but she had seen videos and heard about it so she thought she would be well prepared.
She came out wearing a green and white dirac of a similar fabric as the one Mayloun was wearing yet she appeared more delicate because of the light colour - both dresses were paid for by the groom. She had put on makeup, the white powder lightening her face in a strange way. She looked pretty too, even prettier than Mayloun but not because of how she presented herself. Her appeal was her childish delight and amazement at being able to participate in the adulthood activity of beauty pageantry. She had a huge smile on her face, a shy sisterly smile when she looked at Mayloun, one that asked for approval of her impending womanhood. Mayloun couldn't help but smile back which she normally wouldn't do with Howa. She was a tomboy at heart and stood with her shoulders lifted for some reason. Mayloun walked up to her and slapped them down.
'You look ridiculous when you do that,' she said, and walked towards the door. 'Let's go, mother, and dance.'
Safia snorted because she could barely stand and walk for longer than a few minutes, which Mayloun knew, so dancing was out of the question. She would not generally go to these dances but it was her daughter's, she was expected, so she followed expectations, as she followed Mayloun out of the door into a world of a waning sun.
When Mayloun pushed open the door, and entered her new marital home, she heard someone whisper the word ciyaar. A drum pattern began to beat; a voice was beginning to sing. It wasn't how the woman drummed, nor how she sang, that ran through all their bodies like electric current. It was what it signified. It ushered womanhood, new life and joy and it made you want to dance.
The bride walked through the door. Someone reached out their two hands to request hers which she was granted and guided her to a room where the music came from. The room was filled with women, most not reaching middle age, sitting on beach chairs of various colours lining along the walls. There was an empty area in the middle where Mayloun was guided to.
The two girls danced with each other, swinging their clasped hands side to side, moving to the music. This was Moussa's first wife drumming on a plastic container and singing with an enchanting voice, singing to consecrate his second, singing for the sheer pleasure of singing. Howa with her permanent smile and Safia with her heavy gait took a seat near the musician whose ugliness made a profound impression as it contrasted sharply with her beautiful singing voice.
Mayloun found herself seated, exhilarated by the entrance prepared for her, which she hadn't expected. She looked at the second pair of dancers, Nimco and Hoden. Mayloun was pleased to see that Nimco looking happier than the last time she had seen her at a similar dance - her own. Her strained stoicism of then was a natural and genuine excitement now, and Mayloun wondered if this was because other people's parties were more fun than their own. She dismissed this thought as soon as it came because she had never been as happy as she was now. Then all except the musician stood up to dance in a circle while continuing their metronomic claps. Taking turns, one or two broke from the circle, and rhythmically moved to the centre and danced by themselves, shaking their asses. The second woman sent Mayloun's intoxicated head spinning and made her shout:
'Hey now it's a wedding. Call big butt!'
Though this was a common call, it was more so said as a joke between girlfriends making fun of wedding dances, more of an insult than anything, and as such, she would have been hard pressed to find anyone taking up the call. Several women were looking at each other in amusement while continuing, more vigorously, to clap in the metronome. But Mayloun was intoxicated, felt regal, and added:
'Howa, go!'
Howa had never been to one of these before, and thought it was a natural thing to say at a wedding, and she did have a big butt, so she took up the call with delight and ease, lifting up her dress and started to shake her ass. Shouts began of more amusement, and encouragement, Mayloun's being the loudest, Safia's the most quiet.
After a couple jigs, she deftly retreated back to the circle, her smile still on her face, giggling, having a great time. She bounced next to her struggling mother, unused to standing up for so long, clapping her hands for so long.
The circle soon disappeared and two girls started to dance again with each other as they had at the beginning. Mayloun watched them, and others, until the crowds diminished, and the sounds dimmed, while a different excitement rose within her, as she found herself alone with her husband. They were in the bedroom illuminated by a gaslamp and its orange glow. He was lying in bed watching her take her clothes off, mesmerised by her. She, by force of habit, took off her headwrap too and immediately regretted it as his eyes went to her hair and saw a strangely whittled afro that didn't match her face. He winced a little and also wished she had left the headwrap on. Quickly, almost in tears, Mayloun put her headwrap back on, because she had taken off one layer too many. Moussa was surprised, expecting her to keep it off, but said and did nothing and waited for her to finish.
She tied the headwrap back on, completely naked otherwise. Beauty returned to its former glory. Moussa thought that she had done the right thing, watching her arms go back down, bewitching him again. Her smile returned also as she too sensed his bewitchment. Their consummation had little of the awkwardness of his first marriage, except for the fact that he cleared his throat before he touched her. He cursed himself later for that.
Chapter 41
Both Moussa and Mayloun woke up later than usual. When Mayloun got out of bed, Moussa turned his eyes on her, considered calling her back, but then decided that it was unwholesome to have intercourse during the day. He left her to dress.
Ruffling through her suitcase she found her batiste, brown, house dress and put it on.
'Shall I go to the kitchen and make you something, brother?' she said prettily.
'Thank you,' he answered, smiling and marvelling at her physique.
Mayloun walked carefully through the cool corridor, more square than rectangular as opposed to her father's house. She walked carefully because she wanted to delight in her feeling, her feeling of being a matron. When she entered the kitchen she found Fadumo in front of the stone pot cooking. She was startled. Mayloun had completely forgotten that there were other people living in this house besides herself and her husband, let alone another one of his wives.
Noticing her surprise the unattractive Fadumo giggled and flipped the pancake she was making by hand:
'Good morning, baby sister. Sit down and tell me. How was your night?'
Mayloun was unsure if it was true interest or politeness. But what could she say if Fadumo was truly interested? She didn't know her well enough to speak openly to her and so restrained herself to a platitude.
'It was good, as God willed it.'
After glancing at the pancake, still slightly bewildered that there were other people in the house, Mayloun was handed a cup of tea which she accepted and was about to sip when Fadumo said to take it to Moussa. This order cleared the smoke from her brain and with renewed matronly spirit, Mayloun walked with the cup of tea to the corridor and set it down in front of a little stool. As she walked back to the kitchen she changed her mind, her head was clear now, and returned to the stool, the tea and her regular self. She picked up the tea once more, her husband's tea, and called out to Moussa who was about to walk into the corridor, said that his tea was ready, drank a good mouthful of his tea and then put it back down. She left a smudge behind, but she was not concerned with anything apart from impulse. She wanted to see what the tea tasted like and so she tasted it.
Mayloun walked back to the kitchen while Moussa came into the corridor and sat on the stool. He looked at the tea which was in a clear glass with a smudge at the top and saw it was almost half full.
'What?' he stammered. 'Why is this...and what is that...smudge.'
Mayloun came back with a plate of pancakes in one hand and a bowl of water in another.
'Mayloun, is this tea mine?' Moussa said, still under the influence of confusion.
'Yes, that's yours. And this too.'
'Ah, I see. Can I get more? I like my glasses full.'
'Very well.'
She picked up the tea and walked back to the kitchen. However, before she was even half way there, she took another big mouthful of tea. Moussa watched her with astonishment. He continued staring at the entrance of kitchen not knowing what to say or to do when Mayloun came back out with a full cup of tea and put it to her lips again. He was frozen with fear now that she would take another sip and was about to protest until he saw that she merely wanted to smell it.
'But...why?' he mumbled as Mayloun brought the cup back to chest level and then all the way to the floor.
'Here, brother,' she said calmly, not sensing her husband's astonishment.
'Thank you,' he answered reflexively.
He started to question whether what he saw was real. Mayloun herself was met with a smile and the wondering eyes of Fadumo as she walked back inside the kitchen.
'You want some tea ?'
'What tea is that anyway? It tastes funny and has a strong odour.'
'Eccentric,' Fadumo thought to herself.
'Unpredictable,' Moussa brooded to himself.
'Fresh,' Mayloun said brusquely. 'That's a better word for it. It's fresh.'
'It's mint tea. I bought some yesterday when I went shopping.'
'Mint? It makes my heart beat faster.'
Fadumo had already poured a cup of tea for her, which Mayloun grabbed with gusto and took another gulp. Fadumo then handed her a plate of pancakes and Mayloun started digging in.
'I suppose I'll clean a little later,' Mayloun said, mushing her pancakes which were soggy from the tea she had poured on them.
'No, I'll do that sister. You just relax and enjoy your marriage.'
'No, I sister, I can't let you do that. This is my house now, and I'll have to do work on it.'
Though she said it innocently enough, childlike in fact, there was also implacability in her tone. The forced work she used to do at her father's house was changed into a holy responsibility that in her mind had to be accomplished come what may, to make things more real.
'Very well,' Fadumo said sweetly. 'We'll share.'
Mayloun nodded.
'Where are your children? At school?'
'I hope so. You know how kids are.'
As Mayloun looked at Fadumo she found it hard to believe a woman like that could give birth to attractive people.
'Ah. I mean you will. God willing soon.'
'It'll be too crowded if it's too soon,' Mayloun said, amusingly, since in her mind she was already pregnant. 'Strange that Aaden didn't want to go abroad. I wonder why.'
'Nobody knows what is going on with that devil. It's ridiculous to even think of it. A free ticket to any country where our clan is, which is every country in the world, and he says no. What is he looking for here?'
Though she was scathing in words, in her heart she was pleased that he had chosen to stay and told herself that it was because he didn't want to be away from his mother. They heard someone walking towards the kitchen and stopped talking. Moussa appeared on the threshold.
'I'm going now,' he said, glancing from one wife to the other. 'Do you need anything?' he asked, addressing Fadumo only.
She listed various things while Mayloun looked on. She wondered how long it would be before she was the one to decide what was and wasn't needed in her new marital home.
When he had finished listening to instructions Moussa left and as soon as he left Fadumo looked at Mayloun, cleared her throat and looked down. It took a moment for Mayloun to catch the reference, redolent of the night before, with both descending into giggles when she did, presaging the beginning of a long, lovely friendship between the first two wives of this newly crowded home.
Chapter 42
That same day, the day after the wedding party, Safia woke up early, not being able to sleep properly for the feeling of loss had been eating away at her. She didn't know what to do so she did what she normally does. She got up from bed, grabbing her husband's beads, for she still had not replaced hers, and went to fill the hole loss had left with prayers. But first she decided to wash up.
Safia walked towards the back while the chilly morning air enveloped her; but before she reached it she suddenly turned back. She walked towards Mahmoud's room. Peeking in, she saw the boy sleeping in his bed. After watching for a minute dead silent, to only hear the sound of her breathing son, she turned again to retrace her steps and execute her original plan. But the plan was doomed to fail because Safia wanted a different comfort than prayers could offer her. She went to the room of her daughters.
From the threshold she could sense the warmth of this small dark room, made warmer by the soft exhalations of Howa. Once her eyes had adjusted, she saw that it was less cluttered than usual.
'When was the last time that I was in here?' she asked herself as her tired mind guided her tired body to the empty bed. 'When was the last time I was here?' she asked herself again, as she sat down on Mayloun's bed, extending her feet to touch the side of her Howa's bed.
Searching her memory she came upon different ones connected to the room; thinking that it might have been one of the various times that she had chased her children to exact punishment. But then she found the one she was looking for which had nothing to do with punishment or her children. The image of her mother had come before her. Certain that this was the last time, she felt the wonderful feeling of having found what was sought in the most difficult of places: our minds, our memories. She couldn't remember the words that they had spoken or why they had been there, and just as her mother became clear the image before her changed to her husband fondling her large breasts on their first night together.
'Hoyo?' she heard herself say. 'Hoyo,' she recited, time and again, like a prayer, 'hoyo, hoyo,' until the voice became someone else's.
'Hoyo!'
She made a sharp physical movement and woke up. Howa was trying to wake her up by moving her breasts back and forth.
'Yah?' she said groggy and bewildered until she saw Howa grinning, continuing to shake her breasts.
'Fragment of the devil,' she rasped, moving Howa's hand off her. 'What are you doing?'
Howa moved further away, laughing a little.
'It's late, mother. Father has already left.'
'Is that right?' Safia began, lifting her hijab over her shoulder. 'Did you give him tea?'
'I just woke up. How can I give him tea if I was asleep,' she replied back, moving further away, already sensing what was to come.
'Then how do you know that he left? Fragment of the devil. Get up, god damn you!'
'Me? I'm the one who woke you up,' Howa said bemusedly. 'Hoyo. I'm hungry.'
'Go and make tea. Why do I have to order you to do simple things?'
Howa left, Safia sat back down, the remnants of her memories still on her mind. She was surprised that she had slept for so long when she was sure that her dreams were only two momentary images.
'But what was the relation between them?' she asked herself.
She remembered that she was searching for the last time she was in this room. She thought about it, as deep and as hard as she could, but she simply could not figure out the relation between the last time she had been in this room and the first time she had been with her husband. She gave up the lost cause and instead, her mind focused on her first night of marital sex.
Before this night she had never been with another man before, and neither had she subsequently. The man had been fondling her breasts for a long time while she waited not knowing what to do. She waited and waited and thought it would never happen. She thought he was too old. Or that maybe she was too old to excite a man. At that time she was twenty seven but she didn't know it. How long his fondling had lasted! And they didn't even talk. The silence, my god the silence! The awkwardness of that night sent shivers through her. She then thought of Mayloun and realised why her first night had come to mind. It was because Mayloun had just experienced her own first night with her husband.
'What would her night have been like?' she asked herself. 'Less rubbing, that's for sure. Less silence. Such a pretty and young girl. And the man was younger than mine at the time.' And then another reason for the memory's reprisal came to her. It wasn't just the one daughter that brought it to mind, but the other too. 'It's because Howa rubbed my breast. That's why the memory came to me, that lecherous devil.'
She got up from the bed.
'Howa! Howa!' she called out. 'When will you fear God?'
'Howa looked up to see her towering mother on the threshold of the kitchen door.
'But I am scared of God,' she snapped. 'Who says I'm not?'
'Fear God, you hear me? Fear God.'
Howa looked at her mother open mouthed and then opened the lid of the kettle just to have something to do, not understanding a thing about what was going on.
'Fear God, if nothing else, naya!'
