Nuruddin Farah - Maps

You came to Aw-Adan. He was your teacher, you explained, and your rival for Misra’s attentions. He invested his hate in his forearm when he caned you. She beat you only when she was in season. Then you became the charge of a kindly woman called Karin. A dream of a woman. “Did you know,” you asked rhetorically, “that when women miss their periods, they’re not always pregnant?” Karin had gone past the age of having them. And when once Misra missed hers, they inserted herbs and things into her — to abort. But you took care not to mention anything about Misra’s divining powers or the materials she used — water, blood or raw meat. You were worried this might impress Hilaal and Salaado wrongly. You wanted them to love her. When you finished, there was a long, long, long silence. Salaado then said, “For you, life has been a war of sorts.”

And Hilaal, hugging you, said, “We’re in each other’s life now. No more wars. We’re a family The three of us.”

That night, they talked it over and decided they would tell you their story, in the honesty and open-heartedness with which you had narrated yours. “It is only fair,” said Salaado.

However, the telling of their story didn’t take place until a month later. In the meantime, they had got a tutor by the name of Cusmaan to help you with your studies, specially your reading of maps. It was Hilaal who told it to you, the two of you alone in the car, he in the passenger’s seat and you in the back. He told it naturally, as one might talk of one of those once-in-a-lifetime diseases one has had ages ago. He said, “We owe you an explanation, Askar.”

It was Friday The car in which you were sitting was parked in front of the Lido Club. Salaado had gone into the club to buy three ice-cream cones. It was late afternoon and you had spent the greater part of the afternoon swimming or sitting by the sea. You were slightly exhausted, your head was full of sea-water, your hair of unwashed sand.

“We owe you an explanation,” he repeated, and in silence the two of you watched birds perform their acrobatics exhibitionistically You envied them their agility. He went on, “For example,” grinningly looking over his left shoulder to talk to you in the back seat of the car. You thought his “For example” had something complete about it. It seemed you didn’t expect him to say anything after that. Then, like parents who’ve adopted children past a certain age, Hilaal’s preliminaries contained such assurances as were needed to ensure that the child understands he is loved as though he were of their own blood and flesh. There was no need for him to say all that — you knew it and it was very obvious to you. Then he said, “I don’t like driving, for example. Salaado loves it. I drive only reluctantly I hope you’ve noticed that.”

“Yes, I have.”

He wound up the window on his side of the car, shutting out the noise of the hawkers selling things or beggars asking for alms or displaying their physical disasters: an amputated arm, a sick baby at a milkless breast. Again, he began talking, but was waylaid by his “For example” like one who has run into a friend who’s asked one to take a drink and chat for a while. Uncle Hilaal shifted about in his seat, he looked ahead of himself in absent-minded concentration, looked at a noisy bunch of boys playing rough football. Then, “I love cooking, for example. Salaado doesn’t. Not only that. But she is a terrible cook. And she burns the bottom of pots, saucepans and the food in them; the water she boils vapours into thin air because she doesn’t remember she has something on the stove. What she does, at times, is to over-indulge her rice with water so you have rice-porridge or something similar. Disaster after disaster. But I love cooking.”

You grew impatient because you didn’t know where his dialogue was leading you, and wound down the window on your side of the car. The place was apparently overflowing with human chatter. You wound it up immediately as beggars and hawkers descended on you. That way you shut out the whole world except Hilaal’s erratic breathing and his “For example”. When you looked in his direction, you felt lost in the open space his crooked elbow had made, an elbow which, when he was gesticulating to make a point, was somehow arrested in mid-movement. Then, “We have no children, Salaado and I,” he said. “Or rather, we didn’t have any before you joined us. That’s right. We’re not bothered by the fact that we didn’t have any of our own. We love each other the way we are. The trouble is, others talk, they say terrible things about a woman who can’t have children. There were complications. And Salaado had to undergo a serious operation in Europe. It was most painful and she suffered greatly. For example.”

You thought, they’ve probably arranged the moment in such a way Salaado will not return until he’s finished saying whatever he is intending to say to me. He went on. Without “for example” this time.

“A most obligatory, painful operation for Salaado. You probably won’t know what ovaries are. That’s what the doctors removed. When our relations on our side learnt that she cannot have children for me, they came and suggested I take another wife. No, I said. But they insisted. Still no, I said. Then I decided to have an operation called vasectomy. It renders men sterile but is not very painful. Anyway, I figured this country is over-populated — why have children?” He paused as though this might lessen the touch of anxiety in his voice. And, “Anyway, she cannot have children, nor can I. Her operation was necessary. Mine was done because I chose to. But we have you now and we have no need for babies of our own flesh and blood. It’s all very simple, no?” He paused, the upper part of his body rising a little higher, as if he were half-lifting his weight off the seat. You thought it was the way he spoke the question which suggested this, in particular the lifting of the final “no”.

When he spoke next, he sounded as if his full weight were firmly on the seat. He said, “It’s not all that simple, to be truthful Society doesn’t approve of a man who loves a woman who doesn’t bear him children, a woman who doesn’t cook his food, mind his home, wash his underthings. A woman who sits behind the wheel of a car driving when the man is a passenger — to our society, this is unpardonable. It is sex, sooner or later. And there are the hierarchies which escort the notion of sex. Now … for example. This is why you don’t see many people coming to, and going away from, our house. My relations have boycotted me on account of my obstinate position. So, whenever you see someone visit us, you can be sure this person is either a good friend of ours or a relation of Salaado’s.”

A cavalcade of ideas raced through your head the moment he fell silent. You wished to say that you actually loved them greatly But Salaado saved the situation — she appeared and stood by your side of the car, holding out to you your cone of vanilla. You drove in bewitched silence.

III

You liked Salaado immensely, directly you saw her. You felt comfortable with the space around her and you followed her to places, your body close to hers. “He is the egret, and Salaado the cattle,” a neighbour had commented. You had your trust in her. Often, you held on to her little finger. You sat at her feet as she told you a story. You touched the hem of her dress and, at times, to the amusement of Uncle Hilaal, you felt its silky smoothness against your cheeks. She became the only teacher you were willing to learn from, hers was the company you preferred to everyone else’s. And she taught you, in a record two days, how to write your name in Somali, how to identify many of the sounds you made and how to write them down. All this time, however, Hilaal remained significantly on the periphery of your life. He cooked the meals, washed up and dried the dishes and put them away in their appropriate places; he pressed his own shirts and trousers, and helped you get used to becoming independent. At first, the reversal of male and female roles upset you a little, but you accepted them, in the end, and were all the happier because you felt as though you were a member of a unique set-up. You didn’t know any two people to contrast them with, didn’t know of any household as outstanding as the one destiny had driven you to, didn’t know how fortunate you had been. You merely sensed they were heads above most men and most women.