Tale of a Boon's Wife Page 18

  “What did Omar do?” Something about the way she emphasized her distance from Omar alarmed me.

  “Everything!” She started crying and would say no more.

  The seven-day mourning period for Sidow’s passing ended, and Mother lingered five more days. Her emotional side, the side that considered what was right and proper, told her to take me home—not to leave me in a land unforgiving to a woman found alone and unprotected. Her rational side, the side that understood the ramifications of such an action for the whole family, told her to leave me behind. In the end, she reached a logical decision, not hers entirely, and left me where I was.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Hasan found this money in Sidow’s pocket.” I handed the cash to my mother-in-law. It was a day after the mourning period for Sidow’s passing ended.

  She turned it around without unfurling the bundle or counting it. “We should use it to set up some business to earn a living,” she said, pushing the money back into my hand.

  Whatever questions she had about the source of the money, she kept to herself. “I don’t know where the money came from or who put it in his pocket,” I said to see if she suspected anyone.

  “It doesn’t matter. My son is dead, and we have been left with some money. If the people who killed him decided to leave us a gift, let us take it.” I was surprised by her practicality.

  “I wish we didn’t need this.” I held the money up. “If it weren’t for the children, I would have burned it.”

  She waited for almost a minute before she spoke. “Some nights, ever since we left the village, I ask myself…what if the children weren’t with us? Oh, dear God. What am I saying? I didn’t mean…”

  I waved to stop her from saying more. I knew exactly what she meant and suffered the same demons every night. Many nights I sat up gasping for air after one of those nightmares. In them, I saw myself childless and strolling happily through a beautiful meadow next to Elmi. In the morning, the feeling of joy that came from having no responsibility lingered and haunted my entire day. Only I never uttered it to a soul.

  I held the wad of bills in my hand. “I don’t want blood money from whoever killed Sidow, but I must take it.”

  “This is not a handout. It’s rightfully yours. They robbed you of your husband and the father of your children.”

  I nodded and took the money back.

  “I’ll go out to work now,” Hasan said when he heard my mother-in-law’s plan for the money.

  “We can’t let you go. We’ve lost Sidow. We can’t lose you, too,” she said.

  “Do you want Idil to work, while I sit here and do nothing?” Hasan asked.

  “Yes,” my mother-in-law and I said together.

  Hasan didn’t like the idea. As the only man in the family, he felt it was his duty to support us. But one look at his mother’s stricken face, and he knew she wouldn’t let him. Hasan reluctantly agreed, and two weeks after Sidow’s funeral, I started selling breakfast and lunch to the merchants and their customers in the Bakaara market.

  My mother-in law stayed in the shed the whole day along with Hasan, telling Amina and Adam the stories she used tell Sidow when he was a boy. At the end of each day, she met me at the turn of the lane in front of the warehouse.

  “How have you managed?” she’d ask, away from the children.

  “Well enough,” I’d respond.

  “I am so sorry you have to work like this, alone in that market.”

  I avoided talking about the goings on at the market. “It’s not too bad.” I didn’t want to tell her about the men who asked me to marry them, or the ones who placed their hands on my back even after I lied and told them I was married.

  I tried hard to appear content, but obviously, I hadn’t bargained for this. Marrying a farmer shouldn’t have resulted in being reduced to beg or being at the mercy of men who hovered over me like vultures. “It’s not terrible,” I lied.

  Raids and gun battles erupted at the market several times a day with little warning. With no peace officers or governmental agencies, people took the law into their own hands and crime was rampant throughout the city, especially in the Bakaara Market. The shop owners collected money from the merchants and hired a group of young boys to guard the market, but that effort did very little to lessen the constant threat.

  I went to the market early every morning of the week under a blanket of darkness and returned home just before sunset with rice, a small piece of meat, a jar of milk, and a few wilted vegetables. Even Fridays were workdays, not the free and festive days they had been in Bledley. “It’s getting easier now, and I have customers.” I said it to partly reassure her, but it was somewhat true. It had been difficult for the first few weeks, but after a while I got used to the harsh daily grind and settled into a predictable routine. There was no future in the way we lived, but at least we were surviving.

  *

  One morning, almost five months after I started working at the market, I noticed a girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, wearing all white, sitting on a small rock in front of my café.

  Erect, shoulders squared, her back resting against the wooden wall, she wore a magnificent, radiant smile. “Is this place yours?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I opened the door and entered.

  She followed me in and stood by the door letting the bright sun filter through her white garment. “I was just sitting here waiting for the time—for the morning to grow old and tired—but I didn’t expect to see a woman here, working outdoors. This is a man’s job.”

  The sheer purity of her outfit against the morning sun was almost blinding. I held a ladle over the large bowl to prepare the mixture for the canjeero.

  “You’re a grown woman. You must have a husband.”

  Sidow’s image, heading for the lane, flashed before me and disappeared. “I do not have a husband,” I replied firmly.

  “I have one. We could share him.”

  “And be a second wife? Never.”

  “First, second, third—Allah gave men the hearts to care for more than one woman.”

  “That’s not true.” If she’d seen how Father hurt Mother when he was going after his mistresses, she wouldn’t have said that.

  The girl reached for a stool. “To be among strange men, serve them, speak to them, take their money, and endure their stares is the greatest sin for a woman. Women should be protected and cared for in the home, but we walk around half naked.”

  Flames from the burjiko leapt as I poured the kerosene and lit it. I stepped back. “I haven’t seen any naked women.”

  “Have you seen the clothing shops? Do you know what’s sold there?”

  “Clothes are not the problem. Behavior is to blame not garments in stores.” I didn’t know this woman, but I felt free to speak my mind.

  “We could get rid of the sin. Cleanse it until we’re as innocent as newborn babies.” She waved her hands as if preforming a magical act.

  “The entire Indian Ocean couldn’t cleanse the sin in this country. It’s in the soil, the blood, and bones of children and adults alike.”

  “Allah will say ‘Be clean,’ and it will be.” She raised her palms. “Oh, Yaa Rabbi forgive our doubts,” she said a quick prayer.

  “Everyone would have to die for that to happen.”

  “Only some, not all. I am sixteen, but even I know you don’t amputate the whole leg because of an infected toe. That wouldn’t be right. In the same way, you don’t want everyone to die because of a few. That would be foolish. You need only a few to go. That’s all.”

  I cooked and cleaned as she prattled on. My customers will be here soon,” I said, silently praying she wouldn’t launch into another sermon.

  She didn’t, but she didn’t leave right away, either. She stayed for half an hour arranging and rearranging her scarf. She pulled a black veil from under her scarf an
d tied it on her face when my first customer entered. “I’m leaving, but remember there is no misery but that of our own making.” She flashed a brilliant smile and left with a flourish.

  *

  Three hours later, an explosion ripped through the clothing shops. My store was close to the site of the attack, so the ground vibrated and shifted underfoot and the dishes on the table fell to the floor.

  I ran outside, dropping my change purse along the way.

  Jibril, the next-door merchant, called out to the other merchants. “We must help them!” He sprang into action. “Idil, bring water!” he shouted and raced ahead.

  Thick, dark smoke poured from the site of the explosion. “Over here. Water, please. Water!” The pleading came from the wreckage. I darted toward the sound and stumbled over an old man.

  “Water! Water.” He lifted a hand and exposed his blood-covered chest. He took two big gulps from the cup I held to his lips. “She was angered by the women’s dresses sold here.” He held out his hand. “She had on her burial garment, all white. She came close and pulled a string at her waist.” The effort to speak exhausted him and he motioned for more water. He took two more sips, laid back, and closed his eyes.

  I held the water out to him again, but this time he didn’t open his mouth. Some of the water ran over his sealed lips and pooled around his eyes.

  “Idil, over there,” Jibril called. “Take the water to that side.”

  I picked up the jug and left the man. From a distance, the outline of a head covered with a white scarf was visible. Thinking it was an injured person, I quickened my pace. The closer I got, the slower my steps became. Despite the smoke, I couldn’t miss the whiteness of that scarf. I wanted to turn around and run but I didn’t. I saw what I wanted to avoid. The severed head of the young woman, her lips parted in a frozen half-smile greeted me. What was she was thinking when she’d pulled the string and blew people to pieces?

  Jibril found me standing there. “Idil, take the water back there. Please hurry!”

  “The bomber, I met her this morning at my door,” I told Jibril on our way back to our section of the market. Looking back now, the signs were there—the white garments, the anger about the clothing shops, the comments about removing body parts, and her fanaticism. “She was just a girl. I didn’t think she was capable.” What could I have done to stop her? “She said she was sixteen, but might have been younger.”

  Jibril gathered his shawl. “She killed four people.”

  “Including herself?”

  “Five, counting her.”

  You need only a few to go. That’s all.

  Most of the stores were closed by the time I returned to my café from the site of the explosion. The market was eerily quiet.

  My mother was standing in front of my shop, holding my change purse. “I came as soon as I heard,” she said. “Can I help you with anything?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Let me drive you home. We will stop for groceries on the way.”

  Mother had visited me often ever since Sidow’s passing, but her visits followed no specific pattern. Sometimes she came once a week, and other times I didn’t see her for long periods before she showed up, unannounced. On some of her visits I could tell she’d been crying. I didn’t ask her about it, and she gave no explanation. She did offer me some money, but only once, and I refused it. She never made the gesture again.

  I sat in the back of Mother’s Mercedes and wondered why things were getting worse by the day. Every time I took a step forward, circumstances pushed me three paces back.

  Mother didn’t ask me to come in with her when we stopped at a store in the Ceelgaab market, only telling the driver to wait for her.

  “I hope this helps,” she said, when she came back with a box filled with vegetables, meat, a sack of rice, and two cans of powdered milk.

  “Thank you.” It was as if she knew what I needed. The explosion had taken place before I could shop for dinner that night. When we arrived at the front of my place, Mother didn’t ask if she could come in, and I didn’t offer. Her driver picked up the box and followed me into the yard while she stayed in the car. Mother visited me with food once more after that before I went back to work.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The market was closed for the following three days to tend to the dead and the cleanup. For the first time in five months, I could spend time with the children, my mother-in-law, and Hasan. The first day, I took my time getting out of bed and lighting the cooking fire, so it was midmorning before we finished eating breakfast.

  “I have a request to put to both of you,” my mother-in-law addressed Hasan and me after Amina and Adam went out in the yard to play.

  “What is it, Mother?” Hasan asked.

  “I want you to marry Idil.”

  I knew that custom encouraged a living brother to marry the wife of a dead one, to protect the land and the children—and in that order. I’d never imagined she’d propose such a thing in this case because there was no land to protect. Also, she knew I married Sidow for love, not for the size of his property. When a farm couple married, the size of the groom’s property dictated the union.

  “She is like my sister,” Hasan sounded upset at his mother’s suggestion.

  “She is not your sister though. Idil is young and deserves a husband, just as much the children need a father. And you, Hasan, need a wife.”

  “I’ll take a wife but not my brother’s wife. As for the children, I can be their father without marrying Idil.” Hasan got up and went outside after the children as if he were on a mission to show her that he was responsible for them already.

  “Idil, you know better than he does,” my mother-in-law turned to me for help. “This is the best option for both of you.”

  “I don’t want a husband. All I want to do is take care of you and my children.”

  “Sidow is dead, and he isn’t coming back. You can’t tie yourself down to a dead husband.”

  She spoke as if I didn’t live with the realization that Sidow was gone with every breath I took. Some nights, as I lay alone on the empty straw mattress, I’d tell myself that maybe if I closed my eyes long enough, I could summon him back next to me. Of all the horrible fantasies I had imagined since the start of the civil war, losing Sidow was never one of them. My nightmares consisted of dead children and desecrated families. Still, Sidow was never among the dead.

  “I know, but I don’t want to marry Hasan, or to anyone else.”

  “You married for love the first time, but you should do it for duty this time.”

  “I can’t, but we will find a wife for Hasan.”

  “How? I have no farm, no house, no tribal elder, and no dowry. How do you imagine we would find him a wife?”

  She’d raised valid points, and I had no counter for them. “We’ll find a way,” I said.

  My empty promise didn’t help her, but thankfully she dropped the topic. Still, many times I heard her murmuring in her sleep. The list of the losses she’d suffered and the pain she endured filled the night. In daylight, she stored all her worries for the following night and took care of the children in my stead. When the market reopened, I went back to work.

  *

  “Idil, Rhoda is here! She says there has been a car accident,” my mother-in-law said as she entered the cooking area.

  I blew into the charcoal to light the fire for breakfast. “What?” I asked and turned around to see Rhoda, standing right behind her.

  “It happened outside Afgooye a few hours ago.”

  The relevance of the statement eluded me. “What are you talking about? What happened in Afgooye?”

  “Your mother died in a car accident last night.” There wasn’t a shred of sadness in her voice.

  “What was she doing there?” It was a stupid question, but I asked because I didn’t want to ackn
owledge what Rhoda had said. Perhaps if I didn’t, the words wouldn’t become reality. But as soon as I stood up, the statement sank in. A wave of sorrow took over, and my knees gave way. I collapsed on the floor and cried.

  Rhoda stood there, emotionless.

  My mother-in-law gathered me into her embrace and stroked my hair. She consoled me, even though I was crying for Mother, while I hadn’t for Sidow.

  I had not seen Rhoda since the day Father threw me out of the house over twelve years ago, and yet her words were tinged with bitter resentment. “Your father wants you to get her ready for the burial. He’s waiting in the car.”

  “Why me?”

  “You are her daughter, and it’s your responsibility. Don’t expect me to do it, not after what she did to me.” Rhoda stopped as if she’d remembered something. “Also, your father mentioned something about your mother wanting you to do it.”

  My mother-in-law touched my elbow. “You should go. It is your responsibility as the only daughter. It is expected.”

  I didn’t move. “I have to go to work.” I seized the first excuse that came to mind.

  “Your mother just died. Take a day off. Who else will prepare her?” She held my face between her hands. “Like I said before, some things we do for love and others for duty.” She led me outside to Father’s waiting car.

  I opened the door, got in, and sat next to Father in the backseat. Rhoda and a driver sat in front. I looked at Father and felt the urge to run away as the memory of the day he declared me dead flooded back.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said as the engine roared, and the car rolled out to the road.

  “It’s not like I had options.” I should’ve been more careful because I knew that when challenged, Father could do great damage. Thankfully, he didn’t respond.

  The air in the car grew thick and oppressive with unspoken thoughts until the ringing of Father’s phone shattered the silence. He took it out of the case on his belt. The caller’s muffled voice came before the phone reached Father’s ear. He listened and responded with nothing more than a nod here and an uh-huh there, before ending the call.