Laughter from everyone at this last. Maryam quickly translated breathily in her friend’s ear, and the two young women laughed and nodded, together.
His mother, perhaps alone of the gathering, was waiting for him to have the chance to speak for himself what everyone knew he must be feeling, what he wished to say to his Uncle, who had singled him out among her sons, the blessed one, the success.
Ibrahim was vaguely lifting and lowering his outspread hands — to quiet the affectionate voices answering for him, or to take in those hands — a lovely gesture, some interpreted — the opportunity offered him. In all the attention that pinned him down he felt that of his wife and he turned a moment to her and gave her a version — strange, final, its awful beauty — a culminating version of that smile she always awaited from him. He addressed his Uncle in the full formality of their tongue, as if there were no-one else present: He did not know what to say. It was an offer he would never have thought of, never have expected. Never. He knows how much the business his Uncle has created means to him. He thanked him, with the greatest respect, for his generosity, on behalf of his mother and father, brothers and sisters, for what he had done now, this day. He asked, with the greatest respect to have … a little time… to realize …
He did not turn to her. He sought the eyes of his mother; now she was the only one present.
And they all understood: overcome! They clapped and passed him from one to the other, men and women, in their embraces.
She kept somewhat in the background, although she, too, was embraced. She had had from him that smile that couldn’t be explained.
Something else was not explained: out of delicacy of feeling, among the family present, although all were aware of it. The Uncle has decided to take Ibrahim in; workshop manager? This means heir apparent. Of the vehicle repair workshop that has valuable contracts for maintenance of provincial government vehicles, the mayor’s fleet, whatever other notables this poor district has, and a franchise for sales of parts, a dealership in sales of both second-hand and new models of the best German and American cars. There is no son of the Uncle’s own begetting, alive, alas, and the son-in-law and prospective son-in-law of the educated daughters are not interested in learning the business by dirtying their hands — they want to have government positions, sitting on their backsides in air-conditioned offices in the capital. So when Uncle Yaqub retires — long may he be granted life in good health — and dies, Ibrahim will inherit the business, and live in a house with fine carpets and furniture in the style of gilt and velvet French kings used to have, with a maid to clean it all, as the house of the notable employs Maryam to do. That is Ibrahim’s blessed future. Al-Hamdu lillah. Praise be to God.
Chapter 32
Ibrahim has declined the offer to take charge of his Uncle’s workshop. The chance of a lifetime.
Are you crazy?
She had said to him, It might still be months before we get visas, at least you’d have something a bit more… I don’t know, responsible, in the meantime.
Meantime.
Permanent residence. That’s what it means.
Like I was back there, under somebody’s car.
You wouldn’t be doing any of that kind of work yourself, the way you are, helping out, now—
Telling the others to do it, yelling at them like my Uncle has to. Sticking my head under the bonnet to see if they’re doing it right, waiting for my Uncle to die. Are you crazy.
At night she felt him turning in bed, rubbing his feet one against the other in affront, in turmoil. And was afraid to comfort him in case she said the wrong thing, or made a gesture that could be interpreted as referring to some rejected aspect of a conflict within him. He had made the decision, why was he still tormenting himself? When she made a decision that was the end of it; of leaving The Suburbs, leaving the doll’s house and charades at the EL-AY Café: while they were waiting she was at peace, at her place in the desert. Yet she herself was not sure of her reactions to what had suddenly been thrust before him, never thought of, never. Something he had cast himself about the unwelcoming world to put far away as possible from his life. When he stood there, at bay: did she think he had already said no, the refusal had surged and burst, his heart was sending it through the vessels of his blood. Did she expect anything else?
Brooding in a bed in the dark has a kind of telepathy created by the contact of bodies when words have not been exchanged. Whether she might be asleep or awake — he spoke. You thought I would take it.
A faceless voice. I don’t know what I thought. Yes or no. Because there’s so much I don’t know — about you. I’ve found that out. Since we’ve been home here. You must understand, I’ve never lived in a family before, just made substitutes out of other people, ties, I suppose — though I didn’t realize that, either, then. There are … things … between people here, that are important, no, necessary to them… I don’t mean the way you are to me … that doesn’t fit in with anybody, anything else, and that’s all right, but … You could have reasons for ‘yes’ I couldn’t know about because they’re … unconnected with me, with you and me, d’you see?
So she’s talking of my mother. He does not discuss his mother with her; he will not.
She certainly did not know there would be another family gathering the week after his decision was made known. She was aware he must have told his mother of it before he told her — but that might have been because he believed she, his wife, surely must have known, from the moment the announcement was made by the Uncle, his decision was a foregone conclusion. Only in the dark had he come to the possibility of her betrayal — You thought I would take it.
The decision had been conveyed to the Uncle by his mother. It appeared that such a decision could not properly be made by a young man on his own. He had ignored the due process of discussion within the family of whatever reasons there could possibly be for a rebuff — an insult, considering the Uncle’s position in the family, in the whole community— of this nature.
The story of the amazing action of a young man from a poor family like their own, who had taken himself off to foreign countries and made nothing of himself there, come home with only a foreign wife to show for it, had gone from house to house and café to market stall, wafted up to homes of the few wealthy and important people — the wife who employed a member of the family inquisitively extracted inside information from her maid, the young man’s sister, Maryam.
The BMW outside the house again. There was no question of tea and sweetmeats, or the couple preferring to occupy the lean-to. He said, we have to be there, and they were seated, a little apart from the rest of the family, when the Uncle entered and everyone rose. His greetings were less mayoral, but proper.
It had come to the Uncle’s ears that his dear sister’s son and the son of his respected brother-in-law was getting mixed up in politics. Everyone agrees that a young man must have friends to meet and talk to, a little pleasure men enjoy away from the house and the women. His self-confidence allowed him to make a joke even in this situation, but nobody tittered; the men, knowing their indulgences, of which he hinted, smoking a bit of kif and taking alcohol in a disguised bar, the women wise in not enquiring where the men went at night, and all were subdued, as if sharing some sibling guilt for the brother’s misdemeanours that went beyond these. Well — kif and whisky and even the occasional woman — the Uncle had been young himself; he did not need to say what, for his manhood, he assumed was understood. But Ibrahim— his sister’s son like a son to him — it is known, it has now become known to him, and with sorrow, mixes with a certain crowd. This comes as a shock to his dear parents, and it is for them that a senior member of the family speaks now. This young man the whole family loves is spending his time with a type of malcontents who blame everything in their lives on others — on the authorities, on the government. Everything they do not have the ability to do for themselves, work hard as the older generation, his generation (a hand flat against his own breast), was willing to do, sacrifice, for the honour of the family, raise themselves up — all this is the fault of the government. Government owes them everything. The Lord has given them what a man needs to live a good life in the Faith, their families have educated them, they can marry and bring up children in security, there are no foreigners from Europe flying flags over our land any longer — what more do they want? They want to bring down the government, aoodhu billah. That’s the evil they want. They have in their heads the ideas that set brother against brother. They want to smash everything, and they don’t know — don’t they see what is happening in those countries that have done this? — a country ends up with nothing, everything lost. The young men already have so much that we, their parents, never had. And why not? We are glad of it. From outside, from progress. Isn’t it enough to have your car and cellphone and TV. What else is really worth having out there in the world of false gods?