The Cry of the Dove: A Novel (18 page)

We sat in the cafe drinking tea and arguing. After we moved out of the hostel I did not see much of Parvin. She was busy with the new job. I watched her flushed face while she chewed at the end of her plastic pen.

She looked me in the eye and said, `Why literature?'

`Because I need to know English. The English language.'

`You can study language without reading literature.'

`No, stories good. Teach you language and how to act like English Miss.'

She blew some air up at her fringe and said, `But, Salina, this BA is not in English Language. It does not teach you English. It is about Yeats, Joyce, feminism, Shakespeare, for Christ's sake!'

I sipped some coffee. `I want know about Shakeesbeer. I want know things," I said and pulled my earlobe down.

`Upon your head. All right. Let us fill in the form. Name? Sally Asher.'

`No. Salina Ibrahim El-Musa.'

`Is this what's written in your British passport?You need to be accurate or else you will pay a fortune as an overseas student,' she said and poised the pen over the line after name.

`No, but I want Arab name.'

`You cannot. They will deport you,' she said and began writing Sally Asher.

I knew she was lying but I kept my mouth shut. She was the one who was filling in the form.

'So you want to apply for a BA in English Literature?'

`Yes,' I said and looked through the window at the white clouds changing shape. The strong wind brought them all together then dispersed them in minutes.

`You need a decent address. The community hostel will not look good.'

I looked at Parvin's face, her curled and lowered lashes hiding her hazel eyes, her generous mouth and wide forehead. The clouds became dark and dense. The cafe looked dingy without the sunlight. I put my jacket on and said, `I have to look for somewhere to live.'

`I need to move to somewhere closer to work,' she said then blew up at her straight long fringe.

`We get a house together?' I said.

`That will be too expensive.What we can reasonably get is a room in a house," she said and chewed at the end of the pen.

`Let's go,' I said, `I do not want Max to tell me off.ff

`Mark will be wondering where I am,' she said and looked at the narrow shred of blue sky between the rushing clouds.

My feet were covered with blisters so it was hard to enjoy my midnight walk back home. Think about the green hills, the sheep and cows that were asleep, the old man in a Hawaiian shirt and safari hat with a plastic card urging us all to express ourselves. Although it was windy the sky was clear, as if darkness were rising rather than falling. The top of the hills were lined with a brightly lit strip and darkness was imprisoned right in the middle of the sky. Curtains were pulled closed, blinds pulled down, and the whole city was breathing evenly. It was asleep. The house on New North Road, which I looked wistfully at whenever I passed by, had a new red-brick wall around the garden. I closed my eyes, breathed in the fresh smell of recently cut grass, and dreamt of living inside, being either the daughter or the wife of the owner; my three blond English children were safely tucked in their beds and my husband was sipping his brandy and watching a late-night horror film. I had just had a hot, bubbly bath, changed into a clean cotton nightie and was about to go to sleep in my safe, wide marital bed, between sheets that smelt of lily-of-the-valley conditioner, when my husband walked in with a dagger in his hand bent on stabbing me.

When I got to our street I saw a body lying on the pavement. It was Liz splayed right opposite her front door. She smelt of cheap wine. Her navy jumper was filthy, her skirt pulled up showing most of her thighs and her white cotton pants; ladders ran up her tights and her shoes were nowhere to be seen. Her face was pale and her shut eyes had sunk in their dark sockets. When she breathed out the sound was between a snore and a grunt. I knelt down and began slapping her cheeks gently. `Liz, wake up!' I whispered. `You don't want to be seen like this' Finally she began stirring then woke up. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pulled her up and led her indoors. `Thank you, love,' she mumbled. I put her in her bed, covered her with her dirty embroidered frilled duvet and turned her head to one side to stop her choking on her vomit. The crimson box on the bedside table was full of old letters held together with a rubber band and a diary with Elizabeth's name printed on the green silk cover. I put everything back in the box and secured the lid.

Lying awake I could feel the vibrations of trains flying by. Through the half-open curtains I could see the moonless sky, vast and clear. Why did I sleep with Jim? Why did I do it? He did not even acknowledge my presence. Was it the sage tea? Was it just a body wriggling away with fear? It must be my long dark frizzy hair and crooked nose. I looked at the wardrobe and saw the familiar face of Hamdan, the twin of my soul. He was tall, strong and dark. I stretched my arms out to him. He walked towards me and said, `How is my little slut, my courtesan, my whore?' My body welcomed his weight, his rough hands, his urgency. I filled my nostrils with the scent of his muskcovered face, his oiled hair, his waxed moustache. Like a bone-dry desert I welcomed the heavy rain. I was back at the Long Well filling the bucket with cold water, pouring it over my head then gasping for air. Hamdan held me tight. When the bright light of the morning began rising layer upon layer I covered my stiff limbs with the duvet and floated into sleep.

The dining room of the Hellena was empty when Miss Asher and I went in. They served pork and potato on Sunday and they also served wine. We were halfway to Southampton now Miss Asher poured some wine in her glass from the decanter then had a sip and said, `It is good wine.You must try it.'

`It forbidden in Islam. You lose control and make all kinds of sins,' I said.

She ran her finger around the rim of the glass and said, `Do you see me committing any sins?'

`No, but I different. I Muslim. I go crazy. Allah says so.'

`Sit down, child! Have something to eat!'

`Don't eat pork. Filthy animals.'

`Christ said, "Nothing that a man eats from outside can make him unclean." But I can assure you there is no pork in this food, only meat.'

`Cannot eat meat, I Muslim. I eat halal meat only. Slaughtered the Islamic way.'

Miss Asher was showing annoyance. `Eat the potatoes then!'

`No, cooked with pork.'

`There is nothing else on offer.'

`Can't eat, miss home.'

`I know, child. But you must eat to remain strong, strong for your daughter.'

`Can't reach out for the food. Muslim, me,' I said hesitantly.

`God is love, he loves you, child. He will forgive you no matter what.'

`Allah punish me. Burn me in hell. Close the grave in on my chest.'

`Not the Christian God, he is love. He loves and forgives. Jesus died on the cross to wipe out the sins of mankind.'

`God loves me? Don't think so.'

`Jesus Christ loves you, child. It says so in the Gospel. Here is a copy. Read it sometime.'

I took the Gospel and put it on the table quickly, afraid of the contact with the Christian text.

`Do you have to wear this veil? God has made you perfect and he loves every part of you, including your hair.'

`My hair is `aura. I must hide it. Just like my private parts.'

`Christ was put on the cross for the sins of mankind. He died on our behalf. All our sins will be forgiven.'

`Christ not put on cross. It appear so. Christians think so. Not true.'

`What a load of nonsense. How can I purify your mind of such drivel?' she said.

`Angry you?' I said.

`No. Well, you also think so many things. Not necessarily true. One day you will see the light. One day the truth shall set you free.'

`I cannot take off veil, Sister. My country, my language, my daughter. No piece of cloth. Feel naked, me.'

`Christ was crucified. He loves you," she said.

`No crucifixion, no love me,' I said.

Miss Asher stood up and slapped me on the face. Holding my smarting cheek I ran to the cabin.

The sun was shining on the green hills that reminded me of Hima's. I used to fondle the soil every day, but now sealed in an air bubble I lived away from the land and the trees. I just looked at the postcard view and thought how distant the river was although it was only yards away. I had divorced my farmer side, but on mornings like this I felt the palm of my hands itching for the scythe and to touch the mud and vines. Wearing my slippers and bathrobe I tiptoed to Liz's bedroom and pushed the door open. She was still asleep and breathing evenly. What a relief! I went to the bathroom and while sitting on the toilet I remembered that my paper on Shakespeare's sister was due. Apart from some scribbling I had nothing to show All that business with Jim had set me back. I had to explain the delay to John. I scoffed my breakfast, drank some coffee quickly, scalding my tongue, and ran out of the house.

`Good morning, Max.'

He lifted his head, which was stuck between the pages of the Sun, and answered me absent-mindedly. The boss was not in a bad mood this morning. I began working and thinking about how to say sorry to my tutor. He was tall and tanned, which was unusual, but Parvin told me that they send them to Cyprus twice a year to teach there. He had dark thinning hair, a goatee and wore tiny half-moon glasses which were always hanging at the bottom of his pointed nose. When he was saying, `The Open University has a mission of bringing higher education within the reach of the entire nation,' I was watching his glasses, which looked as if they were about to fall off any minute. He lowered his head until his big grey eyes were gazing at me directly, above his reading glasses, and said, `Where do you come from?'

With a strained voice I said, `I am English.'

`I am English too,' he said, smiled, then walked away.

It was like a curse upon my head; it was my fate: my accent and the colour of my skin. I could hear it sung everywhere: in the cathedral,`WHERE DOYOU COME FROM?'; in the farmers' market, `Do you know where this vegetable comes from?' Sometimes even the cows on the hills would line up, kick their legs in unison and sing, `Where do you come from, you? Go home!'

I headed towards the steam iron and began flattening rebellious hems, collars and sleeves. In that tiny room, overlooking the city centre, enveloped completely in steam and smelling of starch and nicotine, I stopped locating myself. I became neither Salina, nor Sal nor Sally, neither Arab nor English. Puff - like magic I would turn into a white cloud.

My nipples were erect so I rubbed them with the palms of my hands gently. She must be crying for me. I recognized that wind. She must be out there calling me. Noura said that souls were soldiers of our master Solomon and they had a sophisticated system of communication. After his father's death Solomon became king. He begged Allah for a kingdom as no other, and Allah granted him his wish. He could command the winds and understand and talk to birds and animals. Allah instructed him to teach both men and jinn to mine the earth and extract its minerals to make tools and weapons. He also favoured him with a mine of copper, which was a rare metal in those days. Prophet Solomon even understood the ant when she cried, `Run to your homes and hide, otherwise, unaware, Solomon and his army will crush you.' He smiled because he knew that Allah had intended to save the ants. Then Noura stopped talking and looked at the barred window.

`That's it?' I asked.

She cleared her voice and said, `Prophet Solomon died suddenly leaning on his staff. People did not realize that he was dead until the ants ate his staff and his body crumbled down.'

PARVIN'S MAN WAS THE ASSISTANT MANAGER OF THE department store where she worked. He was stocky but not fat, with thick blond hair, big blue eyes, a wide, thin, almost lipless mouth and wide jaws. She introduced him to me with a voice full of pride, `Meet Mark my fiance!'

Since I moved out of the hostel I had not seen Parvin. Months had passed without even a phone call. I was a Bedouin and perhaps she didn't want to be seen with me now she was professional and all.

`Pleased to meet you,' I said and stretched out my arm.

He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket and offered me a metal hook instead of a hand made of flesh and blood. Parvin raised her eyebrows, urging me to shake it. I held the cold metal hook in my hand and bowed.

He went to the counter and ordered some salad and juice. Parvin winked and asked, `Isn't he cute?'

`Yes, but he is white,' I said.

`So?' she said.

`And ... and ...' I whispered.

`He had cancer and they had to amputate his hand. He is in the clear now,' she said.

`Great, good, congratulations,' I said.

`He is a good manager. He knows everything about sports gear. He will never go bust 'cause the English love sports," she said.

I nodded. She was not wearing much make-up and her face shone in the midday sun. Mark came back with a tray decked with food for the three of us. `Parvin told me you love salad,' he said and sat down. He looked at Parvin and when she raised her curled eyelashes and looked at him her eyes were full of approval.