Bird Summons Read online

  Moni smiled. She had always moved in fairly liberal circles and Ibrahim’s strictness amused her. There was something ridiculous about it, over the top. It almost flattered her. Since the birth of Adam, her self-esteem had hit rock bottom and never recovered. She no long considered herself attractive or even thought of herself as feminine. And yet Ibrahim, married to a beauty, would not look her in the face lest she tempted him with impure thoughts. She laughed out loud.

  Her laughter and a glance upwards made her notice the catering van. It was near the car park, but she must have missed it when they got out of the car. The walk up the steps was not as gruelling as she had feared, now that her spirits were higher, and the reward of a meal was awaiting her. Slowly, at her own pace, she made it to the top. The smell of burgers and soup made her feel hungry. She stood in front of the van and looked at the menu. There was no point in texting Iman with an invitation for lunch. Iman was with her husband. As for Salma, she might as well make the most of the entrance ticket she had paid for. Moni would eat all by herself.

  She had never done that. Never sat in a café alone. Back home, lone women eating in public were inviting attention, exposing themselves to trouble. She studied the menu, needing time to figure out what she wanted, what she could realistically finish, what would be good to eat.

  Eventually she ordered the Scotch broth. Originally served in winter, the sign said, but now can be enjoyed all year. When it came, she poured salt and pepper onto it and appreciated the accompanying piece of bread. Picnic benches were arranged around the catering van and Moni found an empty one. She always found it easy to ignore her surroundings. Cracks in the wall or paintings were one and the same. This lost her plenty of experiences but at times was a useful asset. A place could be ugly, noisy and smelly and she would be oblivious. Awareness was not her strong point. When people were rude to her, she simply didn’t notice.

  So she continued to sit at the table, even after she finished her soup, dessert and coffee. She continued to sit even as others joined her at the table, expecting her to make way. She was thinking about Adam, imagining being with him. A queue formed of people waiting to be served and then waiting to be seated and still she sat staring straight ahead at them without feeling the need to move. It was the children who caught her eye. A toddler held by a harness. Two little girls holding hands. Healthy, moving, standing, talking to their parents. They were the same age as Adam, but they had swept past him, developed and progressed. For Adam, time was different. For Adam, time did not bring new skills or better understanding. She had forgotten what was natural, forgotten what normal children were like, what they were capable of doing and saying outside of the cocoon of Adam’s world. Moni sat and stared at a little boy in a green rain jacket pulling at his father’s hand. At the girl in flowery jeans, hopping from foot to foot, asking to be taken to the toilet. Moni stared at them as if they were strange and it was Adam who was normal.

  Iman was down in the cove when Ibrahim found her. She had spread out her coat on the sand and was lying on it. Above her, the jutting stone was like a ceiling. She thought Ibrahim would lie down next to her. She wanted him to, but he was flustered, obviously upset. She sat up and crossed her legs. He refused to sit down and instead paced to and fro, kicking pebbles out of his way.

  ‘My father is here,’ he said. ‘He is here with my mother and older brother . . .’

  She knew about this. It was why Ibrahim had changed his mind at the last minute and allowed her to go on this trip with Salma. At first, he had said no, three women travelling on their own was not a good idea. Normally, he was possessive about her, wanting her with him, near him, at home when he came back from university, always within reach. Not this time, though. As soon as he had heard that his parents were coming, he said she could, after all, with his full approval, join Salma and Moni. He had wanted her out of the way when his family came. They didn’t know about their marriage. And he had wanted to keep it that way.

  ‘They found out about us,’ he said. ‘They heard about it. I don’t know how. Don’t know who told them. But that’s why they’re here. That’s why they came.’

  Iman’s first thought was that he had come to fetch her, to take her back so that she could meet them. No need to hide. No need to be tucked away at the loch with Salma and Moni.

  ‘My father is furious,’ Ibrahim said.

  She was taken aback but still hopeful. ‘He’ll come round. Give him time. If he meets me—’

  ‘No, you don’t know him. He won’t give you a chance. He’s going to cut me off.’

  ‘But you have a scholarship,’ she said. ‘The government pays for your studies.’

  ‘They were, but when I failed and had to repeat the year, they stopped the grant and my father started paying—’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She hadn’t even guessed. He had been as generous as ever.

  ‘I was ashamed to tell you.’

  ‘But I tell you everything.’

  ‘The point is my father is now saying he’ll cut me off. I have no choice. I have to divorce you.’

  ‘You can’t . . .’

  ‘My father is ordering me to do so. I have no choice. Don’t cry. Please.’

  ‘You don’t mean it,’ she shouted. ‘He can’t force you. You don’t have to listen to him.’

  ‘I will send you money. As soon as he’s back giving me my allowance. I’ll put money in your account.’

  But for how long? Until she remarries? Would it always be like this, from one husband to another? She stood up and grabbed him by the shoulders. His arms dangled by his side. Helpless and furtive, he didn’t want to meet her eyes. ‘You can’t do this. It’s wrong.’ She shook him and struggled for the right words. The argument that would convince him, pull the brakes before everything crashed.

  ‘They’re all against me – my mother, my brother. There’s no point talking to them. They don’t understand. Otherwise, they say, I will have to abandon my studies and go back home. No degree. I don’t have a choice. We will be separated either way.’

  ‘No, we won’t, because you’re going to stand up to them.’

  ‘I told them.’ He shook his head. ‘I told them that all I wanted was to live without sin. That’s all. That’s why I married you.’ He shrugged off her hands and moved away.

  ‘They’ll come round. We just need to stick it out.’

  ‘They said I should have asked their permission. But they would have said no, of course. That’s why I didn’t tell them. They’re forcing me to divorce you. I brought all your things. They’re in the car.’

  ‘You’re throwing me out! Out of my own home?’

  ‘It’s finished, Iman. I’ll transfer your stuff to Salma’s car.’

  ‘Where am I meant to go?’ She picked up small rocks and started to stone him.

  ‘Stop it.’ He blocked a stone with his arm, but the next one hit him on the forehead. ‘You mad bitch,’ he yelled, crouching on the ground and covering his face with his arms.

  ‘Coward,’ she shouted. She scrabbled on her knees in the dirt. ‘Eunuch. Sissy!’ Swear words in Kurdish that he couldn’t understand, insults in Arabic which he could. ‘Mummy’s boy,’ she screamed. ‘You’re not a man. I’m hitting you and you’re not hitting me back. Hit me back!’ She stood up and dropped the stone in her hand, launched at him, punching his shoulders and slapping his ears.

  He let her kick him and he let her pull his hair and then they both cried.

  Afterwards, they did not walk amiably back to his car, fetch her things and transfer them to Salma’s car. Ibrahim did this by himself. And Iman, drained after her outburst, lay down on her coat on the sand. When her phone rang, she saw it was Salma, but she didn’t pick up. The pain was in her torso and her head. Her legs and arms felt light and distant. Instead of Ibrahim, she found herself thinking of her siblings and her village, the way it changed during the
war. Indoors, the women kept their homes clean, washed and ironed their family’s clothes. Men went to the barber even when the children couldn’t go to school. Women sugared the excess hair from their legs and armpits, even after the rationing started. ‘Don’t come back,’ that’s what they said to her whenever she phoned. ‘You’re envied,’ her mother said. ‘You’re lucky,’ her cousin said. So did her neighbour and her best friend. None of them wanted her back. For her own good, of course. But still, it felt, at times, like a rejection. She wanted them to say the opposite: come back, we need you, we miss you, we are waiting for you with open arms. Instead, they said, stay where you are, and with time a coolness grew in these conversations. Her family had less and less patience for her trials or complaints, and to mask jealousy there was now a faint contempt. A refusal to listen or understand. ‘Stay put, my girl. Don’t come back.’

  Iman’s anger ebbed away as her tears flowed. I am watering the date seed I planted, watering it with my tears, she told herself. It sounded like words from a song.

  You’re beautiful, Ibrahim had said. So had the husband before him and the one before him. Other men too, behind her back. And yet it wasn’t a guarantee; not much of a safety net. She sat up and stared at the sea. Her feet were cold. She put her coat back on and stood up. She could walk straight into the sea. She could keep stomping the cold water until the final crush. Or she could drag herself up the slope. Salma would look after her. Salma would know what to do.

  Salma, summoned by phone, was struggling to find room in the boot for all of Iman’s stuff, which Ibrahim was intent on inflicting upon her. ‘You can’t just throw her out. She has rights. What you’re doing is against the sharia.’

  He shrugged, too miserable to care.

  ‘And you just left her on the beach! Shame on you. I should be there with her, not dealing with this.’ Where was Moni now when she could be of help? ‘I will speak to your father,’ she said. ‘Give me his number. I will go back to town and speak to him.’

  Ibrahim flinched at the suggestion. ‘There’s no point.’

  Salma wanted to sound reasonable. She had warned Iman against this kind of paperless marriage. One that was solely religious and not recognised under British law. Mosques were forbidden to carry out marriage ceremonies without a civil marriage certificate. Iman and Ibrahim had been married privately by a transient Arab scholar who reinforced Ibrahim’s view that such a ramshackle agreement, devoid even of the couple’s parents’ blessing, was preferable to living in sin. Not that Salma disagreed on that last point, but a token, casual marriage was not the solution. And now this was the result. A divorce on the beach!

  Ibrahim tipped into the car boot a carton box filled with an assortment of clothes, a hairdryer, a shower cap, jars of spices, clothes hangers, a pair of sandals and a pregnancy kit. The poignancy of this last item made Salma raise her voice. ‘Listen, I don’t have space for all these things. I really don’t. Not on top of our own luggage. Enough. Don’t put in any more.’

  ‘So what shall I do?’ He had that sullen look her teenage children had when they were set chores, when they were forced away from their PlayStations, Netflix and phones.

  ‘Take them to my house,’ said Salma. ‘I’ll call David and he’ll put them in the garage.’ She thought ahead. After the holiday at the loch, Iman would have to move in with her. Daughter Number 1 would have to share her room. There would be tantrums and coaxing. But there was no alternative. Iman did not have anywhere else to go. Apart from the Woman’s Shelter, that is, and Salma would not do that to her friend.

  After Ibrahim drove off, Salma set out to look for Iman but found her already on her way to the car. Iman got into the back seat and started to cry when she saw her things. So many things that there wasn’t any room for Salma to squeeze in to sit next to her. With the door open, she crouched instead on the ground and comforted Iman until Moni appeared.

  ‘I have to phone David,’ she told them and walked away from the car in the opposite direction to the catering van. It was past his lunch break. He didn’t pick up and she messaged him, telling him about Ibrahim breaking it off with Iman. She suddenly wished they were lying in bed, talking in the dark. She typed, You don’t mind, do you, that Iman moves in with us?

  He wouldn’t mind. She could rely on him to be supportive and, what was even more impressive, David was the only man Salma knew who was immune to Iman’s beauty. This anomaly fascinated her and boosted her self-esteem. ‘Iman needs to become more independent,’ he texted back straight away. ‘She needs to get a job or else a reliable husband. Someone who can be trusted.’

  Salma had both these things. She knew she was lucky but, somehow, now David’s decency made her feel uncomfortable. Why had she accepted Amir’s friend request? And she had messaged him today flirting about one hypothetical haram thing that wouldn’t be counted on Judgement Day. I’m loving my new phone, she wrote in another message to her husband. I miss you. She was missing how she was before Amir and the thoughts of Amir came back into her life.

  Turn back, David replied.

  She smiled and wrote, Too late for that. She was not one to give up. She would visit Lady Evelyn’s grave no matter what. Moni badly needed this break, and now poor Iman could do with a few days off to get over her shock.

  Amir,

  Didn’t want to drop off your radar without a goodbye or an explanation. The latter is obvious and this is the goodbye.

  Dear Amir,

  To you this might be all harmless and well intentioned and I’m probably making a big deal out of nothing. Call me old-fashioned. But I say better safe than sorry. I’m too old for a flirtation and too serious for a fling. Let’s stop before we start.

  Salma deleted the first message and did not send the second one because her phone rang. It was her mother-in-law, Norma.

  ‘Hi Mum.’ She called her Mum because David called her Mum. And also because the word ‘mum’ to Salma did not have the same meaning as ‘mother’. It was like ‘babe’ and ‘hubby’; endearments that could not be translated.

  Norma wanted her to come over and give her a massage. Her left shoulder was so stiff, she could hardly move it. It was something that Salma did for her regularly and she was happy to be of help. Given a choice between the grocery shopping, cleaning up Norma’s flat and a free treatment, Salma always opted for the latter and left David to do the other chores. They regularly visited Norma once a fortnight and spent almost the whole day with her. There was a time when Norma had enjoyed going out, when she was happy to be brought over to their place so that she could spend time with the children. But more recently she preferred the company of her own television and she contacted them less and less as the months went past. The rarity of her request made Salma want to comply. She was sincere when she said, ‘I wish I could, Mum. But I’m away this week.’ She explained to Norma about the trip to the loch. ‘Use a heating pad,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t have to be too hot. Just warm and comfortable.’

  She continued to talk to her as she walked back to the car, got in and fastened her seat belt. Slowly, she drove out of the car park, sliding into the road, then turning on to the dual carriageway, picking up speed. Glory be to Him who has given us control over this . . .

  ‘Sorry, sweetie, there’s no room and you have to keep your seat belt on,’ Salma said when Iman said she wanted to stretch out in the back. Iman did not want to sleep but she was finding it an effort to hold herself upright. Plastic bags containing her belongings were on the seat next to her and on the floor. This was what Ibrahim had used to pack up her life and wipe all trace of her from his rented flat. She rummaged through the bags and felt a sense of surprise as if she were seeing her possessions for the first time. They were all hers. Some of them were presents from Ibrahim, like the skimpy nightdress with the matching fluffy slippers, the purple headphones and the Hello Kitty calendar. She loved calendars. The act of matching dates with the day of t
he week enchanted her. She was delighted the day she found out, online, that she had been born on a Thursday. Her mother had told her she was born on a Wednesday, but her mother must have got muddled up because of all the children she’d had. Iman flipped open the Hello Kitty calendar. She had marked the days of her period and the possible days of ovulation. Looking back now, she wondered whether Ibrahim had ever been sincere in wanting to have a baby.

  Iman opened her mouth to stifle a sob. A funny sound came out of her in between a hiccup and a croak.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Moni turned to look at her.

  Iman nodded and closed her eyes. She did not want to talk about Ibrahim any more. Enough for now.

  Moni, upgraded to the front next to Salma, felt that she was in a position of strength. She turned and chided Iman while addressing Salma, ‘She ran off down that slope as if she was chasing something. And I saw him come down after her. He didn’t say hello, but he knew very well who I was. I never thought well of him!’

  When Salma didn’t reply, Moni felt she could not go on. She checked her watch and saw that it was teatime now at the nursing home. That’s what they called dinner. Adam would be eating food that she hadn’t cooked. She felt guilty, but she also felt restless and empty-handed. Iman’s predicament had been a distraction. It had taken her away from herself.

  Iman heard a sound and sat up. It could not be the sea because they were no longer near the sea. It could be a song or a chant. A movement caught her eyes; it was as if something was skidding or flying alongside the car, like a shadow or a reflection. Perhaps it was only the car’s silhouette on the moss-covered cliffs. But the shadow did have wings and at times it slithered nearer, then seemingly lost the connection, disappeared, then became visible again as if it was a struggle for it to catch up. Iman felt comforted by the shape and the sound it was making: soothing, not exactly urgent but with a forward lift. She opened her window and the sound became clearer, lilting and twittering. Opposite to the cliffs were fields and trees of rough beauty. Iman wished she was not cooped up in the car. She pictured herself a Disney princess, in one of the many films she had watched with Salma’s children, walking between the rowan trees, surrounded by small creatures whose role was to protect her from harm and keep her company.