“I remember Fatima,” says Bella. “Her beautiful dresses above all. I recall these bright dresses with great envy as a young thing, touching, feeling with my hands the material they were made from. She would bring me marzipans and I would follow her and Aar to the door as they left, hoping they would take me with them wherever they were going.”
“We loved him,” says Mahdi.
“My memories of those days are still with me and they remain sweet in my mouth and I feel as though I can taste their ambrosial residues,” says Bella. “I too was sweet on my brother, as were many other girls.”
“We loved him and now hold you and his children very dear.”
Even though they are standing apart, it is as though, with their reminiscences of Aar safe in their memory, Bella and Mahdi are wrapped in a single cloth woven out of their sorrows. And they fall silent, neither wanting to add to what has been said.
Then the sudden entrance of a cat startles them out of their stupor. The cat rubs against Mahdi’s legs, and then Bella’s, meowing. Then they both hear a key turning in the lock and see Qamar barging in, excitedly lugging a huge shopping bag too heavy to lift. Fatima brings up the rear, admonishing her, “Do be careful, my sweet.” Then she catches sight of Bella and, the door still open, the key still in her hand, she exclaims, “Oh my God, I had no idea.” Fatima sweeps her up in an embrace, her joy at the sight of Bella quickly giving way to fresh grief over Aar, but not before Bella takes in the headscarf that Fatima has on, the first Bella has seen her wearing, the headscarf meant to hide Fatima’s loss of hair from a combination of chemo and related treatment. Also, Fatima’s skin looks pallid, with a worrying patchiness, which Bella associates with the taking of drugs. Bella’s own sorrow grows more acute with the awareness of this new sadness, and it is doubly painful to be able to speak of the one but not the other.
Qamar is waiting patiently for them to finish their hugging before offering her own commiserations to Auntie Bella. Fatima, noticing this, gradually releases Bella from the tightness of her embrace. “My sincere condolences, Auntie,” Qamar whispers.
Bella says, “Oh, my sweetness, thank you.”
“We must stay strong,” Mahdi says.
Bella says, “Thanks for all your support.”
“What else is there to do, what else to say?” says Fatima.
There is a serious struggle all round and Bella is unable to stay on her feet, struck afresh by the reality of Fatima’s illness, and she sits down, exhausted. Mahdi, Fatima, and Qamar surround her, watching in perturbed silence until Mahdi gestures to the others to give her space.
“Tea?” Mahdi says to Fatima.
“I could do with a cup,” Fatima says.
“What about you, Qamar?” her father asks.
“Not now,” she says, and then she bolts up the stairs.
Bella longs for something a lot stronger than tea, but she is not sure there is such a drink to be had in this house, and she doesn’t want to discomfit her hosts by asking for it. She hasn’t felt the need to take strong liquor since leaving Rome — not even in the plane. She will have sufficient time to make the cultural shift and knows not to expect to be served wine or other liquor in the homes of Somalis, and she reminds herself that she hasn’t been around her fellow nationals in a long time.
Mahdi says, “How would you like your tea?”
“Black, strong, no sugar, please,” Bella says.
Mahdi and Fatima are staring intently at Bella, who finds herself unable to recall how she got from the kitchen to the couch in the living room. She realizes she has been daydreaming of happier days, when Aar was alive and the children were young and all of them looked forward to a future uncomplicated by deaths, diseases, civil wars, and other sorrows. Her eyes closed tightly, she balls her hands into fists and sits still for quite a while, conscious of Fatima and Mahdi still watching her. The instant she sees them both standing, her fists unclench, and she pats the couch on either side of her, and the two of them take the free spaces she has indicated.
Bella says, “You give me strength. Thank you.”
As they take the time to contemplate the ruins of the world around them, Dahaba, prancing down the stairway with her camera in hand, breaks their reverie. Fatima looks up, amused by the girl’s expression, as serious as if she were ready to announce an important event.
Dahaba says, “I would like you to pose for my first picture of the three of you with the first camera I’ve ever owned, a gift from Auntie Bella.”
“How would you like us to pose?” Fatima asks.
“Please stand up and smile for the camera.”
Bella thinks it is an odd request to make of them at this point in time, but she decides to let it pass because Dahaba is unfamiliar with the etiquette of taking photos at a time such as this. The three of them stand and let her arrange them until she has taken the photos to her own satisfaction.
Then Mahdi brings the tea and, spoon clinking against saucer, Bella tries to think of the best way to broach the subject of Fatima’s cancer. She gets her moment when Mahdi takes his leave with a bow, on what she is fairly certain is a pretext that he needs to complete a piece of writing. He takes his tea and sets off up the stairs in the direction of his study.
“Would you like some biscuits?” Fatima asks.
Bella shakes her head no, wondering if Fatima is loath to burden Bella with her illness when she is already grieving.
“I hear their mother is here,” Fatima says.
“Yes, she is.”
“And I hear you hosted her last night.”
“Yes, we did indeed.”
“And I hear she is trouble.”
“We won’t let her cause disruption in our lives.”
Fatima says, “If marriage is heaven and hell, then Aar was heaven, where he now must be residing, and his widow — if she is entitled to such an office, which I doubt — is hell, from what my children have told me.”
Bella is a little miffed that someone, most likely Dahaba, has shared family secrets with either Qamar or Zubair, who must have passed them on to Fatima, the very thing against which she has been inveighing.
Fatima can tell Bella looks put out, and she guesses the reason. So she says, “Our children are very close, and they talk their hearts out to one another, especially at moments of great sorrow.”
“I understand,” Bella says, “but don’t we Somalis say that a secret known to more than one person is no longer a secret?”
“Aar guarded his privacy and so does Salif.”
“Not so Dahaba.”
“There is in each of us a secret chamber whose key we offer to those we choose — a husband, a wife, a brother, a sister, a lover, or lovers known to no one but ourselves. I am sure there are personal secrets that Dahaba won’t divulge to anyone, and with age, she will learn to know how to treasure more secrets, keep them hidden.”
“I do hope so.”
“If I may be so bold, might I ask who is the custodian of the key to your secret chamber?” But when Fatima sees the hesitation on Bella’s face, she says, “Consider it unasked.”