Nuruddin Farah - Knots

Uncomfortable in her silence and unable to think of what to say, Cambara shifts restlessly in her seat, her hand covering her mouth, unavoidably charged with a keg of emotion; she prays that she is capable of quashing them before they explode, like Kiin’s. How delicate! And what a tempestuous woman!

Kiin says, “It is on behalf of the other community of women and because we have a mutual friend in Raxma that I am extending a hand of friendship to you. Maybe we’ll invite you to join us.”

At first, Cambara knows neither how to react to what she has witnessed nor how to respond to the proposal to join the community of women working for peace.

“But of course,” says Cambara finally.

“I am so pleased, so pleased,” says Kiin, who, with disconcerting jerkiness, rises and lifts Cambara, hugging and kissing her. She appears pumped with the adrenaline that is of a piece with the joy of recruiting Cambara to the cause of women. She goes on, “We have our all-women half-yearly party tomorrow evening, and I am hosting it here. I am very, very happy that you can join us. You’ll enjoy yourself: an all-women party, good food, excellent music, lots and lots of dancing.”

For her part, Cambara, now taking her seat and acting calmly, is thinking how she has come to the end of her veil-wearing days, and how, now that she can dispense with the need to be in disguise, she will go to Zaak’s and pick up a couple of her suitcases. She has in mind the low-cut dress that she will put on for the party tomorrow evening and is about to ask Kiin questions about the other women when the gate opens and a man is shown in. Soon, Kiin is welcoming the plumber who has come with his tools, and Kiin is organizing a car and bodyguards.

“Be on your way with the plumber, take him where you want, and show him the job you want done,” Kiin says. “I trust you are carrying the mobile, so call me if there is need. Or come to think of it, even if there is no need, call to chat. In addition, I am sending along with you a driver and the head of the hotel security, both of whom are family, and they will treat you well and do what you ask of them. Let me know if there is a problem. Meanwhile, I will go home and be with my daughters. Take care till we meet again at suppertime.”

Cambara wonders if the world Kiin has entrusted to her will be a better place when she has the time to give it a shape in which she will be at ease.

Kiin lends her saloon car to Cambara, who, again in the veil she wore earlier, now sits in it waiting for the driver, for the youths assigned to the car as armed escorts, and for the plumber, who has been brought to her to give her an estimate, to finish praying. The escorts have stood their weapons against the wall they are facing, and the plumber has placed his tools close by, where he can keep an eye on them. To a man, they have left their shoes, which they took off before making their ablutions, behind them. They are almost halfway through praying, with the old man leading the prayer, reciting his verses excitedly, when a couple of the waiters, wearing their uniforms, join them, hastily prostrating in obeisance to the fast rhythm already set. As if not wanting to be left out, the chef of the restaurant, with his white paper toque still on, is the last to become a member of the praying party.

She remembers that when she was introduced to them one by one, their names recited as she shook their hands, Cambara found every one of them to be as carefree as a sailor on R&R, easygoing, blasé in the manner in which they engaged one another in amicable banter. The younger ones have the habit of yanking each other’s chin or of challenging each other to a wrestling match. Young or old, Cambara is under the impression that they have been together for a long time, which may be so, and have shared life-and-death experiences. She feels certain too that they are prepared to stick their necks out for one another and that, in addition to delighting in the camaraderie of participating in the same battles, they are bound to one another by their commitments to the same blood family. On the strength of what she has seen so far, Cambara prefers their company to Zaak’s lot, except for SilkHair, whom she is already missing. This is so, in part, because the Maanta management disallows any of its employees to chew qaat on the premises or while working. Buoyed by what she considers a healthier atmosphere and cheered to a large measure by the fretful chat with Kiin, her awareness of selfhood boosted, she feels invigorated. As a result, there is discernible pluck to her decisions and the actions arising from them.

The prayer inexplicably protracted, the old man leading it recites longer verses. She can only think that he is doing this because he believes the mission on which the armed escorts, the driver, the plumber, and Cambara are embarking is a dangerous one, and who can tell, maybe it is. For her part, Cambara prepares herself mentally for the return trip to Zaak’s and then a visit to the property, the first in the company of anyone, most importantly armed escorts. She also primes her body for what she ranks to be her new station, in which she need not wear a veil if she is not of a mind to do so.

Now that she judges the veil to be a kind of entrapment, she removes the head scarf when no one is watching. When her eyes meet the driver’s — his lips still astir with his recital of more Koranic verses — she smiles and then feels triumphant when he nods, presumably in approval of what she has done. She struggles to undo the knotted strings of her veil. She cranks down her side of the window, allowing the breeze to circulate more, and she revels in the waves of fresh wind fondling her cheeks and ears. Emboldened, she fiddles afresh with the knots of her head scarf, which now mysteriously slip off most easily. She exposes a bit of her hair, shifts in her seat, and sitting back, takes off the headwear altogether. Only the driver keeps a watchful eye on her doings; all the others, with their backs to her, are paying attention to the Koranic recitation. Her veil removed, she is, in her mind’s eye, wearing a chemise, bought from a Pakistani outlet in Toronto, with a custom-made pair of baggy linen trousers.

Finally, the prayer ended, they all shake hands with the old man who led them through the worship, thanking him; he blesses the armed escorts, who retrieve their weapons and put on their shoes, and the plumber, who gathers his tools. He advises them to be careful. Then he bids farewell to the chef and the waiters, who go their own ways. The driver is the first to get into the car, and as each of the armed escorts finds his own cosy corner in the truck, the plumber is the last to enter, he places his tools at his feet, and slumps in the back. The driver opens the glove compartment and takes out the revolver, tucking it away in his top shirt pocket. Two of the armed escorts are badgering each other with personal questions neither has the desire to answer.

Cambara sits up front, eyes focused ahead of her, conscious of her closeness to the driver, whose hands keep colliding with hers whenever he changes the gears. She cannot tell if he is doing this to elicit some sort of response or if it is coincidental. Infused with self-doubts — she remembers him watching her with keen interest as she doffed her veil, then her headscarf. Maybe he thinks of her as modern, that is to say, game? She backs out, withdrawing into her silent thinking. She pictures finding Zaak or Gudcur in their respective houses, slouched and chewing their midday usual.

She reckons that convincing Zaak of her good intentions, if he happens to be home when she gets there today, with a plumber moving about the upstairs and downstairs bathrooms as well as the kitchen, will perhaps be easier with than coping with Gudcur’s fury. She dares not imagine what he may do once he takes umbrage. After all, running into Gudcur, with a plumber, driver, and armed escorts in tow will bring her face to face with the stickiest of situations, the first of its perilous kind. It will be interesting to see how she holds up against the minor warlord, who, to find out what she is up to, will do his utmost to break down her resistance. Not having met the fellow in the flesh, awake, and not having gathered sufficient information about his character or weaknesses, Cambara can only conjure up the worst of scenarios: shootouts, deaths, and more blood. She imagines Gudcur’s murderous fluids surging up within him, going to his head, spurting and squirting, boiling over and burning everything and everyone in sight. In all likelihood, the man, becoming angrier and therefore deadlier, will raise the stakes the moment he realizes that she has been coming repeatedly to the house, visiting Jiijo and his children, on whom she has been lavishing sweets. He will want her to explain her motives and the purpose of her visits; he will want to know her identity, why she is bringing his wife and children presents, why she is driving around with a plumber to his house, and why she has come with armed escorts from another clan. Gudcur will insist that Cambara tell him what her business with his family and his house are.