“None,” replies Bella. “Both terms describe the total removal of the clitoris, a most terrible barbarity to which our Somali society subjects women.”
Valerie makes as if she has to choke, as if she can’t bring herself to ask the question she means to ask. Then she takes a large sip of her drink so as to gain the mad courage to speak, and she says to Bella, “I’ve always meant to ask but haven’t dared to. Did the brutes do it to you too?”
Salif is shocked into silence. Padmini looks up at the ceiling. Even Dahaba disapprovingly says, “Mum, how can you?”
But Bella coolly answers, “My mother spared me that.”
“Just as Aar spared our daughter, right?”
In the silence that follows, Bella watches with no small shock as Salif brings out a cigarette pack and a lighter. Holding a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, he rolls it and turns it and sniffs at it. Bella can’t tell if he is trying to provide a distraction or provoke a reaction from everyone present, especially his mother. Will she rant and rail, advise him against smoking? But Bella won’t say anything, given that Valerie is here.
Bella remembers when she was Salif’s age, maybe even a year younger, and she lit her first cigarette at a friend’s party. Later at school, she and her classmates would hide and puff away, doing all they could to avoid detection or punishment. At home, she would pilfer the odd cigarette from Aar, who by then was a heavy smoker. Despite his disapproval, Bella’s habit grew, and she smoked on and off until eight years ago, when she kicked the habit with considerable difficulty, not because she wished to please her mother or brother and not for health reasons, but because once antismoking laws began to be passed, she hated belonging to the smokers’ parliaments huddled outside bars and buildings, puffing away together to feed their nicotine cravings.
In any event, Salif doesn’t light his cigarette. After playing with the cigarette for a while, he replaces the lighter in his shirt pocket and lodges the cigarette above his right ear.
Valerie says nothing about the incident and then changes the subject altogether. She says to Salif, “Apropos of visiting us in India, would you like it if we found you a school in our town?”
“As things stand now, we wouldn’t,” he says.
“We’ve been uprooted enough times, Mum,” says Dahaba. “We would like to complete school here.”
“What about schooling in the UK?”
“We are happy here, Mum,” says Dahaba.
And Salif says, “We don’t want to live in the UK.”
“Why don’t you think you would be happy in England?”
“Black boys my age have big problems in England. Often, they run into trouble with the school authorities or with the neighborhood police. I’d be viewed as a threat to the established order run for the benefit of those of a color different from mine.”
“Would Dahaba be viewed with the same lens?” asks Padmini, and she looks at Bella, as if willing her to say something.
“Girls fare better,” says Salif.
“Why is that so?” Padmini asks.
“Because they are not seen as a threat.”
“Who have you been talking to about England?” asks Padmini.
Salif gives the matter serious thought. Then he says, “I follow the news. In England, I could easily end up in a detention cell for being black, male, young, and for bearing a Muslim name.”
“You speak with clarity,” says Padmini. “I am impressed.”
And with that, they are all ready to call it a night.
18
Bella is up very early, while the rest of the household is still asleep. She enjoys the quiet as she sits at the kitchen table and writes the phrase “home processing” on a pad and then underlines it. She is designing a very simple darkroom where Salif and Dahaba can learn to process film and have a bit of fun. Later, she can modify it so that it will serve her professional requirements. Since before dawn, she has been moving about with stealth, taking measurements. She settled on the spare room as sufficient for this purpose. Ideally, she would have preferred a basement or a room directly under the stairway, or an outbuilding or a stand-alone garage, as these are easier to black out using masking tape to block the light entering through any cracks. But none of these exist, and the bathrooms are too small for the purpose she has in mind. The spare bedroom will do, with an extractor fan installed to provide adequate ventilation. In addition, she will need an electrician to install more outlets for the enlargers and the dryers, and a plumber for the water supply needed for washing prints. Mahdi will know the right people to hire; she writes his name on the pad and then underlines it twice to remind herself.
Over the years, she has overseen the construction of many darkrooms, starting with the simple black-and-white processing setup Giorgio Fiori’s colleague helped her to make in that closet back in Rome, when she was twelve. It is such an arrangement that she intends to start with here.
Before digital cameras came into vogue, darkrooms were fairly common, and most photo shops had one in the rear. As demand grew, though, little shops tended to outsource processing to larger, more sophisticated ones of industrial size. But remembering those simpler setups, Bella adds more items to the list she is drawing up: enlargers, three large trays, an eight-by-ten easel, a red lightbulb.
She hears the soft tread of someone approaching the kitchen, and when she looks up, Salif is there in his pajamas and robe. He looks surprised to find her already dressed and writing lists on a notepad.
“Morning, Auntie.”
“Morning, darling.”
“What’s up?”
“A darkroom, that is what’s up, today’s priority.”
A sweet smile later, he sits down. “That’s good, bright and early,” he says.
Bella pushes the notepad aside. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“I can make my own if you are busy.”
“Good. Will you make my espresso for me too?”
“I would love to.”
Salif busies himself making the espresso for her and an omelet and toast for himself. The household seems to be at peace with itself since they all went to their rooms last night, although Bella slept fitfully, listening for Dahaba’s movements and reflecting on all that has happened so far. On the whole, she feels reassured about Valerie, who now seems much less in a position to muck matters up. The image that comes to her mind is of a hurricane, once strong and menacing, losing its ferocity as it hits land.
Salif asks, “Is it very complicated to organize a darkroom, Auntie?”
“It’s not rocket science. I just need the help of an electrician and a plumber. And I’ll need to go to a camera shop to purchase a supply of chemicals and paper.”
The espresso is not to her liking — a bit watery — but she makes enthusiastic noises when she takes her first sip. She looks up when Salif’s toast pops up but says nothing when she observes that his omelet is a little burnt. She clears space on the table for him to join her with his breakfast. When she sees that he has emptied the remainder of the ketchup onto one side of his plate, she adds “tomato ketchup” to the list on her notepad.
“Which room will we use as the darkroom?” Salif asks.
“The spare room is ideal,” she says. “It is a corner room, set apart from the other rooms, it is spacious, and it has its own toilet so it already has a water supply.”
“Super,” he says. “Can’t wait for it to be built.”
Padmini is at the kitchen door. “Morning, dears,” she says to them. “Did I hear the word ‘build’? Build what, if I may ask?”
“A darkroom,” says Salif.
“How forward looking,” Padmini says. “Where?”