Nuruddin Farah - Knots

When Cambara’s hand moves in the direction of where her weapon and the pad of papers are tucked away, hidden, Red-Eye changes his mood as quickly as a traffic light turning amber. Cambara looks from Red-Eye to ArmedCompanion and to MereBoy.

“Give it here,” he says.

Cambara looks from Red-Eyed Randy to ArmedCompanion and to MereBoy, and she acts with feigned fright. She achieves her aim.

MereBoy says to Red-Eye, “Why do you not let the lady be? Now look at what you have made her do. You are frightening her.”

Cambara says to Red-Eye, “Give what here?”

Red-Eyed Randy stands close to ArmedCompanion, who has the unfazed expression of a professional boxer challenged to a fight by a drunken nightclub bouncer.

Meanwhile MereBoy is saying, “My mother walks to the market veiled. Please let’s leave this woman alone. Can’t you see? She is respectably veiled.”

Red-Eyed Randy whispers in ArmedCompanion’s ears before saying to MereBoy, “I’ll kick you in the teeth if you don’t shut your mouth. She is not like your mother or mine. She is a city-bred whore.”

MereBoy says, “Whores do not cover themselves as this good woman does. So let her go about her business. Please.”

Red-Eye says, impatiently, to MereBoy, “Ask her to take a couple of steps forward and a couple of steps back and you will see what I mean.”

“What will I see?”

“Remember, you fool,” he says to MereBoy, “that I was the one who spotted her yesterday and followed her for a long time. She does not walk like a respectable woman.”

“Why does any of this matter?”

ArmedCompanion struts about pretending to be a model on a catwalk.

“She is not as beautiful as Iman.”

“I bet she is. Underneath.”

“Let us make her take off her veil,” says Red-Eye.

“Will you find out what she is hiding in her bosom?”

“Let’s.” Moving in her direction, Red-Eye says to ArmedCompanion, “Cover me and I will.” He stretches out his hand toward her.

She says, “Don’t touch me.”

“What if I do?”

“Be warned.”

He turns to his companions. “She is threatening me.”

“Show her you are man enough,” says ArmedCompanion.

He says to Cambara, “Are you daring me?”

At his approaching, his hand ahead of him reaching to touch the material of her veil, Cambara smells his bad breath and is as repulsed as if he had requested that they have unwanted sex. She is most indignant at the thought of him defiling her, and she breaks rank with decorum and allows herself to become violent. She springs a surprise on them by grabbing RedEye by the hand and twisting his arm until she almost pulls it out of its socket. Then, in a move whose ferocity surprises even her, she acts as the mad version of a dog whose rabies shot is overdue, and, before ArmedCompanion knows what is happening, she aims a high kick with unexpected fury at ArmedCompanion, then at Red-Eye’s crotch. ArmedCompanion loses his gun to her, and Red-Eye rolls on the ground, moaning and holding on to his wounded manhood. She does not bother with MereBoy, who, wide-eyed with fear, bears witness to what has been done to his two tough-looking companions and looks from Cambara to Red-Eye and ArmedCompanion, who lie almost lifeless on the ground, the one holding his throat and groaning, the other clutching his crotch and crying with pain, and finally to their silent companion, who is probably deaf or dumb or something, Cambara thinks. For a moment, MereBoy is not certain whether to raise his hands in submissive surrender to her authority or reiterate his position that he has all along been of the opinion that they should let her be. Deciding to stay, MereBoy remarks not only that she has no need to behave in an animated way — she has made her point all right — but also that she is wearing handsome boots. Under her veil, which is no ordinary veil, because it unzips on the sides, allowing her kicking legs freedom of movement.

No sooner has she kicked the gun away from their reach than she hears a car approaching, then stopping, and men coming out. Cambara is clear in her mind that she will stand her ground and not run, no matter what. She reaches for her weapon in the event she may need to use it, at first to frighten them away and as a last resort to defend herself. The men, however, are taking their leisurely time, the ramrod-straight man walking toward her with the authority of one to whom the roads and everything and everyone on it belongs, the other, his hands hidden from her, assessing the situation with the professionalism of an army man. He bends down, never permitting his eyes to leave Red-Eye and ArmedCompanion, kicks the gun away as they do in films, and then nods at the ramrod-straight man.

The more she stares at the straight-backed man the more she feels drawn to him, convinced that her life will have changed immeasurably between the instant the two of them exchange a few words and the instant they part company. The mysterious man has the full features of a destiny offering itself to Cambara, and she is more than willing not only to acknowledge it but also to accept it with the powerlessness of a woman who has fallen victim to her fascination. The question is, is she ready to receive it?

The man with the ramrod back says to the military type, his voice deep and reassuring, “Are there any problems? Can we help?”

Cambara works herself up to a point of no fear. Moreover, she senses there are not many other courageous undertakings that are beyond her ability to handle. She is amused at her remembrance of an adage ascribed to a cowardly Mogadiscian that any man who can kill a rat with his bare hands and without fear is also able to slaughter a human.

Her voice belying the extent of her worry, she says, “There are no problems that I know of, unless you are bringing some yourself.”

“We bring peace.”

Misty-eyed, she looks from the man who introduces himself as Bile to the military type whom he presents to her as Dajaal. Bile is squinting at the sun as he does the presentations, whereas Dajaal is moving about as one does when securing a battle zone, making it safe for the victors currently occupying it. First off, he retrieves the firearm and the club before telling MereBoy to move away. Then he walks over to the car and brings out elastic cables with which he ties Red-Eye’s and ArmedCompanion’s hands to their backs.

Cambara asks Bile, “Why is he doing this?”

“To render them inactive until we leave.”

Dajaal wonders aloud, “Where do we go from here?”

“Let’s ask the lady,” Bile suggests.

“A lift, please.”

“Where do you live?” Dajaal says.

Cambara seizes up.

To assure Cambara of his good intentions, Bile says, “We’ll take you where you want to go.”

Dajaal does not seem to approve.

“Come anyway.”

Eventually, as they leave, a general sense of triumph pervades the air. A feeling of relief etches itself on Cambara’s face, as at Bile’s insistence, Dajaal escorts her from “the scene of a virtuous woman’s battle against the wicked forces that are besieging the city” to the vehicle, the tips of his fingers in discreet contact with the voluminous sleeve of her veil. Dajaal tells Red-Eye Randy and his mates to bugger off and gives them fierce kicks in their pants, promising them worse reprisals if he sees them in the neighborhood. Inspired hope rises before her as she sits in the back of the car behind Bile, who, when silent, strikes her as living in a world of his own.

Cambara acknowledges with caution that she must beware of surrendering to Bile’s magic charm: a handsome man with a distinctively remote gaze not likely to come into close focus, despite Dajaal’s gentle prompting. The only bodily exertion he engages in is to take off his glasses, breathe onto them, one at a time, and then wipe them with a clean handkerchief, which he then replaces in his trouser pocket. Then he rubs his eyes, permitting a smirk to spread across his features. Bile strikes her as if he is a child refusing to wake up from a deep sleep.