Minaret: A Novel (29 page)

She looks taken aback as if she expected a different response. It is odd that she is not talking about Tamer. Surely he is more important than me. She puts her cup on the table and says, `I really came to apologize for what Lamya did. She can be hot-tempered sometimes. She behaved very badly with you and I'm sorry ...'

I interrupt her. `Doctora Zeinah, it is enough that you are visiting me. You don't need to apologize. I regard her as my sister and Mai as my daughter. She lost her temper and I did not take offence.'

She looks at me seriously, almost brooding. `Lamya's always been a hit stiff. She sees things in black and white, no compromises for her. I often used to wish that she was the boy and Tamer the girl.'

I smile at what I regard as a humorous remark but she does not smile back. Instead she continues. `I don't know what she's going to do with these problems she's having with her husband. I tell her she has to be diplomatic, she has to give and take. For the sake of Mai, at least.'

I am curious to know of Lamya's problems. She satisfies my curiosity. `Hisham has been seeing some other woman and, when Lamya confronted him, he said it was all her fault for leaving him and staying in London.'

I absorb this piece of news. I am touched that she is confiding in me. In a sense it brings me closer to her, to Tamer, to being part of a family again.

`Tamer never liked Hisham,' she continues. `From the beginning he just never took to him. I don't know why.'

'Because he is not fooled by appearances, because he can look deep into people.' I sound fervent, perhaps too fervent. I can tell by how she shifts in her chair that I have made her uncomfortable. We should talk about him now. This is why she is here, isn't it?

But she says, `Lamya has to be diplomatic - please him and please herself. That way she can both keep her husband and get her PhD.'

`Of course,' I murmur.

`My daughter's not easy.' She shakes her head and sighs. `Problems. Children get older and their problems grow with them.'

`Insha' Allah they will he solved soon.'

She picks up her handbag, opens it and takes out a cheque. `Lamya owes you money. Here's your month's salary and some compensation for what happened.' She puts the cheque on the table. I glance at the figure. I blink and look again. My voice comes out in a gasp, almost a laugh. `This is much more than I usually get. There must he some mistake.'

She shifts in her seat, shakes her head with impatience. When she speaks, she speaks as if I am stupid. `There is no mistake. This is all for you.'

I stare back at her. She picks up the cheque, she moves her hands emphatically. `This is a compensation for you because you are not going to work for us again and because my son has made you promises he is incapable of keeping. You will have nothing to do with our family again. Do you understand what I am saying There is a tremble in her voice. It weakens the impact of her words.

`I'm sorry,' my voice is cool, `but I don't understand you.

`You are pretending you don't understand me!' Her face is a deep colour.

`No. I am not.'

It is a turning point. Tears come to her eyes. She shifts to sit at the edge of her seat. `You will take this money and stay away from my son! Just take it and leave him alone. You're ruining him, ruining him.' She struggles to compose herself, to stop the flow of tears. Her attachment to him is so deep it is like he had never left her and now she is afraid, afraid of losing hlne.

I move to sit beside her, to put my arm around her shoulder. She feels damp; she is perspiring. I say, 'Don't upset yourself. Everything will work out.'

If you take the money,' she snaps at me, if you leave hint alone.'

She can't understand what Tamer sees in nle. She doesn't want to understand. I withdraw my arm. I and of no use to her. She does not want me; she is not accepting me. 1 had been naive to think she would. She is breathing hard and takes a tissue from her handbag. 'I can't sleep at night for worry.' She sniffs. 'What is going to become of him? He fails his exams and instead of applying himself and working hard, he imagines himself in love. And with who? You're old enough to he his mother even if you don't look it! And lie tells inc the Prophet, peace he upon him, married Khadijah and she was fifteen years older than him. Is this an argument? We live now, not then. And when I reason with hint, he storms out of the house and for one whole day puts his mobile off so I can't reach him!'

Her words pour over nee and I remember my mother speaking like that, crying about Onear. That was the good tiles, when she would let it all out. Most tepees She Couldn't speak.

'Tamer's always been a good boy. Good in his studies, not brilliant enough to go into .Medicine or Engineering but hardworking and diligent. He did his best. There was no wildness in Illlll, no nagging us to get him a car, no girlfriends, no staying out late. What do parents worry about? Drugs - he wasn't anywhere near that. What a relief, we thought, that he's sober and religious. Being religious is good; it protects him though sometimes we worried maybe he'll become fanatical ...'

I wait for her to finish, to spend herself. I sit immobile, my hands in my lap, looking at the cheque on the table. I can go on Hajj with this money, I can get a plane to Mecca, stay in a nice hotel not far from the Ka'ba - I can enjoy myself. I can get a degree with this money, go to university with Shahinaz and become a mature student. I can help Omar next month when he comes out of prison. Maybe he can he persuaded to become a student. The more she talks the more frustrated I become, because she is really talking about herself and not about Tamer.

`Once or twice he did sound fanatical, nagging me and Lamya to wear the hijab, making a fuss because I smoked - but he kept his limits, he was never extreme. We regarded him as a minor irritation. At times I worried that he was spending too much time at the mosque. Maybe, I thought, a terrorist group would mess up his mind and recruit him but thankfully he's not interested in politics, so that's a relief. And now this, out of nowhere, he wants to marry the maid!'

He is better than her and she will not acknowledge it. I see this clearly now. She is an obstacle to his spiritual growth or, more precisely, her disapproval is. She is a test for him and he will have to pass. I will not let him fail. I will not let her curse him, not like nw mother cursed Omar. I remember how he shook her shoulders, shouting, `Give me my money. It's my money!' I saw fear, stark genuine fear in her eves. And she used to feed him when he was little, scoop him in her arms. When he got what he wanted from her and stormed out of the flat, she said, `I hope he is never ever successful. I hope he is never ever happy.' She spoke without anger, without bitterness, calmly like a judge Passing a sentence. This is how a mother can curse her son.

I pick LIP the cheque and say, This is not enough.' She misunderstands me of course; she thinks I want more money.

Yes,' she says eagerly, this is what I have been trying to tell you. If von stay as far away from him as possible, if you leave London and go hack to Khartoum, I will help you even more. In Khartoum I can find von a place to live, set you LIP in a business. Your own nursery school or ...

Going hack is not an option for me. I can't leave my brother ...'

'But he can join you. Why not' It would he good for hlnl too . .

The extent to which she is prepared to go! It shakes me. It makes nle fear and pity her. I interrupt her flow of bribes. You didn't understand me. When I said it is not enough I meant that it is not enough that I keep away from hint. He has to he convinced. And von too have to sacrifice and help hint solve his problems.'

'What problems

She doesn't know. She doesn't know that he has his own frustrations and view of the world. She doesn't know that he is not all extension of her.

I tell her. And by telling her I give hint LIP. I Put the key in her hand. Perhaps she will not do what I say, perhaps she will. She is an intelligent wonlall. She pulls herself together and listens.

don't believe you,' he says. He looks worse today, fuzzy from lack of proper sleep, almost gaunt. His clothes haven't been washed and his shirt is rumpled. He has run out of clean socks and now his trainers chafe against his hare ankles and irritate him.

I repeat what I've said before. His mother is willing to allow him to change his course of studies. She will talk to his father and persuade him.

`You don't have to do your re-sits, Tamer. You don't have to study Business. You can study what you want, wherever you want.'

He breathes out. It is almost like a laugh. He shakes his head in wonder. `You convinced her of this. You made her change her mind!'

`Yes,' I say, looking away. The hard bit is yet to come, the painful hit. Now he must feel relief. I must let it seep through him, this breath of relief; the burden of studying what he doesn't want easing away. And the triumph that his exile from home has yielded something. I must let him feel satisfied for the moment.

`Swear,' he says, still smiling, gaping with disbelief, `swear that my mom has given in.'

`I swear.'

`You are so kind, so good to me.'

`No, you are the one who deserves it.'

`You are so gentle, the way you speak.

Tears come to my eyes. We are talking about you, not me. You have to start thinking of 'our future.'

`I used to be vague about the degree I wanted to study for. I knew it wasn't Business and I knew that it would include Islamic History. Sometimes, out of boredom, I would read prospectuses and stuff in the university library and look up things on the Internet. And now I know the name of the degree I want - it's called Middle East Studies. It's different disciplines: history, economics, geography, language - it's multidisciplinary.'

I smile to see him animated, to see him looking forward. His enthusiasm nourishes me. This is the real you,' I say. 'I love seeing you like this. Now you have to research whether you need to transfer to another university, or whether you can stay where you are.'

`But I have to go home first,' he says, moving to sit at the edge of the bench. Already he wants to go to her, to patch up his quarrel and bask once again in her approval. I feel a pang of envy but I can keep it under control, I am not finished with him yet, I am working now, working on him. So I smile. `You really must beg your mother's forgiveness. You hurt her by leaving the house.'

'I know.' He speaks lightly, already thinking of something else.

`No, you don't know. She has been sick with worry over you.'

Something in my voice makes him look at me. is that all she wants - for me to come home?'

'What do you mean?' I am playing for time. I am reluctant to go on.

`In return for allowing me to study what I want - all I have to do is come hack home?' He is beginning to suspect. Even while he asks the question, he is unsure.

`And you have to he realistic about certain things. Sometimes . . .

`Stop it. What did she say about you? What did she say about us getting married?'

I fear his anger, his disapproval of me. But there is no way out now. I take a breath. `She said it can't be. She asked me to leave you and I said yes.'

He cries. It is instant. The tears, his shoulders shaking. He weeps and I suffer. It is as if my skin is being grated from the inside, frustrating and intent.

`You tricked me,' he says, `you tricked me. You are so mean, so mean.'

I can't defend myself. He will never cry like this again. It is the end of his childhood. In the future it will be manly tears, manly pains, but not these sobs. He leaves me and half-runs, half-walks in the direction of his home. He will go to her now, he needs her now, her arms around him, the comfort and relief.

I sit, twisted by cruelty. An hour passes but time means nothing. I can still hear his voice, smell him. I can still see the confusion in his eyes, the way he looked at me as if I were a criminal.

I walk across the park towards Baker Street. In the bank I deposit the cheque Doctora Zeinab had written out for me. As I fill in the payment slip, I realize that the amount is exactly the same as the sum I lent Anwar, years ago, to do his PhD. He had never paid me hack, not even part of it. Over time I had accepted this loss as a penalty, the fine I had to pay to extract myself. Now, in this strange way, I am getting my money hack.