Season of Crimson Blossoms (27 page)

‘Reza.'

He recognised the voice of his stepmother Talatu, who had first given him this name. She beckoned to him and they sat on the edge of the veranda, braving the midges that assaulted them.

Talatu cleared her throat. ‘Your brother Bulama left to take his wife home.'

Reza regarded her worried face lined with crow's feet and the wrinkles on her forehead. Time and worry would do that to anyone. He knew the only thing that bonded them was the old man inside. If he died, Reza doubted he would ever see this woman again, or worry about her son Bulama and his pregnant wife, who had served them half-cooked rice and stew that tasted like wet paper.

‘That's ok. There is nothing for them to do here.'

‘It was a nice thing your mother Maimuna did today, calling to wish your father a quick recovery.'

Reza grunted.

‘It has been ages since we heard from her.'

He looked around and saw two women in the courtyard lawn setting up a camp stove; he marvelled at how sickness bonded people.

‘We didn't always get along well, your mother and us. This co-wives thing.' She chuckled. ‘We were young and stupid really.'

Reza looked away, first to his right, then to his left. ‘I will be heading back tomorrow.'

‘Oh, you have done well. May Allah reward you. The doctor said your father will be fine. Old age, you know, and hypertension.'

He nodded at her. ‘Yes, he will be all right.'

In the subsequent silence, he thought about Leila and her talk of the sea and planting trees. His mind drifted to San Siro and then to Hajiya Binta.

‘You know, Reza, I was thinking you could take your brother Aminu with you. Teach him some trade. He could help you with your business. He is a smart boy.'

Reza gaped at her, at her pleading eyes tinged with desperation,
and only after a while did he realise that his jaw had dropped. ‘Look, Talatu, I have to go, you understand. I have to go.'

As he got up, his phone rang. It was Moses.

Reza walked away from his stepmother, who looked at him in evident shock, as he put the phone to his ear. ‘Yes?'

‘Where are you?'

‘What do you want?'

‘Where is the girl?'

‘Where she should be.'

‘Move her.'

‘What?'

‘Move her. The police have been tipped off about your location. They will be there in the next thirty minutes. She mustn't be found. Move her. Don't leave any evidence. Move her now. Then await further instructions.'

Reza stood for a full minute contemplating the best course of action in the circumstances. He was so far away there was hardly anything he could do but to trust his lieutenants. He dialled a number and put the phone to his ear.

‘Gattuso.
Wara wara
.'

‘And the girl?' Gattuso sounded alert.

‘Drug her. Move her to San Siro. I will make arrangements for her to be moved elsewhere before I arrive. Don't leave any evidence behind. Move now, Gattuso, move now, you understand?'

That Sunday morning, with sunlight streaming through her curtain and warming her heart still chilled by the misery of the night before, Binta sat on her bed trying to convince herself that what assailed her was not the smell of giant cockroaches. Having concluded that she would never find them, no matter how many hours she invested in the hunt, she got out of bed and lit Indian incense. Then she said a special prayer to God to avert whatever catastrophe lurked in the shadows. She went out to water the blue petunias, and sat on the veranda. That was where Ummi and Fa'iza came to join her. They sat watching the finches hopping in the yard, their chirping filling the morning. Two brown doves perched on the power cable watching the little birds pecking at the grains in the sand with avuncular condescension.

Ummi sidled up to Binta and whispered in her ear, ‘You know what Fa'iza did last night?'

Binta shook her head. She stole a glance at Fa'iza touching the delicate flowers, her face bright, and calm.

Ummi cupped her mouth around Binta's ear. ‘She was busy all night playing with paints.'

‘
Yar gulma
,' Fa'iza's voice was without malice or anger. She did not even turn to look at Ummi.

Ummi's eyes widened a fraction. ‘Hajiya, I am not a gossip, am I?'

‘Of course not.' Binta patted the girl on the head. ‘Fa'iza, how is your painting coming along?'

Fa'iza smiled. ‘My painting? Oh, you'll see. When I'm done.'

‘Being mysterious, are we?'

Fa'iza beamed again and said nothing.

‘
Yauwa
! Hajiya, you said yesterday we would be going to see Khalida and Zahra. Are we still going?' Ummi took hold of her grandmother's hand and looked into her eyes.

‘Of course, yes. You and Fa'iza will go. Munkaila should be home today.'

‘And you? What will you do when we are gone?'

Binta sighed. ‘I will have time to rest, dear.'

Fa'iza looked at Binta, and in the brief moment their eyes locked, Binta saw the knowing look in the girl's eyes. She was convinced that Fa'iza knew what she would be up to. She looked down at her hands and fidgeted. How long had Fa'iza known?

Fa'iza rose. ‘I'm going in to paint before we leave.'

Binta kept her eyes averted.

‘Let me go and watch,' Ummi rose and went in after her.

Binta remained by the petunias feeling the weight of her heart pulling her body towards the damp earth, like the slender green stalk of a flower overwhelmed by its blossom. She wanted Reza, of that there was no doubt. She craved what they had. It mattered to her that at the twilight of her sexual life, her desires had finally been unleashed. She was inching closer to his redemption – her redemption, to making him a better person. And all these people, including her niece, who had no inkling of the lifetime of deprivation she had endured, now looked at her with eyes that gleamed with accusations. It was getting to the time when she would have to make a choice between who she was and who she wanted to be. That she had to confront these choices so late in her life was lamentable. But, in the final analysis, there was really only one option – an end to the affair, a new beginning for her, elsewhere, far away.

But once Reza called her, not long after Subhi, to announce
his imminent arrival, she knew she did not have the strength to go through with her decision.

A little blue butterfly had settled on the petunias, its yellow-speckled wings flapping. It took off and flew away, past the power cables and up into the grey skies. The pigeons had left and only a couple of finches remained on the fence, chirping intermittently.

After salaaming loudly at the gate, Mallam Haruna pushed open the side door and seemed surprised to find Binta in the yard. She stood up when she saw him and waited with a scowl on her face as he approached, smiling expansively.

‘Hajiya Binta—'

‘
Kai
Mallam Haruna!' There was fire in her voice. ‘What do you want here?'

‘
Haba
Binta! I just came to—'

‘Oh, you came to see the great whore, is that not so?'

‘Why are you talking like this?'

‘I know all the things you've been going round saying about me. Have you come to laugh in my face now, eh? Look, I don't want to have anything to do with you. Just allow me to whore myself to whomever I please. Leave my house and never come back.
Munafiki kawai
.'

She turned and walked away. When she reached the door and turned to look at him, he was gaping, shoulders slouched, his eyes full of hurt. And surprise. She went in and slammed the door so hard that the noise rattled him out of his shock.

In the living room, Zahra and Ummi struggled to keep Khalida away from the glass of crimson blossoms they had set up on the coffee table. Khalida shrieked and kicked each time they prevented her from tampering with the glass, which had also caught Fa'iza's fancy. She sat on the couch and looked at it, contemplating how best she could capture its essence in her paintings.

Munkaila, who was listening to the news about the kidnapped niece of Alhaji Bakori, was irritated by the shrieks of his little daughter.

‘For God's sake, shut that girl up and let me listen to the news.'

Sadiya pulled the child onto her lap and soothed her. ‘
Allah
sarki
! So this girl has finally been found.'

‘This kidnapping business is becoming too much.' Munkaila's eyes tarried on the beautiful girl on the screen. It was the picture of Leila Sarki that the TV stations had been using since her kidnap. He turned away when he noticed that Sadiya was eyeing him with habitual jealousy. ‘Imagine that it took them this long to find her.'

He listened, with a smirk on his face, as the police spokesman came on air to explain how their raid on a mansion had forced the kidnappers out of hiding and how their security blanket had compelled them to drop the kidnapped girl outside a hospital where his vigilant men found her.

Sadiya shook her head. ‘
Alhamdulillah
, they have found the girl alive.'

Munkaila's phone rang. It was Hadiza. When she asked how work on the new house was progressing, he talked about the challenges of having his furniture, lampshades and chandeliers shipped in from Paris and his rugs from Turkey. He asked her what colours he should paint Hajiya Binta's quarters, especially her bedroom. But Hadiza sounded distracted.

‘It's Hureira, she explained. Her husband called to say she's been making trouble for him since her return.'

‘That stupid girl.'

Hureira had told her husband she would rather drink a gallon of poison and set herself ablaze than have him take a second wife. But he had already completed the matrimonial arrangements and was not inclined to alter them. His integrity was at stake. Besides, Hureira was incapable of providing the peaceful ambience a family needed.

Munkaila thought these threats perfectly within Hureira's capabilities, considering her propensity for irrational undertakings. He remembered how, when they were young, she had set his jeans ablaze when he ventured to predict that she would not find a man stupid enough to marry her. He resolved to call her and talk some sense into her. ‘Have you told Hajiya, yet?'

‘I can't reach her on the phone.'

‘Ok, keep trying, I will call Hureira and talk to her.'

He dialled Hureira's number but she did not take the call, so he sat there grinding his teeth.

Sadiya, familiar with her husband's temper, fetched him a glass of water and hoped he would not end up hurling it against the wall, as he had done several times in the past. He was not that enraged yet, but in this state, she knew it wouldn't take much to tip him over the edge.

The intercom buzzed and a voice announced that there was a certain Mallam Haruna at the gate demanding to see Alhaji Munkaila.

Sadiya and Fa'iza took the children upstairs and Munkaila rose to receive his guest.

Mallam Haruna smiled shyly and stooped to shake Munkaila's hand. Munkaila was used to men older than his father showing him deference because he was of good fortune. He noticed Mallam Haruna's starched kaftan and gleaming cap and knew the man was out to make an impression. When he asked how Mallam Haruna managed to get his zanna cap in such excellent state, the man beamed.

‘So you didn't know that that is what I do for a living. I wash caps for the senators and honourable members, all these top politicians,
wallahi kuwa
.'

Munkaila smiled indulgently. ‘That is very interesting. I have given my caps to be washed and they have been brought back in such an unwholesome state that I have felt discouraged. I shall have you wash my caps instead.'

Mallam Haruna, in the fashion of one who luxuriated in the company of moneyed men, sat down and talked at length about the skills of caring for caps and the calibre of people who appreciated the services he rendered.

But Munkaila was not disposed to banter. Especially not coming from a man harbouring the incongruous notion of wanting to marry his mother. ‘Mallam Haruna, is there something in particular you want to discuss?'

Mallam Haruna assesed the smirk on the younger man's face and cleared his throat. ‘Oh yes, yes. I can understand that, since I am a serious-minded businessman myself. But as you know,
the tale of the spider is always about his wife, Koki. I am here to discuss issues that concern your mother, and her reputation.'

Upstairs, in her room littered with mementoes of Munkaila's many foreign trips, Sadiya sat down with Fa'iza and enquired after her health. She wondered what could be responsible for the calm Fa'iza exuded. She wasn't certain if it was something they should worry about as she knew insanity was often garbed in the robes of enlightenment.

‘Me? I am fine,
wallahi
,' Fa'iza smiled.

‘Have you given some thoughts to what we discussed last time, about seeing my uncle?'

‘Your uncle? Oh no. I don't think that will be necessary.' Fa'iza got off the bed and went to look at an ornamental blue orb with intricate gold designs placed on the bedside drawer. ‘This is beautiful. Does it have a use?

Sadiya smiled. ‘No. It's just decorative. Your cousin bought it from a Syrian in Paris.'

‘Paris? I hear that's a lovely place. I would like to go there someday.'

‘You will
insha Allah
.'

Fa'iza sat down and patted Khalida, who was sleeping on the bed. ‘Aunty Sadiya, how long do you think before Alhaji finishes the new house?'

Sadiya smiled again. ‘You want to come live with us, in the new house?'

Fa'iza sighed. There was nothing she wanted more than for Hajiya to move away from that house, from the temptation that assailed her there. ‘In the new house? Yes. I want us to leave that place.'

‘Well, I am sure in the next month or so the house will be completed. Your cousin is really anxious to move in. He's got work going on there every day.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes. And you know, the house is going to have a fountain in the courtyard. It's going to be lovely, you need to see it. He is importing the furniture from Paris and the rugs from Istanbul.'

‘Istanbul? That's Turkey, right?'

‘Yes—'

Munkaila burst into the room. Sadiya recoiled, for his face had that expression of menace he assumed when he was in the frame of mind to smash her glasses against the wall. But he turned to Fa'iza, who cowered when he unleashed the thunder in his throat. ‘What am I hearing about this
dan iska
called Reza?'