Minaret: A Novel (4 page)

I did not have to wait for long. One of Omar's friends asked me to dance and, leaving Randa, we made our way to the centre of the dance floor. White smoke rose up from the floor just like in Saturday Night Fever. I twirled around so that my earrings swayed and the arms of the others dancers brushed against mine.

Unfortunately, after Boney M came the Bee Gees with 'How Deep is Your Love' and the numbers on the dance floor dwindled to no more than five couples. Warm from dancing, I went and bought myself a Pepsi then I searched the tables exchanging 'hi's until I found Randa sitting with Omar and the ever-serious Amir. His glasses flashed in the darkness, hiding his eyes; Randa was smiling hopefully.

So how's the university?' she was asking him.

`All right,' he drawled.

'When do you get to carry that T-shaped ruler?' I asked. The Architecture students were always a striking sight on the campus, walking around with that ruler.

`Next year.' His boredom was infectious. I gave up and sat hack in my chair, poured Pepsi in my glass and watched the dancers. Some couples danced very close, others moved awkwardly at arm's length. Sundari and the marine were of the very close type - his hands locked around her small waist, brushed by the fall of her hair. She lifted her head from his shoulders, moved her head hack and said something to him. He smiled. I imagined myself dancing with Anwar and then told myself not to he stupid, this was exactly the sort of thing he despised; Western music, Western ways. I had not told Randa about him. She would not understand. Yes, she would agree that he was handsome, but he was not one of us, not like us ... And a member of the Democratic Front; she would not even know what the Front was.

Omar offered Amir a cigarette. A gust of wind suddenly blew, ruffling the tablecloth. It would be winter soon, we'd wear cardigans and it would be too cold to swim.

Randa suddenly blurted out, `I'm leaving next month.'

`What!' from me and Omar, simultaneously. `Where are you going?' Question after question from me and Omar.

Amir didn't raise an eyebrow or speak. She answered us while her eyes were on him, watching his reaction, testing him.

`I'm going to England to do A levels.'

`But I thought you were going to sit your 0 levels again and try to get into Khartoum University ...'

`My parents want me to leave.'

`Just like my cousin Samir,' said Omar. `He didn't make it and gets to go abroad. And we get stuck here.' He looked at Amir for support or at least an acknowledgement of the irony. There was no response.

`Oh Randa, I'm so upset.' All through secondary school, I had hoped we would be together in university. When her grades weren't good enough, I had hoped she would try again and join me next year. I had made dreams that we would be together, that she would meet Anwar; that she would learn what the Front was.

`I can come back after A levels.' A hardness was in her voice. And suddenly her hair glitter and lip gloss weren't as nice as before.

`What do you think Amir?' She turned to him again, voice a little sharp, focused.

He shrugged. `Why not?'

`Exactly, why not?' She sat back in her chair.

That was it then, he didn't care. I hurt for her and that was mixed up with the shock that she was going away. Would she want me to go with her to the bathroom now, would she cry? There was a distracted expression on her face.

`Conte on Omar, let's dance,' she said.

There was a pause as my brother registered what she was saying, and hesitated, deciding between extinguishing his cigarette or taking it with him. I looked down at the ground. They walked to the dance floor, blocking my view of Sundari and her marine. I did not watch them dance and instead surrendered to the Bee Gees' sickly lyrics. Arnir didn't speak and I finished my Pepsi, crunching every hit of ice. I was waiting for the slow songs to end, waiting for Omar and Randa to come hack.

After the party, I went to her house. Omar dropped us and went off to another party, a private one this time - some seedy affair he didn't want to take me too. They were getting more frequent these mysterious outings of his, and so were the places and new friends I was not part of.

At Randa's house, her parents were having a dinner. To avoid them, we went in through the kitchen door, past frantic servants and a floor sticky and slippery with frying oil and discarded vegetable peel. Randa's room upstairs was neat and the air cooler New softly. She put on a longsleeved shirt over her halter-neck T-shirt. `So that we can go and get some food,' she said. I pulled my blouse out of my trousers and, though the bottom part was all crumpled, at least that way it hid my hips and made me a little hit more respectable.

Randa's parents were a little mad according to my parents. Ever since they had studied in England, where Randa was born, they had come back with eccentric English habits. They went for walks, invited people to dinner with cards and kept a puppy. Randa's mother was one of the very first women professors in the country. For this reason, Randa's inability to get into university was a sore disappointment. Now they were going to send her to England to study - another hold move as not many girls went on their own to study abroad.

The grown-ups had finished eating and were in the garden so we didn't have to say hello and chat. Just before the servant started to clear up the dining room, we heaped plates full of food and went hack to Randa's room. I think she was heartbroken about Amir so she didn't eat much. I finished my plate and ate the rest of hers.

`Did you see Sundari with her marine?' I laughed. `Things are getting serious ...'

`You know, the other day I saw her car parked in front of the Marine House.'

`You're Joking?'

`I'm not and it was siesta time!'

I shrieked and Randa laughed. She became herself again and we were soon giggling together, gossiping about everyone in the disco (except Amir of course) - what they wore, who they danced with and how close. I waited for her to speak about Amir but she didn't. She took the empty plates to the kitchen and said she'd bring back dessert.

Alone in her room, I did what Mama had tried over the years to stop me doing but never succeeded. I snooped around. I opened Randa's cupboards, looking through her drawers. I found a photo of both of us at school, wearing identical uniforms - the navy pinafore and white belt. We were arm in arm and smiling at the camera. It was nice in those days to see Randa every day, every single day; to sit next to her in class, to chat during lessons and annoy the teachers, to swap sandwiches and drink from the same bottle of Double Cola.

I leafed through a Jackie and found it childish - why did Randa keep having them sent from London? I turned the pages of an old Time magazine. Khomeini, the IranIraq War, girls marching in black chadors, university girls ... A woman held a gun. She was covered head to toe, hidden.

Randa came in with bowls of creme caramel, apples and bananas.

I put the magazine on the floor and reached for my bowl.

`Totally retarded,' she said looking at the picture and handing me a spoon. `We're supposed to go forward, not go back to the Middle Ages. How can a woman work dressed like that? How can she work in a lab or play tennis or anything?'

`I don't know.' I swallowed spoonfuls of creme caramel and stared at the magazine, reading hits of the article.

`They're crazy,' Randa said. `Islam doesn't say you should do that.'

`What do we know? We don't even pray.' Sometimes I was struck with guilt.

'I do sometimes,' said Randa.

`Yeah, when?'

In exam time . . . A lot of good it did me.' She laughed.

`When I fast in Ramadan, I pray. A girl in school told me that fasting doesn't count unless you pray.'

Randa raised her eyebrows. You spend half the month saying you've got your period and can't fast!'

`Not half the month. I cheat a hit but not half the month.'

`Last year we were in London and we didn't fast at all.'

`Really?' I Couldn't even imagine Ramadan in London, London in Ramadan.

`How can anyone fast in London? It would spoil all the fun.'

`Yes it would.' I looked down at the picture and thought of all the girls in university who wore hijab and all the ones who wore Lobes. Hair and arms covered by our national costume.

`Would you ever wear a tope?' 1 asked her.

`Yes but a tope is different than this.' She jabbed the Time magazine. 'It isn't so strict. With a tobe, the front of your hair shows, your arms show.'

it depends how you wear it, what you wear underneath it. The way some of the girls in the university wear it, they're really covered.'

`Huh,' she snorted and I realized I should not have mentioned the university, a sore point. I put the magazine away and finished my howl of creme caramel.

`I didn't study enough,' she said glumly. `I just didn't take these exams seriously.'

`It's SO unfair. You're smarter than me.' The only reason I was able to get into Khartoum University was because I could sit on my fat bum for hours memorizing.

`I suppose I should he happy,' she said quietly. `I suppose I am happy that I'm going to London, though I might not he going to London. I might go somewhere outside London.'

I waited for her to talk about Amir, to complain about how he had ignored her the rest of the evening. She did and I told her the rumours about him and the girl from the Arab Club.

It was past three in the morning when Omar picked me up. I had started to worry and phoned round asking about him. Everyone in Randa's house slept and we stayed up watching videos of Dallas. It was lucky that Mama and Baba were away in Cairo; otherwise he would have got into trouble. When he finally came to pick me up, he looked tired and smelled of beer and something else, something that was sweet.

You drive,' he said and I didn't like that. I drove home and he didn't put Bob Marley in the tape recorder like he usually did. He just sat next to me, quiet and distant, but he wasn't asleep. I smelt him and guessed what the smell was. But I didn't want to believe it. Hashish? Marijuana?

We heard the dawn azan as we turned into our house. The guard got up from where he was sleeping on the ground and opened the gate for us. The sound of the azan, the words and the way the words sounded went inside me, it passed through the smell in the car, it passed through the fun I had had at the disco and it went to a place I didn't know existed. A hollow place. A darkness that would suck me in and finish me. I parked the car and the guard closed the gate behind us. He didn't go back to sleep.

'Omar, we're home ... Omar.' I leaned and opened the car door for him. He opened his eyes and looked at me blankly. We got out of the car and I locked it. There was not a single breeze. The night tight, no coolness, no flow. Still I could hear the azan. It went on and on and now, from far away, I could hear another mosque echoing the words, tapping at the sluggishness in me, nudging at a hidden numbness, like when my feet went to sleep and I touched them.

The servants stirred and, from the back of the house, I heard the sound of gushing water, someone spitting, a sneeze, the shuffle of slippers on the cement floor of their quarters. A light bulb came on. They were getting ready to pray. They had dragged themselves from sleep in order to pray. I was wide awake and I didn't.

t no longer surprised my friends that Anwar waited for me after lectures. We usually went to the Department of Science cafeteria because there were fewer people there who knew us, although Anwar was a familiar face because of his political activities. He didn't speak to me a lot about politics but sometimes he asked me strange questions.

'How many servants do have in your house?'

I started to count something I had never counted before. The cook, the Ethiopian maid, the housebov, the guard and Musa the driver. That's all. No, then there's the gardener, but he doesn't come every day.'

'Six.'

`Yes . . . SIX.'

And there's four of you?'

We have a lot of guests.' This I said defensively. The campus was nearly empty. This was lunchtime, naptime, everyone was indoors away from the sun, but it was winter now and the sun was bearable. At four or five o'clock the light would start to soften and the campus would fill up again for the evening classes.