Chapter 17
'Zimbabwe,' said Samia to herself, smiling. She was on a different bus, in the opposite direction this time. She didn't think that her humiliation could get any worse until the bus driver, using body language, pointed in the opposite direction so she could retrace her steps. That's what she did, and was now on her way back, looking out both windows every second, looking for the stop. Such an obvious solution to her problem but she didn't think of it. She was so embarrassed. But she wouldn't have had to embarrass herself like that if that Somali boy, Xemi, hadn't pretended that he was from Zimbabwe and refused to help her. 'Jamaica too! Jamaica! He must think I'm crazy.' Her smile got deeper. 'He thinks he can hide from me? But for what? How dreadful that experience was and that's how they will remember me.' She kept her eyes on the windows while musing to herself. A man was not far from her, eating a sandwich, taking big chunks at a time. Such large, unnecessary mouthfuls; a sorry spectacle which she wasn't looking directly at, but of which she was acutely aware of, ticking her off even more. 'Disgusting,' she said to herself, wishing she could close her eyes, but then she saw that it was her stop. She got off, cursing Xemi, asking herself what his problem was. 'How can I find out where his family is from, to see if I can't…' Samia had retribution in her sights. 'Zimbabwe!' she snorted as she opened the door to her daughter's house. Samia was taken aback to see a visitor in her daughter's house. An Englishman who looked at Samia with the same surprise in his eyes. He then turned to Farhia who was sitting on the same sofa. The man had in front of him a questionnaire.
'Who is this?' he asked.
Farhia's English was limited but good enough to deal with a visit from the local government.
'My mother.'
'And she lives -'
'No, no. She's from Somalia. She's a tourist. For a short time.'
'Oh…how long?' the man asked as he made a note on his questionnaire. Farhia frowned at the note but answered:
'Some weeks. Maybe two or three.'
'Oh. Long time. Almost like a…short term tenant.'
'Sorry?'
'Not to worry.' He started packing up his things. 'I wish you a good day,' he said to Farhia. 'And you a good visit,' he said, turning to Samia.
'What's going on?' asked Samia. 'Should I go upstairs?'
'No,' said Farhia as she got up to let the inspector out.
'What was that guy doing here?' Samia asked Farhia when she came back.
'He?' she said dreamily, as she went to the sound system and pressed play. 'He is from the council. They come around sometimes to see what we are up to. It's because they pay for the house.'
'Oh?'
Farhia noted her youngest who was in front of the TV, looking around, getting restless.
She got up, went to the kitchen and came back with a sugar drink and some sweets.
'Here, boy, don't you move or speak.'
The boy took what he was given and turned back to TV.
'I hate when they come around. Especially that guy.'
'And why do they keep coming ?'
'To make sure everything is as it should be.'
'I don't understand why…'
'I said they pay for everything,' Farhia cut through irritatedly.
'They pay for what? I thought he had a job.'
'His bus driver salary pays for one, maybe two children. We have six so they pay for the rest. And in return they give us visits to make sure we don't 'abuse' anything. Like the children are not mine, or don't live with me! I hate the questions that they ask; and I shake when I'm around them. But that guy is definitely the worst. His energy is like he wants to catch me out.'
'You should be in Somalia like I said all along. Somalis aren't made to answer questions. Over there no one asks anyone anything because they know it won't be answered. We're not made to answer questions.'
'Haha!'
Samia laughed too.
'Yah! Not until final judgement does a Somali wish to answer! Until then, embarrassment is a permanent feature of life. Even today I tried asking some Somali boy a question because I got lost and he pretended to be from Zimbabwe.'
'Zimbabwe?'
'And Jamaica! If only, if only,' she laughed softly. 'If only I had my reading glasses I would have been able to read him better, along with the situation. If only I had - he made a fool of me. Not till final judgement!'
'Tomorrow is Abdi's judgment, isn't it?' said Farhia with a frown.
'I want to know who he and his family are so I can demand an explanation,' continued Samia in a light tone, but despite her light tone she was growing more incensed at the slight. 'How could he disregard me like that? It may even be that he's from my family. Imagine! His grandmother.' The angrier she got the more clearer Xemi's face was in front of her. 'He even looked afraid when I asked him. What was he afraid of? Fuck his father, afraid of what, of an old lady?'
'Did they say anything about the judgement, hoyo?'
'This is wrong. He should have answered me. Did I not look distressed enough? We are both Somalis but even on a human level-'
'Hoyo?
'Yah?'
'The trial?'
'I have no idea. I'm there everyday but don't know what is going on there. He might even have been condemned yesterday for all I know.'
'They tell you formally when it's time. They say 'guilty' or 'not guilty.''
''Guilty or 'not guilty'', she repeated in English.
'Did you hear those words yesterday?' Farhia said quickly, frightened now.
'I don't think so…'
'No. It's tomorrow. I'm sure it's tomorrow. Tomorrow we will find out.'
The next day Farhia traveled along with her mother and her youngest to the courthouse for the end of the trial, hopeful, nervous but resigned nonetheless. Samia reflexively looked at the parking lot again but didn't see the new couple. Despite her moral revulsion she was disappointed that she didn't see them again as she was curious at how she would find them, at how they would express their emotions. Deep, deep down in her soul, she envied the emotions the judge felt, that Samia herself had never felt nor would ever feel, emotions which belonged to romance, of passion. But one emotion that she did know of and felt was a sense of nationalism and pride because this romance was between a high placed white woman and a seemingly delinquent young Somali. It offset some of the outrage and envy that she was feeling and the humiliations that she had seen Somalis undergo which included herself and the trial of her grandson.
The first thing they did when they sat down was get their prayer beads out, Farhia having brought hers at Samia's insistence. As soon as Farhia got hers out though, her kid made a pass for it, to play with, which Samia noted with satisfaction as a sign of budding religiosity. Her daughter's household was altogether a little too irreligious in her mind. The trial resumed while Samia found the peace that the beads gave her, which Farhia did not get to experience. She didn't even have her beads in her hand anymore as she had given them to the child entirely. Her mother had peace, while Farhia had restlessness, staring at the speakers and the accused in turn. They were making their final statements, both the defense and the prosecutor, with the judge and jury watching on. Samia saw the Muslim woman in the jury again and always had the feeling that the lady was praying along with her. Once they had finished the speeches the jury was sent out to deliberate. Both parties of the trial along with the judge would wait in the courtroom until they had come to an agreement about a verdict. It was time to wait, and perhaps for a considerable time too and with this in mind, with the guards posted at the doors, the accused was allowed to sit with his family in the gallery.
He walked with quick, easy strides and greeted both women and his youngest brother with a kiss on the hand as he sat on the bench in front of them. But no sooner had he sat down, than he turned around again for the usher had returned, and he was told to go back. The jury had made their decision. It was quicker than expected and his easy manner had dissolved into tremulousness when he walked away.
The order of jurists had changed. They had been seated in the same places all the way through but two people had changed places. The Muslim woman who had been in the first seat closest to the judge, had moved to one at the back. She had swapped with a younger man who had always been wearing a suit which did nothing for his boyishness. He still looked outlandishly young. He was now in the seat next to the judge and he was the one who rose and spoke the jury's verdict. Composed, he began when there was a loud noise in the court room which made everyone turn to the public gallery. Everyone looked at Farhia who had banged her head on the wooden bench in front of her, everyone except the foreman who was steadfast in his mission, composed still. He delivered his verdict inflating his chest, booming his voice louder, a voice of judgement that called attention and read out the verdict of guilty on all charges, including that of murder. Farhia looked back up, resigned. She knew a damn prayer was worthless even if she cracked her head open for it.
Chapter 18
'Tell the truth, King, have you seen a spear?'
'I have been to Africa and lived there. I haven't seen a single spear !'
'But how long were you there for? King was there his whole life. Let's be honest; educated man to educated man. He's seen a spear before.'
Richard talked in a reasonable tone with Xemi but virtually shouted at King.
'If he has seen one, so what?' Xemi asked, narrowing his eyes. 'Why all these tropes, original man?'
Richard snorted while an exasperated Xemi continued:
'Look at the pan africanist legacy of the Carribbean people and here we have a Jamaican man denigrating the continent they came from. Your skin is as dark as they come. You're blacker than King, brother. Why are you talking like that?'
'No I'm not. How am I darker?'
Richard ambled to King, clumsy with his size twelve feet and huge mass of body, forcefully taking hold of King's right arm and lowering his own so people could make a comparison. Richard's hands were bigger than King's huge arms.
'Look who is darker. Who is darker!' he shouted to a white customer. She didn't know what to say and then laughed in embarrassment, touching her glasses with her fingertips after brushing her flushed cheeks. What could she say or do? Xemi looked at Hyacinthe who had been preoccupied all day but now scowled with extreme distaste at the spectacle, which looked like someone exhorting a white woman to choose between two black men so she can buy one to take home. Xemi himself was slightly bemused.
'Which black man do you think she will choose?' he asked Hyacinthe.
Hyacinthe ignored his question and muttered:
'My father invites me to come see him in Portugal.'
'Oh... And you asked him if you could?'
'Yes.'
Xemi didn't know what sickened him more. Hyacinthe begging for love or Richard debasing himself because of hate.
'Are you going ?' he asked her.
'I don't know but my sister says she will.'
Xemi had met her sister before.
'If your sister is going maybe you should go too,' he began nonchalantly. 'And take me with you.'
'You want to come ?' she asked indifferently, hiding her pleasure.
Xemi stared at Richard who was now dragging King from one person to another asking them who was darker. His unsmiling face looked for Xemi in triumph. His thin lips, fleshless, were European and in his opinion his best features.
'God, do I want to leave this place!'
They asked and were granted two weeks holiday a month from then, in high summer, to go to Portugal.
He went home and was in his bed reading the Karamazov brothers. He had arrived at the chapter about Kolya Krastokin, laughing out loud at the little grandiloquent orator, when he received a knock on the door. It was Emily. He was so engrossed with the narrative that he forgot to pull his sheets over his naked body before he told her to come in and quickly did it as she came in. He was sure that she didn't see anything. He told her to have a seat at a desk while he continued to lay down with an exposed torso holding back his laughter. She smiled at his smothered amusement, which made his eyes shine with tears.
'I really like your girlfriend. We should all be good friends. Maybe we could go to a club together, and disco dance,' Emily asked excitedly.
'You never been to one?' he answered, letting out a little laugh that he had succeeded in stifling for the most part. Kolya's absurd grandiloquence was still on his mind and the funny way Emily spoke increased his mirth.
'No.'
'What about the people at your university? What do you do together?'
'I don't know - they don't really talk to me. I don't have many friends.'
Xemi had the wry smile at being told something personal he already knew.
'Why didn't you go with your boyfriend?'
'He doesn't like doing these kinds of things.'
'What does he like?'
She took a moment to ponder.
'You know he left me once?'
'For another woman? Where ? Here ?'
'He found her on Facebook. Some girl, sixteen years old.'
Emily now had his full attention.
'What did you do?'
She shrugged her shoulders.
'I went back to Kazakhstan. What can I do? I sent her dirty messages on Facebook like 'you bitch!'' pointing like her adversary was right in front of her.
'Oh you know her?' His eyes lit up. 'Show me what she looks like.'
She went on Xemi's laptop and immediately found the girl's profile. She brought his laptop to him and then sat down on the bed. He took it and greedily rushed through the photo albums.
'Haha, she's so average.'
'I think he liked the fact she was young.'
'But you're together now?'
'Yes. The girl was only after money. He asked me to take him back and I agreed. So I came back here. But I don't think he treats me right.'
'Doesn't he buy you flowers?'
'No, never!'
'He's not treating you right.'
'I should be a princess, but I'm a plaything to him. He cheated on me before and...' leaving the rest of the sentence up in the air.
Xemi frowned and dread entered him. 'She better not tell me anything that isn't salacious,' he told himself, and was about to shift the direction of conversation when, staring at the ceiling, she said:
'One time I went to sleep and I woke up with the whole pillow full of blood.' Trapped in the memory, she was looking at her hand like the blood smear was still present. 'Is that how you treat a princess?' she demanded indignantly.
Xemi pursed his lips together and almost smashed the book against the wall. He thought that this was one of the most selfish confessions he had ever heard. A useless moral burden because for one, he would refuse to accept it and two, because she knew he wouldn't. Besides, he liked the man. Her confession could only affect his relationship with him and not her relationship with him. So what was the point?
'I hope you find the strength to leave him,' he forced himself to say in propriety.
'But how? How can I do it?' she cried despairingly.
'He left you once, why can't you do the same to him?'
The matter was simple, obvious and clear to him. He wasn't attractive but she had a sweetness that was appealing to so many. He couldn't even see why they were together in the first place. Furthermore he was at least ten years older in body and spirit.
'But he took my virginity. Who will have me now?'
Xemi burst out laughing.
'Honey, that's not a concern in this country.'
'But Khazaks care about it. I'm looking for a Khazak man. Or at least a Muslim man.'
'I guess you're stuck then.'
Minutes passed in silence as Xemi kept glancing at the dialogue of the book, smiling, wishing more than anything that he could return to it, because the book's dialogue makes real-life dialogue appear so vexing, pointless even, especially his stupid real-life conversation with Emily which would lead to nothing beside sentimentality. She was preoccupied with thought, her fingers lightly touching her chin. Then she suddenly blurted out:
'I want to get drunk. Go buy a bottle for us.'
'Perezvon ici...' Xemi read, tearing himself from the page, to look at her steadily and observed that she was more child than woman.
'Have you ever drank before?'
'Yes. But I have never been drunk.'
'Let's do it. But you pay for it,' he told her, thinking it would end the matter as she would not have the resolution to buy it herself. Xemi felt he would be lower than a murderer if he paid for her to get drunk.
'No, you,' she replied, moving towards him laughing, playfully pushing his extended arms away, extended to ward her off. Now she was almost on top of him. She looked at the sheet covering the lower part of his body, the smile vanishing from her face.
'She's at her most vulnerable,' Xemi rapidly considered, 'but she came to me. Her boyfriend is home and I don't know how loud she will be. Will I take this chance?'
