Only she doesn’t name the person or persons to whom he must serve up a travesty of regrets. In addition, she handles him physically, pushing him out of the way, and rudely going past him toward the stage, where the others are gathered, watching in silence. When she reaches the stage, where Cambara is expecting her, with her arms open, her face adorned with a wide smile, Arda changes her voice. The vitriol that has oozed out with malicious intent when she talks to Zaak is transformed to sweetness, now that she is addressing her words to her daughter. They exchange remarks, neither moving toward the other.
“Done it, haven’t you, darling?”
“Not yet, Mother.”
“You have, my darling.”
“There is a lot to do.”
“You’ve done it. No question about it.”
“Let’s not tempt fate, Mum.”
“In any case, come down and give your doubting Arda a hug and a kiss,” and she motions to Cambara to come forward, “and tell me how you’ve managed to achieve all of this.” In one sweep, Arda takes in the stage and the people on it, the hall and those in it. “All on your own. In spite of the numerous odds. Despite Zaak,” and she looks at him.
Arda, to free her hands for Cambara’s embrace, tosses the fan toward the stage in the attitude of an athlete who, winning the finals of a game, throws her racket into the admiring crowd. Bile has the fortune to catch the fan before it hits the floor; Raxma applauds. Cambara approaches, her heart racing, but she takes care not to collide with Zaak or stumble against the suitcases, which he left bang in the aisle
They hug, mother and daughter; they whisper in each other’s ears, like two young beaux meeting after a long separation. Then each wraps her body around the other, Cambara finding it difficult to reach round her mother’s waist, because of its dimensions. Her voice low and teasing, Cambara says, “We must lose weight, mustn’t we?”
“That we will; that we will.”
They turn their backs on everyone and walk out of the hall. It is not clear if Cambara means to show her mother the rest of the house or if Arda wants Cambara to herself for a couple of hours, in which the two might spend private time together and talk.
EPILOGUE
Three days later, at which point Cambara’s days of work, more work, and more of the same, have extended into nights, and the nights into all-day affairs, she mounts the special performance before a select audience of mainly women. When not revising, rehearsing, or rereading and she is awake, she consumes lots of coffee to stay on her feet and spends her time, now in the company of Arda, who is ever so sweet; now Raxma, who is discreet and gently merging into the background, silent, unobtrusive; now Bile, with whom she is alone in the apartment to chill out and take long hot baths; and now Kiin, Qaali, SilkHair, and Gacal.
Raxma volunteers to do whatever is required of her, occasionally acting as ScriptWoman, recording the start and the end of the takes on the clapboard and penciling in the changes to the text as dictated to her by Cambara; at times, as TeaWoman; at others, accompanied by Dajaal, she goes to a part of the city she has not been to for more than fifteen years, because Cambara has requested olive oil for the wooden masks, since linseed oil, which is ideal for it, is not available. On another occasion, she is assigned to collect the costumes from the tailor. On her return, Raxma, appearing more desolate than either Arda or Cambara has known her to be, speaks of how she has borne witness to a skirmish in which two youths lost their lives right in front of her. “Felt like watching a horror movie live but on the big screen,” Raxma says. “Only this was so insanely real, I couldn’t bear the madness of it.” To the question of how it all unfolded in front of her, she explains that teenagers got into an argument, for a reason unclear to her, and then all of a sudden started shooting at each other bang, bang, bang. Point-blank. No emotions at all. “As if they’ve done it for me to bear testimony.” She sighs, then goes on, “I don’t want to go out anymore. Enough. I am staying put; I feel safe here.”
Where others might put questions to Cambara, gently probing, Arda stays decidedly in the margins, behaving differently from her usual self; she acts as if she has no opinions on any matter, no advice to offer to her daughter on any topic whatsoever. She is often heard saying “You know it better than me, darling. Who am I to give you counsel on anything after you’ve achieved what you have?” Nor does she have anything to say more particularly about Cambara’s apparent closeness to Bile, even while others keenly watch the bourgeoning intimacy between them. Arda overhears the others talk of the amity flowering, their tongues wagging, some hinting at the possibility of a wedding, yet she makes no comment, either to Cambara or to the others, maybe because she does not wish a repeat of what occurred with Zaak — admittedly, her own mistake — or when her daughter married Wardi against her advice and they were alienated from each other. She doesn’t want to mention Wardi’s name or make reference to Zaak, knowing that she opposed Cambara’s marrying the former, just because her daughter loved him, and imposed the latter on her — and what disasters they both turned out to be.
Curiously though, Arda takes to SilkHair, whom she has more or less put under her solicitous care. She talks of sending him to school somewhere to train as a mechanic or in one of the trades, provided he is up to the challenge and prepared to follow it through. She is on good terms with Qaali and Gacal, but alas there is little she can do to help them solve the bureaucratic muddle even though she tells them that she has spoken to one of her friends in the Canadian diplomatic corps. Both she and Cambara are relieved when Raxma informs them that she has been in touch with Maimouna, who is making representations with the U.S. consulate in Nairobi.
Arda and Dajaal get on well too; they discuss the security situation at length and the possibility of a sudden attack, which he shrugs off, describing it as “virtually impossible, considering.” Then he continues, “I can understand your worries, which are the worries of an untrained mind. I am saying ‘untrained’ vis-à-vis security matters. Leave it all to me. Have no fear. We’re okay as long as we stage the play for a special audience, masks or no masks. My worry is about giving a public viewing of the play with masks. Too risky.” But from the way the two of them converse, Cambara feels that they are better acquainted with each other, more than they care to explain.
Arda takes to talking to Seamus more than to any of the others; he is less inhibited with her and he teases her. He tickles her memory to the extent that they exchange the jokes they knew in the day when Italian culture, language, and cinema were pervasive in their lives. She tells him some priest jokes, and he, for his part, cracks some ‘peasant comes to town’ ones, full of below-the-waist punch lines. Gacal is a constant listener to the ribaldries.
Bile, however, is more formal with Arda, very courteous, maybe as it behooves a future son-in-law. And Arda is ill at ease in his presence, maybe because of the age difference between her and Bile, potentially her daughter’s future partner. She strives to show a relaxed aspect of herself to Bile. It’s just as well that they are all very busy, Cambara seeing to the exigencies of the play, including makeup, and acting as an assistant to Seamus when it comes to lighting and stage management. Raxma puts herself forward to take on every other task with which Cambara charges her, her last assignment being that of a prompter; Seamus, in addition to his lighting and stage-managing duties, attends to the running of the generator; Bile, Qaali, Gacal, and SilkHair all do their jobs with absolute devotion.