Tale of a Boon's Wife Page 3

  “What is happening?” I asked aloud.

  “We are moving to Bledley,” Mother said.

  Bledley was described in my grade seven geography textbooks as the region between the two rivers and the most fertile land in the country. Photos of banana plantations, mango groves, grain and cornfields covered the pages of the textbook. “What do you mean we’re moving to Bledley?”

  Mother’s eyes met mine and I read their warning to be quiet. “Your father will be the commander of the largest base in the country.”

  “Yaaay!” Omar cheered. Even as a small boy he’d loved power, rank, and prestige.

  Elmi tugged at Mother’s elbow to get her attention. “What about my friends?” His question fell on deaf ears.

  Bledley was beautiful to admire in a book, but I wasn’t prepared to lose my friends and my home over it. “We have done nothing wrong. He should go alone. Why do we have to move?” In my mind, I thought Mother could exist away from him.

  Without warning, Father slapped me with an open hand. “Don’t you ever speak like that again.”

  I staggered backward, and Elmi caught me.

  I ran to my room and closed the door. In the safety of my bed, I rubbed my burning face and buried my head in the pillow. I heard a knock and tried to ignore it, but gave in after a while. “Yes?”

  Mother came into my room and pulled the curtains apart. Her wandering gaze went everywhere except to me. “Get your things ready.”

  The early morning sun poured in but did nothing to brighten my dampened spirit. “Why do we have to move in the middle of the school year—and so far away?” By the time I finished speaking I was sitting upright, charged with an anger I didn’t know existed.

  She left the dresser drawer she was emptying and sat next to me on the bed. “A man’s dirt is his woman’s wash, always.”

  “Why?”

  She placed my head on her chest. “You will understand when you’re older.”

  I hated when Mother said that, and she always did, every time I’d asked something she didn’t want to discuss. “I’ll never understand, not now, not later. Never,” I said as defiantly as I could manage.

  She stroked my hair and kissed me on the forehead. “The road to a man’s heart is through the mounds of his mess. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

  I looked at her anew. My image of her as a fighter, a survivor who did what was right, not what was easy—shifted. She was no different from all the other women she’d gossiped about. Like the rest of them, she had given in and taken responsibility for what was not her mistake. I was incapable of such sad conviction. “I won’t accept that,” I said.

  “You will. You might not want to, but you’ll accept it all the same because there are no other options,” Mother said, with a certainty that stunned me.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but she dismissed me with a wave of her hand. She went back to the dresser. “You should pack if you don’t want to leave your belongings.”

  I followed her lead, stuffing things into my large, black suitcase. “This is not fair,” I said under my breath. “I’ll not accept things like this when I’m older.”

  She shifted the bag upright and opened the door. “Let us go.”

  When I emerged, dragging my suitcase behind me, there was no furniture in the house except for the chair Father had sat in earlier.

  Mother took Elmi and me outside to the truck.

  The driver greeted us as we approached and loaded our luggage.

  The trees in the yard swayed back and forth, fanning us in the light breeze. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling a slight chill skitter across my skin.

  Safiya appeared behind the truck carrying a thermos of tea and a sack of sweets. “My husband told me you are moving. Had I known, I would’ve prepared more food for the road. I am sorry to see you go. We were in Hodan’s house just now discussing how to help.” She turned to two other women standing at a distance.

  “So, everyone’s talking?” Mother posed the question to Safiya.

  “Not in a negative way, not about a dear friend like you. We just wanted to help is all.”

  Mother scoffed at the lie, but said nothing more about it. She waved once to Safiya and the other women and fled toward the waiting vehicle.

  The driver extended his hand and helped her in. His large frame filled the doorway, shielding her from the glaring eyes of the onlookers.

  My friends stopped on their way to school, wearing bright smiles borrowed from happier times. “Bye Idil. We’ll miss you.”

  My hugs lingered. “I’ll miss you so much,” I whispered in their ears.

  “Come in,” Mother called me from behind the driver.

  I couldn’t leave as easily as she’d done. For each step I should take forward, there were two I wished I could take back. I stood there, silent.

  I heard Omar chattering to Father as they came toward Elmi and me. “Why are you standing there?” Omar’s elbow landed on my ribs and I gasped for air. “Move,” he snarled.

  Elmi didn’t have a chance to get out of the way before Omar pushed him down. Father didn’t react to what Omar had done even after Elmi wailed in pain.

  “You should learn to get out of the way,” Omar said as he proceeded to sit in the front seat next to Mother. Father followed him in.

  Elmi and I boarded last.

  *

  The truck pulled out of the driveway, taking us away from everyone and everything familiar to a vast unknown.

  My friends held their hands above their heads in a half-salute. I waved back and watched them grow smaller in the distance. An absolute longing filled me.

  Mother touched my arm. “Here.” She passed a thin blanket back to Elmi and me. I took it, although I knew no amount of cover could warm the icy feeling inside. Her attention lingered upon me. She poured Father a glass of his drink, then turned back to me. “Do you want something to eat?” An apologetic tone colored her words.

  “I am not hungry.”

  She handed me a piece of cake from the sack Safiya had brought anyway. I took it, passed it to Elmi, and focused my attention outside the window. The landscape drifted away faster and faster as we drove in silence for what seemed like hours.

  “It is your fault!” Father shouted at Mother shattering the quiet in the truck. “You set Shire against us.” He held his head between his hands. “You met with him and chastised him.” Anger oozed from him, filling the small cabin. “‘Be a man.’ Is that what you said to him?” Mother kept silent as he hurled accusations at her. “How did that help him? He’s in jail now and single.” He took her arm and tugged her toward him. “You had everything—house, children, money, servants—but you weren’t satisfied. You wanted more.”

  For the first time, she faced him. “I didn’t have what mattered. I wanted a husband.”

  Father turned to her, surprised. “I was coming home, spending nights. I fed you, clothed you, and shared your bed. That’s what the vow said.”

  Mother didn’t respond.

  “Maybe I should marry three other wives or divorce you and take four.” He growled. “That would teach you a lesson.”

  She said nothing.

  He extended his glass.

  She refilled it.

  Chapter Four

  We arrived at Bledley late Sunday morning. The truck moved very slowly through a market, bustling with throngs of people, and my spirit lifted. The city was smaller than Gaalmaran, where we had come from, but stalls lined both sides of the road and our truck passed through a sea of color. A vibrant array of fruit and vegetables—bananas, mangoes, lemons, limes, four different kinds of peppers, and tomatoes—shone before us on high wooden tables. I rested my knees on the seat and hoisted myself into the half-open window. A warm breeze washed over me. The smell of fresh produce and damp earth filled the truck and I felt Bl
edley beckon me in a way that Gaalmaran never had.

  Several children chased each other around the rectangular fruit tables, their bare feet covered with mud from a recent rain. The women shopkeepers tilted their heads and laughed. A boy and girl each swiped some fruit from a tray. They hid behind a stack of wood, their backs facing the truck, and bit into it. The woman in charge didn’t seem to notice.

  I nudged Elmi and pointed. “Did you see that?”

  Elmi knelt beside me, but Mother saw us. “Sit,” she ordered.

  We did until she looked away to refill Father’s glass. Then, taking care not to attract her attention, we snuck back up to watch the children playing through the window.

  The city’s busy market disappeared and was replaced by grain farms. The strong wind made little clouds of dust, which rolled up and fell back. Acres and acres of farmland spread before us. Big, old trees stood grandly atop their earthbound roots, their heavy, green leaves rustling in the soft breeze.

  Father sat up and looked around. His mood had improved. “An airport is planned for here,” he told Omar.

  Omar pointed at a chain-link fence. “What is that?”

  Father smiled. “That is the military base where we will be living.”

  Omar’s eyes lit up with excitement. “How do you know this?”

  Father squeezed Omar’s shoulder. “I was here three times before I went away to the Soviet Union.”

  Desolation welcomed us at the gate. The base was as empty and quiet as the market was busy and loud. Rows and rows of cream-colored tent structures stood before us. Father waved his hands. “That is where the soldiers live.”

  Young children ran here and there in the field near the tents. Dust covered the black earth adding to the depressing landscape. I saw no adults.

  Father pointed to a few dozen small buildings. “The junior officers live there.”

  Omar didn’t ask questions as Father described different parts of the base. “My office is there, behind the embankment.” A large metal gate came into view. “That is our new home.”

  Uniformed officers approached the truck before it came to a full stop. They greeted Father with a precise military salute and moved to the back to unload.

  Once off the truck, my feet met an asphalt driveway leading to a big house, bigger than I could’ve imagined. It stood on guard in the middle of the base. Everything else—the administration quarters, the residence for the lower-ranking officers, and the tent structures for the soldiers—seemed insignificant against it.

  Knee-high cement blocks served as perches for two marble lion statues resting on their hindquarters. Over the gate in front of the house were decorative wrought-iron okra leaves. A Somali flag—blue with a white star in the center—waved at us from a metal pole in the middle of the yard. We entered, led by two soldiers. The door to the main house opened, and the sadness I’d felt before evaporated and was replaced with excitement.

  “This way sir!” One officer led Father into the house.

  Yet another extended his hand to Mother. “Come with me, Madam.”

  She hesitated.

  He pointed at the stairs. “Madam?”

  She preceded him into the house. We followed.

  Omar flew past us as though he were running from foreign invaders. “The biggest room is mine.” He ascended the stairs by twos and disappeared.

  I admired the spiral staircase, enjoying the luxurious feeling of the soft, cream-colored carpet beneath my feet. My hands caressed the smooth surface of the wooden railing. This house was a palace compared to where we had lived.

  Elmi, only a few steps ahead, shrieked with excitement. “Look!” he yelled.

  My eyes followed his finger. At the end of the stairwell hung a huge framed painting of the Indian Ocean. In the picture, it was dusk, and the beach was empty except for two children. Their hands outstretched, heads tilted back, smiling wide, they pointed at something out of sight. The contrast between the small figures and the roaring waves descending upon them was stunning.

  Omar ran out of a room to get to Mother. “It’s not fair!” he yelled.

  “What is the matter?” she asked.

  “The biggest room is a girl’s room!”

  A uniformed officer carrying a chair turned to Omar with understanding. “The other family had only girls.”

  Omar forgot his grievance. “All girls? How many?”

  “Six.”

  He lowered his head to give condolences to a family he didn’t know. “Six girls and no boys.” It saddened him to hear a family stuck with such an abomination.

  Mother looked at him with a reassuring gaze. “I’ll take care of it.” She assigned each one of us a room.

  “Mine is the biggest, and I love it.” I admired the décor of the soft yellow room, accented by lilac-filled bouquets drawn on three of the walls and on the back of the door panel.

  Mother stared at me. “Be careful not to upset your brother,” she warned. She assigned Elmi the room next to mine, and he accepted with no complaint.

  Omar opened the door to his bedroom. “I get the smallest?”

  Mother took him in her arms. “You are on the men’s side of the house, see? You are on your Father’s side.” She knew such a statement would appease him. “This is next to your father’s study.”

  As the day grew old, the voices of the servants and the soldiers moving about the house faded to a soft murmur. Elmi and I wandered toward the study. “This is a library, not a study,” I said. “Let us see.” We entered and stood in front of magnificent hardwood bookcases that covered the walls from floor to ceiling. The middle section held volumes with wooden covers, while on the ends were thin paperbacks, memos, and copies of old newspapers. A handcrafted oak desk stood in the center of the room. On its polished top sat statues of camels and lions, and a wooden dhiil—milk pitcher—carved with decorative images of tribal symbols. Everything, from the penholder to the bookstand, boasted outstanding craftsmanship. On one wall was a photo of a young man dressed in white macawis. He held a wooden spear over his right shoulder, his left hand rested on his hip. White ink letters and symbols covered his dome-shaped hair.

  Elmi ran his fingers over the books, from one end to the other. “I have never seen so many.”

  I didn’t hear Omar come in until he was standing next to me. Marking his territory on the men’s side of the house, he pushed me away. “Get out of here,” he said, and sat on the big chair behind the desk. “Who said you could be in here?”

  Elmi and I left the room silently.

  *

  Mother called Elmi and me into the sitting room. It was three days after we moved to Bledley. She’d registered Omar at the high school first and then moved on to us. “It’s time to go.”

  I’d expected the inevitable, but still I was disappointed. “Now? We are going now?”

  She knitted her brows tight. “Did you hear what I said?”

  There was no arguing with her, so Elmi and I resigned ourselves to the dreadful journey, got ready, and followed her to the car. Our arrival at the school coincided with the ringing of the morning recess bell. The yard was much larger than the one in my former school, but I saw no swing sets, basketball nets, or soccer pitches. Still, the playground welcomed the children leaving their classes with open arms, and they embraced it with glee. As their rubber-sandaled feet hit the ground, clouds of dust traveled up their legs. They paid no mind to it and moved into distinct groups, based on age or size. I couldn’t tell which.

  They pulled skipping ropes, empty cans for a kick-the-can game, balls made of yarn, and leftover fabric out of their pockets. The games began immediately. The yard, which had been empty a few seconds before, exploded with a chorus of happy laughter. Every child wore a pair of khaki pants and a white shirt or blouse. I scanned the area to find a group I might fit into as a pang of loneliness stabbed at
me. My mind rushed back to the comfort of the long-established friendships I’d left behind, and I cursed Father under my breath.

  The principal stepped out of his office and greeted Mother. “I am ready for you, Madam.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at him and walked toward the small office.

  I wanted her to take us inside. She did that with Omar two days before when she’d signed him up at the high school. “Please let us come with you,” I begged.

  “Wait here until I come back,” she said.

  We stood there, anxious and alert, as a boy, close to me in age, approached.

  “What are your names?” he asked.

  For the first time, I saw someone I could befriend. I marveled at this beautiful person. My plain, paper-thin lips paled in comparison to his full ones. Unlike mine, which looked like it didn’t belong on my face, his nose fit perfectly. I stared at his flawless figure, his tight curls, and his well-toned muscles. “I am Idil, and this is Elmi,” I responded.

  He looked at me through enormous eyes that far outshone mine. “Welcome to our school,” he said.

  I was about to thank him, but the bell rang just then, and he left.

  A few minutes later, Mother emerged, wearing a forced smile. “The principal will take you to your classes.”

  “Could we start tomorrow morning?” I asked her. “Please don’t make us start in the middle of the day.” It didn’t matter whether I started at the beginning of the day or the middle or ten years from then. I didn’t want to go to this school. I reminded her she didn’t make Omar stay when she signed him up, but I had to follow the principal to my grade eight class. The head teacher took Elmi toward his seventh-grade room. I walked slowly, to delay the inevitable, but the principal’s strong strides urged me on, and we reached my classroom much sooner than I’d hoped.

  The teacher placed me in the second seat of the second row. “We are sitting in alphabetical order and that is your seat, Idil,” he explained.

  The boy who had welcomed us earlier was sitting two rows away from me. The class was quiet, and disciplined, but I knew, as the new student, every single eye in the room was on the back of my head. My skin prickled. I buried my head in the exercise book the teacher had placed on my desk and did more math problems than were assigned.