She had never, not once, prayed that he would become a Muslim for his own sake, for his own good. It had always been for herself, her need to get married again, not be alone. If she could rise above that, if she would clean her intentions. He had been kind to her and she had given him nothing in return. She would do it now from far away without him ever knowing. It would be her secret. If it took ten months or ten years or twenty or more.
20
This is my first Ramadan since I came back,’ she said, in answer to Waleed’s question.
‘Yes, you weren’t with us last year,’ said Mahasen as she reached for another piece of bread. Sammar had cut the loaves into small portions. Such thin loaves these days, shrinking while their price threatened to go up.
The three of them were eating in the garden. No electric lights competed with the moon, no garden lights. The candle Sammar had brought from inside was unnecessary and she blew it out.
It was the middle of the month of Ramadan and the moon was full. From tomorrow it would shrink and lose itself. When the new crescent appeared it would be the end of Ramadan. The end of fasting, visitors saying Eid Mubarak and new clothes for the children.
It was unusual to be alone with Waleed and Mahasen, without anyone else, without the children. Hanan and her family were with their in-laws and they had taken Amir with them. It was supposed to be only Sammar and Mahasen breaking the fast together but at the first words of the sunset azan, before they had time to eat any dates, the door bell rang. When Sammar dragged open the garden gate, it was Waleed. She had been so pleased to see him and surprised, that she hugged him and he said, ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘What’s the matter with you coming alone without your wife?’
‘She’s eating with her parents,’ he said and nothing more. Sammar didn’t ask him why he had not gone too, it became busy with the three of them breaking their fast, dates and kerkedeh, her aunt saying to Waleed, ‘If we knew you were coming we would have made grapefruit juice.’
After Sammar put the jug of kerkedeh back in the fridge and threw away the date stones, they prayed. They prayed together with Waleed leading and Sammar and Mahasen standing close, their arms and clothes touching. Mahasen’s movements were slow when she bent down, knelt down and put her forehead on the mat. Sammar felt Waleed deliberately pausing, slowing his pace so that Mahasen could keep up. When they finished praying there was a power cut. The sudden silence of the air cooler, the sudden loss of the lights, the fan slowing down. In the stillness and faint glow of sunset, Sammar counted on her fingers twenty-seven times, There is no god but Allah and I seek forgiveness from Allah for my wrongs and for believing men and believing women…
Her aunt’s voice was loud in the room, ‘Allah curse them and their day, is this a time for this?’ ‘Them’ was the electricity company and the government, the two inseparable to Mahasen. She went on, ‘They’ve made us hate life…’ The room without the air cooler was gradually getting warm but they could still see each other without the lights.
Waleed stood up and folded his prayer mat. ‘Aunt, the supplication of the one who is fasting is granted,’ he smiled. ‘The electricity company must be in a bad way by now.’
‘The whole neighborhood is cursing them,’ said Mahasen standing up.
Sammar took the mat from Waleed and picked up hers and her aunt’s off the floor. It seemed to her funny if the whole neighborhood was really cursing the company, all that energy rising up in the sunset air. Some people were so serious about power cuts. Like her aunt, getting angry to the core.
‘Let’s eat outside in the garden, Aunt,’ she said and Mahasen sighed and nodded in agreement. Since that bad day when Mahasen had said, ‘You killed my son,’ the relationship between them had strangely improved, mellowed. It was as if Mahasen had said the worst she could possibly say and there were no more accusations after that.
In the kitchen, by candlelight, Sammar heated the food, her shadow swinging huge against the walls. The kitchen was hot and airless without the fan and she could hear the cockroaches stir and dart across the floor. But once they were seated outside, cushions on the chairs, a tablecloth on the wobbly table and there was a breeze, the food tasted good and it felt better than indoors. Much better than a normal day eating indoors with the air cooler and all the lights.
‘Last Ramadan,’ said Mahasen, scooping up stew with her piece of bread, ‘not once did the electricity cut. Things are supposed to get better and they just get worse.’
Waleed did not speak much when he was eating. Grunts of agreement with his aunt and, ‘Pour me water, Sammar.’ He looked tired, she thought, not just the normal tiredness from fasting. He might have quarrelled with his wife and that was why he had not gone with her to her parents. Instead he was here with them today and Mahasen was being tactful, not asking questions, glad to see him. Mahasen could be surprisingly tactful when it suited her. Waleed’s presence livened her up. If it had been only her and Sammar, she would have been silent and withdrawn.
When they finished eating, Sammar carried the dishes to the kitchen and made tea. She put mint leaves in the pot, topped the sugar bowl with sugar. She put the candle on the tray to make her way back outside, walked from the kitchen to the hall to the sitting room, holding the tray with one hand and opening the door to the porch with another, closing it behind her so that stray cats would not creep in. On the porch there was the grey light of the moon on the pots of cactus plants and dark bougainvillea. She could blow out the candle now, walk down the steps of the porch to the voices of her aunt and Waleed.
The peace of sitting with them and not talking, not even listening while they talked. Waleed expansive now after the meal and with a glass of tea in his hand, making Mahasen smile. This good feeling was because of Ramadan, because of eating and drinking after fasting all day when the sun was too hot and it was thirst more than hunger, and not wanting to speak to anyone, economising words, saying what was only necessary, what was only enough to get by. A whole month free like that and looking up at the round moon, knowing that the month was half way through, two weeks and the focus would be gone. The closeness to the depth would be gone.
Tonight, like last night and every night until the end of Ramadan, she would wake up hours before dawn, pray once and again, read the Qur’an. This was the time of night when prayers were answered, this was the time of year…
‘Sammar, isn’t Nahla’s fiancé working for Abu Dhabi’s electricity company?’ asked her aunt.
‘Qatar, not Abu Dhabi. He’s in Doha now.’
‘So he managed to get a good job after all.’ There was admiration in Waleed’s voice, envy under control.
‘Yes, after fuss and quarrels and they had to postpone the wedding twice,’ said Mahasen. ‘That girl was supposed to get married months ago and now she’s still sitting.’
‘Working for Qatar’s national electricity company is a very good job,’ said Waleed. ‘How did he get it?’
‘Someone who knew someone,’ said Sammar.
‘Of course someone knew someone,’ he said, not unkindly, ‘but who?’
‘I don’t know. I could find out for you.’
‘I was just asking,’ he said dismissively and finished his glass of tea.
‘They’re not going to get married until December,’ said Sammar addressing her aunt. ‘Nahla told me yesterday. They have the visa to sort out and she has re-sits. She wants to graduate before she goes there.’