The gate opens, and Dahaba runs into the complex, shouting her thanks to the guard, and Bella and Salif follow in the car. Inside are twenty or so semidetached houses, each with its own small patch of garden where the residents grow vegetables or roses. Bella halts to let a child collect an errant soccer ball. His mother takes him by the hand and pulls him out of the way, apologizing to Bella and berating him. This time Bella catches Salif’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and they both smile. The boy reminds them of Salif, who lived and breathed soccer when he was that age, dribbling and bouncing his ball against the walls of the house, inside and out, every waking moment, and falling asleep each night with the ball clutched to his chest. A proverb Hurdo often quoted, usually in reference to Bella’s own behavior, returns to her: It’s not the parent who chooses to favor a child, but the child who behaves in a way that compels a parent’s love. In this shared moment, Bella feels that she and Salif are confederates, coconspirators, working in tandem to look after Dahaba.
Bella likes the community feel to this complex, she realizes, as she brakes again to let two elderly Asian women cross to the other side of the road with the help of two African women. The scene reminds her of a family of elephants on their way to a watering hole, a sequence recalled from a nature documentary. Then that image gives way to a caravan of camels being led by a Somali herdsman. Ten meters on, her eyes fall on a white woman in the doorway of one of the houses, bending down to tie the shoelaces of a dark-skinned child, who is fidgeting and raring to be off.
Dahaba has already disappeared into Fatima and Mahdi’s house, which is at the end of the complex, a stand-alone two-family structure bigger than all the others. Bella parks in front, but she does not immediately get out.
“Who told you that Auntie Fatima was having a medical procedure?” she asks Salif.
“Dad did,” he says. “In fact, he left me a message saying it was the reason he was coming back from Somalia so suddenly. He said he planned to go straight to the clinic to visit her there.”
“And what was the procedure for?” Bella asks.
“Something to do with high breast density.”
“You even know the term for it, I am impressed.”
Salif hesitates. “I did a bit of research about it on the web too.”
“Any idea about the result?”
“I understand that the results of the tests were worrying enough that she’s lined up a specialist in England, at Barts, for a second opinion. She’s going there in a few months’ time.”
“And your dad told you all this?”
Salif nods, his look humbled in memory of his father.
Bella wonders what else he knows, remembering what Gunilla told her: that Aar trusted Salif with everything, including the passwords to his computers. She gives Aar credit for his trust and foresight, which have helped to prepare his son for the unfortunate position he now finds himself in. It’s a great pity that Valerie hasn’t the character or the humility to appreciate the traits Aar instilled in Salif.
“Do I understand that you have your father’s computers’ passwords at your fingertips?” she asks Salif with care.
“Have they found his computers?”
“Please don’t answer my question with another,” she reprimands him gently.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I do.”
“Every single one of them?”
“Every single one of them.”
She looks at Salif, as if with a new pair of eyes, and sees Aar in him vividly now: astute, caring, trustworthy, levelheaded, with an unerring sense of what matters. It’s the first time she has understood the meaning of the saying, “The child is father to the man.” She prays she can aspire to achieve a fraction of what her brother achieved as a single parent.
—
Mahdi is waiting for them in the doorway. He hugs Bella warmly, his whole body trembling, his tears flowing freely. Bella hasn’t had a cry since her encounter with Gunilla, but now she gives in to the impulse again. Salif doesn’t permit himself to get carried away, however, giving Mahdi only a brief hug and muttering, “Yes, we’ll miss him terribly,” in response to Mahdi’s outpouring. “You’re a big, grown man yourself,” he concludes, sizing Salif up. “You’re your own man. But I want you to know we are here for you.” He turns to Bella. “We could have picked them up, you know.”
“I did not think to ask,” Bella says. “Besides, you have your own worries.” She wants to let him know that she has an idea about Fatima’s state of health even though this is not the right time to discuss it, and she can see that he is touched by the delicate way she has let him know. He takes Bella’s hand in his left and offers his free one to Salif, and the three of them enter the house.
“We’ve been grieving, following the loss,” Mahdi says, as if standing here where Aar so often stood has brought him back even more vividly. “He was our great friend, and no commiseration or sorrowing words spoken will replace him. Nor am I fond of the words of condolence we Somalis often invoke — that we are all headed in the same direction, toward our graves. That’s no consolation. Me, I don’t like this kind of talk.”
It is these words that at last bring tears to Salif’s eyes, and he moves to embrace Mahdi, but just at that moment, Mahdi turns and shouts up the stairs for Zubair to come join them. Zubair careens down the stairs, Dahaba with him, and the young fellow offers his formal condolence, hugging Bella and then standing apart, head bowed and looking sad. But as soon as they have satisfied the demands of politeness, Zubair and Dahaba bound back up the stairs to reenter the world of the young, where sorrow is held at bay for as long as possible.
Mahdi says, “Where are my manners? Please forgive me.” Bella doesn’t quite comprehend why he says this. Not until he turns to her and asks, “What will you have?”
“Tea is fine, if that is no bother, thanks.”
They follow him into the kitchen. Bella sits as he pours water, but Salif, who has brought his camera, wants to take photos of them, and he asks them to pose for him, his first photo of two adults outside his home.
Mahdi insists on seeing the camera before posing, and after receiving it, he admires it. “Nice camera, must be expensive.” Then he asks, “Where did you get it, I never knew you had such a beautiful camera?”
“A gift from Auntie Bella,” says Salif.
“Well, well, a grand camera for a lucky boy.”
“She got one for Dahaba too.”
“But that is wonderful.”
Bella listens in silence, happily beaming.
Mahdi and Bella obligingly pose for Salif and he takes a couple of photos just to be sure, and then goes upstairs to join the others, a fresh spring in his gait and a broad, joyful smile covering his features.
The two adults are now alone in the kitchen. Mahdi brings out a tray and teacups and the ubiquitous UHT milk and sugar. Bella notices that his hands are shaking, and wonders if he is very, very sad not only about Aar’s early tortured death but also about Fatima’s cancer.
Mahdi says, “When a country like ours goes to ruin, it takes our best too.” He sighs. “We go back a long way. Your mother taught me at the law faculty, Aar was a schoolmate of Fatima’s. His name was on every girl’s lips, but he took very little notice of any of them because he was hardworking, always thinking about schoolwork, competitive, the best in everything, soccer, chess, games, you name it. Later, at the university, they went to different faculties, he to economics, she to agriculture, but they still kept in touch and we reconnected when they both graduated and he came to our wedding and then he often visited our home for the odd meal. We would tease him about women and Fatima even tried to set him up with one of her girlfriends. Not interested. Fatima would say Aar was meant for greater things, certain that he would do well at whatever he set his mind on, for he was talking of doing his PhD. Then I was in political trouble, the dictator threatening me with prison, and we left Somalia. Then came the civil war and we lost touch, but we were happy to reunite with him here. You were much too young for all this.”