Ancestor Stones - Aminatta Forna [88]
I said: ‘Let’s wait and see.’ I smiled and settled against him. Khalil wrapped his arms around me.
But from that day on his mother determined to cause problems for me. The next time he returned from visiting her he repeated her words to me: ‘She says you’re too old.’
I saw something in his face when he said this. Something that told me he agreed with his mother. It was as though a snake had bitten my heart. Yet how could I possibly tell him the truth? I couldn’t go back to the clinic to find the doctor. He had gone, closed his practice and moved to the city to make more money. Either way there could be no more children for me. No children for Khalil.
I have to tell you why I did what I did. So you understand. You make fun of me behind my back. So glum. You pull your own mouth down at the sides with your fingers. Oh, no, Aunty Hawa has always been that way, you say when your children ask what they have done. Well, I was not always this way. I had a chance to be happy once. But let me tell you how much I loved this man. I loved him so much I sacrificed my own happiness for his sake.
I found Khalil a wife. I even begged one of my brothers to give me the money for her bride price, convincing them that this was what I wanted. I complained there was too much work for me, what with the trading I did at my stall in front of the house. I needed somebody to cook and to mind the children.
Zainab. I chose her myself. Her parents were dead so that made it all the easier. I watched her for many weeks before I made up my mind to approach her. Why her? Not fussy and vain like the other girls with black-lined eyes, always slipping away on any pretext when they should have been at their chores. Chattering to each other on the street corner. You could see from Zainab’s hands she was a hard worker. And for the most part she was quiet.
My problem, my mistake, was that I was always too trusting. Too ready to see the best in people. I had to learn to think differently. Sometimes when I look at my own face I see what you see. Eyes narrowed — against the glare of the real world. Smile bent out of shape. Grooves either side of my nose — worn by tears. This is what you see. But I know I didn’t always look like this.
At first the arrangement seemed suited to us all. Even me, I accepted it. The girl turned out to be as hard a worker as I had hoped: she could husk a bushel of rice in a morning. And the children liked her well enough. Khalil’s mother was satisfied, at least she stopped sending her complaints to my house inside her son’s mouth.
One night in the early hours of the morning, I woke from dreaming about a puppy I once owned as a child. I was holding it in my arms, only the dog was purring like a cat. Listen, I said, holding it up to my mother. She bent her head, but before she could reply the dream vanished. I was alone in my room. I could feel a weight at the bottom of the bed. I didn’t really believe in djinnas, none that would come visiting like that, at any rate. A rat, perhaps, or a snake. I sat up. Do you know what I saw? My neighbour’s cat. It jumped off the bed, ran across the floor and leaped out of the open window, the moonlight glinting on its fur.
The air, heavy and still, parted and closed around me as I walked through the house. At the back door I slid the bolt and stood breathing deeply. A short time later I pushed the door shut. And as I did so I heard the sound of another door closing, like an echo. I made my way back the way I had come, ears cocked, treading softly. I stood outside my door, but instead of going inside I reached out, opened the door and closed it again. A moment later and sure enough out she came. Like a mouse. Scuttle, scuttle. Along the wall and into her room.
Twice a year I would return to Rofathane to visit Ya Isatta who remained there living in my mother’s house. This time Zainab came to help carry the provisions. Lately there had been something. Something in the air. For one the girl’s attitude