Leila Aboulela - The Translator

‘It doesn’t matter.’ The smoke in the room stung her eyes. This was the goodbye then, this was the goodbye she had thought she could avoid. It had come a day early.

‘It matters very much. I’m so sorry.’

‘Are you going to drive?’ A voice with tears was not attractive. She should not talk in such an ugly voice.

‘Yes, I’ll drive.’

‘Are you well enough to drive?’

‘I’ll be alright, I promise. I would hate myself if I didn’t go.’

More than anything else in the world, now, she wanted to go with him to Stirling. It took her by surprise, how irrational and childish she could be. How she could want something that wasn’t feasible, wasn’t right at all? But she could not push the want away. More than anything else, she wanted now to leave the university, the prison of its familiar buildings, its familiar routine. She wanted to leave Aberdeen, get away from where she had been ill and sleepy for so long. They would drive south towards a city she had never been to before. They would stop on the way for petrol and from the shop he would get her mineral water and sweets.

When she spoke her voice was falsely light, wanting him to know that she was aware it could not happen, that it was frivolous, to be dismissed by common sense, dispersed with humour. ‘I wish I could come with you.’

‘I wish you could, it would make all the difference.’

Because he was not humouring her, because he was not surprised, she had no resistance. The sudden darkness when she covered her face with her hands, his voice and feeling his arms around her. This was what she had feared all along, that everything under the surface would converge and break. It was closer than she had imagined, prickly and sudden, noisy sobbing, messy because of her runny nose. He said he loved her, he said things that made her cry more not less. She told him that and lifted her head from his shoulder, breathed. He said sorry and held her hands, said she had beautiful hands. His hands were too warm, a little clammy, unnaturally warm as if he was not well, as if he was ill. She had not known that he was like that. She had not known this about him and now she felt sorry for him, closer to him. It was a closeness that soothed her, made her stop crying. She looked down at their fingers entwined, the difference between them and how smooth and cool her skin was.

The footsteps came like a dream. She heard them first and moved away from him, pushed her chair back. She saw the room change, shift into what it had been before: harsh neon light, paper filled, bathed in the low hum of the computer. Diane’s familiar voice as she pushed open the door, ‘Got some Chewies…’, then she stopped at the unprecedented sight of her supervisor in her room, sitting on her chair. The surprise took away her usual confidence and standing before them holding her folders and books, she looked young and untidy, her cheeks red from walking in the cold.

‘Hello,’ said Sammar, trying to smooth out the guilt from her voice. She searched Diane’s face for signs, afraid she would find suspicion. Rae was frowning, his eyes saying, ‘What are you doing here?’ He had forgotten that Diane too belonged to this room.

‘Is it very cold outside?’ Sammar asked, anything to say. Diane mumbled something about snow. The absence of a third chair meant that she stood near the door, hovering, not knowing what to do.

By that time Rae’s frown had changed to understanding. He had for Diane a calm greeting, a question, ‘How are you getting on with the literature review? I haven’t seen anything from you lately.’

Diane mumbled that it was coming along. She was behind in her thesis and had been since the beginning of the term avoiding him. For her sake and so that the awkwardness in the room would end, Sammar wished that he would go away.

He did leave, without having explained his presence and she had to face Diane’s annoyed, ‘What was he doing here?’

While Sammar put together a reply about urgent work he needed her to do before going away, Diane dumped her books on the desk and started to empty her pockets. She reclaimed her chair, was herself again, mimicking Rae’s voice, ‘I haven’t seen anything from you lately.’ The information that he was going to Stirling caught her interest. ‘That’s the second time this term he gets someone to take over his classes!’ she said and handed Sammar a piece of chewing gum.

It was cold when Sammar went home, a cold that had a smell, bruised her nose, stunned her mind a little. There were lights in her head, they made everything cutting, too clear for her eyes. The sight of her suitcases. They stood in the corner of the room, neat and compact. She was going away, she was already not of this room, where only a few of her things remained in their place. And she was someone else because of what he said to her today. From early on it was the way he spoke to her, to the inside of her, not around her, over her head, around her shoulders. That was how others spoke to her, their words bouncing against her skin and ears, cascading, and she perfectly still, untouched, always alone. If he would speak to her all the time, everyday. If all of life could be like that. The light in her head was too bright to see what was in the room. She couldn’t see the suitcases anymore, the bed she leant against as she sat on the floor, the bottle of perfume he had given her. She couldn’t see.

She would not have minded the blindness if it was not for the pain. It came from the light, it made her eyes sore, even her stomach tight. If she could forget the pain she would be calm and she would sink into the blindness with pleasing thoughts, dreaming, with the temperature falling outside. It was because Diane had come into the room. That was when the pain began, the sudden change, having to abruptly move away from him. If Diane had seen him holding her hand, if she had heard… It would be better not to think of that, better not to think of how, after the initial surprise, it would have looked so silly to Diane, amusing to repeat, a good piece of department gossip. If she could stop thinking of that. Gossip, tastier than average because they were an unlikely couple, because of who she was, how she dressed. Better not to think. They had been lucky, they were safe. But still the light in her head; the ‘ifs’ like snakes coiling, never still.

Nothing that Allah forbids His servants is good. It will only diminish them, ultimately or soon, in this life or the next. Today she had failed. Failed herself and the esteem with which he was held by others could have been threatened. The saying went, ‘Only the able, clever one falls.’ She had been careful all along, on her guard, and yet today had come smooth and inevitable as if it had been waiting for her all the time, close not far, close as a smile.

Seeking forgiveness from Allah. Wanting to make things right, as they should be. Only one thing could make things right, washed, clear-cut. Months ago Yasmin had asked, ‘Are you hoping he would become a Muslim so you get married?’ Many times Yasmin had asked ‘Are you sure he is going to become a Muslim?’ and Sammar had shrugged away her friend’s concern, drifted along, too much in awe of what was between them to ask any questions. But now she could not go on like that. She must know, find out. She didn’t even know how attached he was to his beliefs. So many things she could have asked him about and she hadn’t. And now she was leaving with the future between them fluid, unsettled, her conscience troubled.

The light in her head, blurred soapy vision. A migraine like the one she had when she and Yasmin had visited him at home. It seemed a long time ago, yet it was only four months, autumn then and she had washed the mugs in the kitchen sink and looked out of the window at the lights in the other buildings, the garden at the back. She had felt welcome that day, she had felt at home and that was too much for her then, she was not strong enough and that was why the pain came.