Amir and Dalia were soothed by the drinks, made silent by the peanuts. Sammar shook the ice in her glass. It was one of the things she had missed in Aberdeen, ice cubes in drinks, the feel of a cool drink in the heat.
‘So what do you think of this dark country of ours?’ Waleed asked putting his hands behind his head. He meant the power cut.
‘Beautiful.’
He laughed. His laugh was loud and contagious.
‘At last you’ve gone mad,’ he said in between his laughter.
She smiled and said slowly, ‘I swear by Allah Almighty, I see it more beautiful than anywhere else.’ Because she had mentioned Allah her heart glowed and because she spoke the truth.
‘I’ll give you a couple more weeks,’ he said, ‘you’ll take Amir and run back.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not going to have a job to go back to. I’m here today to write my letter of resignation and send it off.’
‘Why are you going to do that?’ It was almost a yell. He sat forward in his chair, intense now, no longer laughing, ‘You must never do that. Do you think jobs are lying about waiting for people to pick them up? Do you think you’re going to find a job here?’
‘I’ll just have to try, Insha’ Allah I’ll find something.’ She flicked away some peanut husks that had fallen on her lap and wished she hadn’t told him. If his wife had been at home, he would have been more subdued, not so hyped-up. Now he went on and on.
‘What sort of work do you think you’re going to find?’
‘Maybe the “Erasing Illiteracy” programme…’
‘The pay will be nothing, nothing you could live on, you’ll just regret it. And you’ve never taught before…’
‘They’re desperate for people, they won’t fuss…’
‘Yes, they won’t fuss, but why, when you have a very good job already in Aberdeen, why give up a chance?’
‘I was supposed to be back at work last week. They’re probably wondering what happened to me.’
‘That’s not a reason to resign.’
She looked into her glass, melting ice, dark-golden Pepsi, ‘Living there wasn’t a great success.’
‘How couldn’t it be? You’re so fortunate. A good job, a civilised place. None of there power cuts and strikes and what not… What’s the matter with you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Just like that.’
‘Just like that.’ There was guilt in her voice, a kind of stubbornness. She could see the irony of the situation. She had the option of a life abroad and wanted to stay, while he was keen to leave and couldn’t.
She said as if to explain, ‘Being exiled isn’t very nice.’
‘If you took Amir with you, you wouldn’t be lonely and it would be good for him. You don’t know how schools here have become.’
‘I wouldn’t be able to handle him on my own.’ She wished she could explain how desolate it would be, her and Amir alone in Aberdeen. The long winter evenings, the small room they would live in, just them, the two of them, face to face, claustrophobic.
‘That’s rubbish. Here you’re handling Amir and Hanan’s children. Didn’t Aunt Mahasen fire the maid as soon as you came back?’
Sammar laughed relieved at the turn in the conversation. Waleed smiled reluctantly. She said, ‘No one fired anyone. The woman left, she just disappeared a week after I came back. And Aunt Mahasen hasn’t been able to find anyone else.’
‘Oh really,’ he said with sarcasm, ‘Aunt Mahasen and Hanan put together couldn’t find anyone.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said, ‘I truly don’t mind.’ The housework and Hanan’s children kept her busy, tired her out so that there was no time to dream at night.
‘How has she been with you?’ His voice was cautious now, the question tentative. If his wife had been at home he would not have asked.
‘Fine.’
‘You know that she kicked ‘Am Ahmed out of the house?’
Sammar shook her head, bit her lip. It was all her fault. He didn’t deserve that. She wondered how many people knew the whole story, almost a scandal. The elderly religious man, already married with two wives, setting his eyes on a young widow, her husband not yet a year in his grave. And the foolish girl did not turn him down straightaway. Instead she said she would consider it. An educated girl like her!
‘What happened?’ Her voice was quiet with reluctance, as if she didn’t really want to know.
Waleed shifted in his chair. ‘He came for a visit. I was there. It was the Eid, some time after you left. We were all just sitting there normally then Mahasen suddenly turned on him and shouted, don’t ever set foot in my house again; Tarig’s wife will never be yours… And on and on.’
‘Oh my Lord.’
‘Yes, it was unpleasant. We went and apologised to him later, me and Hanan. He was staying with his brother in Safia.’
‘Hanan never told me about this.’
‘There’s no need. The whole matter is finished. I think he doesn’t come to Khartoum so often now. Business isn’t what it used to be. I’ve lost touch with him. He was cordial enough with us when we went to apologise, but things can’t be the same again.’
‘He’s a good person,’ she said. He was a life-long family friend. When she was young, he used to lift her up to sit on top of his van, he used to give her sweets. She was never afraid of him.
‘What he did was an exaggeration.’ Waleed’s tone was dismissive.
She didn’t say anything and he went on, ‘I was just concerned with how Aunt Mahasen is with you. If you’re comfortable living with her. Especially if you’re insisting on not going back to Aberdeen.’
‘She never speaks about what happened. As for living with her, Amir and I both have a share in the house. It’s our right to be there.’ At one time the house was shared between Mahasen, Hanan and Tarig. After Tarig’s death Mahasen’s share increased, Hanan’s remained the same, Sammar inherited a share and to Amir went the biggest portion. The biggest in comparison to the others, but it was less than half of the house. None of them had the cash to buy the others out. If they sold the house and divided the money, it would not be enough for each of them to get a decent place elsewhere.
‘It’s not really the custom,’ Waleed said, ‘for a widow to live with her in-laws. It’s as if you’re giving the signal to everyone that you don’t want to get married again.’
‘It doesn’t matter… I don’t really care what signal people get.’
He looked sad all of a sudden and when he spoke his voice was softer, childlike, her baby brother of long ago. ‘I’m sorry, Sammar. I’m sorry that I’m your only family left and I can’t take you and Amir in…’
The thought of her and Amir living with Waleed and his wife in their new flat was ridiculous enough to make her want to laugh out loud. But she controlled herself and in the silence caught some of Waleed’s change of mood. His words ‘I’m your only family left’, and an awareness of their long-dead parents, a longing for them and what they could have offered.
‘I’ve been sitting here,’ she finally said to tease him, ‘thinking you want to get rid of me and send me back to Aberdeen. Instead you want me and Amir right here with you, so that your wife will go mad and return to her father’s house.’
He frowned and became his own irritated self, ‘Of course you have to go back to your job in Aberdeen…’
She tousled his hair and gave him a hug. The neon light above their head buzzed, glowed and came on. Some of the streetlights blinked. ‘Hey,’ yelled the children and rushed indoors to the light of the sitting room.
The computer was on the dining table, swathed in plastic covers. The printer, similarly covered, was on the nearby sideboard. Sammar pulled out the dining chair that faced the monitor and sat down. The end of the power cut brought with it noisiness; the loud television, the purr of the air cooler, and from the bathroom she could hear the toilet filling up with water.