Leila Aboulela - The Kindness of Enemies

The chair was upholstered in a material that was gentle on the skin and easy to wipe clean in case of spills. Its design of lilacs and roses was pleasing and it was comfortable enough to sleep in on those difficult nights when Lydia was colicky and refused to settle. Anna would hold her as the baby sucked on and off, swallowing lazily because she was not really hungry, dozing into the kind of sleep that was so light that Anna knew if she even tried to move her to her cot, she would shriek into full consciousness. ‘You are spoiling her, Your Highness,’ the new governess had said. If Anna had been less confident she would have minded. But she had been a fine mother to Alexander and there was no reason to doubt her abilities with Lydia. ‘You French have your ways and we have ours,’ she answered Madame Drancy, not so much as to put her in her place, but to nip in the bud any undue harsh discipline.

Drancy had had no previous experience with children. She arrived in Georgia with the intention of opening a bookshop. French novels were much in demand, especially as the Crimean War had stopped many from travelling. But the war itself made her project fail. She was unable to import any books, the French Consulate closed and, reluctant to return to Paris as a failure, she had little option but to seek employment as a governess. French tutors and English nannies were in high demand. Anna, though, was relieved that she had been able to talk David out of the need for a nanny as well as a wet nurse. She would not give up this close contact with her children. A governess was enough for their small family and Drancy was hardy and adaptable. In Tiflis, when their move to the countryside had been debated, a staff officer presented Madame Drancy with a dagger and recommended that she learnt to use it before venturing out to danger. To her credit, Drancy had airily remarked that the dagger would make a useful letter-opener. And ever since they’d arrived at Tsinondali, she had not stopped admiring the gardens and the fruit trees, the vineyards and the jasmines.

From her armchair, with Lydia swallowing rich, early-morning milk, Anna gazed down at the big courtyard, the garden where David had played as a child and where Alexander now picked a pear from the tree and walked, eating it. She could see the whole estate spread out before her. Greenery on one side and the dark mountains on the other, the ravine that marked the limit of her afternoon walk. There she would lean forward to look at the running stream, a small tributary of the Alazani, the water washing the rocks, pushing away at the mountain sides. As a child David had learnt to swim in this river and years later on their honeymoon (yet another reason that Anna was fond of Tsinondali) they had spent many laughing hours in the water. Easy days when it was just the two of them, enamoured and young, before the responsibilities of children and households.

At Tsinondali they were seven miles from the nearest town and the house was self-supporting. They raised their own cattle and made their own bread and wine. There was much to supervise including the staff of head cook, under-cooks, grooms, dairy maids, farm-hands, gardeners, carpenters and scullions. Yet all this was preferable to the social rounds of St Petersburg, the predictability of court gossip, the formality of being ‘at home’ on Thursdays or Mondays. She was, it seemed, the only Georgian princess who had not enjoyed being a lady-in-waiting to the tsarina. Anna was often homesick and had no patience with the games and side-stepping needed to catch the eye of an eligible bachelor. She wanted to marry a Georgian prince and did not understand the need to go all the way to Petersburg to find him. Now gazing into baby Lydia’s eyes, she knew that she would rather be here than anywhere else. ‘Wake up, don’t doze again. I’ll change you and take you out in the sunshine.’ This was the best feed of the day when her breasts were full and she could revel in this natural, maternal generosity, this abundance that was making her daughter content and languorous, this nourishment that would make her tiny limbs strong. When she changed Lydia’s nappy, Anna bent down and took deep breaths of the yoghurt smell that came from a baby who had not yet tasted solid food. It was as exhilarating as a perfume, a sweetness that locked them together, that sealed them as mother and child.

In the evening, after Anna had made the sign of the cross over Alexander and kissed him goodnight, she stayed up playing the piano, but Madame Drancy was restless. The governess kept getting up to walk to the window and peer out from behind the curtains. It made Anna lose her concentration. She stumbled twice on the same note and gave up. ‘What can you see out there?’

‘There is a light; it might be a Chechen campfire.’ Drancy’s fair hair was held firmly away from her face and she dressed in sombre colours as if she was always conscious of being a widow.

Anna moved over to the window. The moon was covered by clouds but she could see a cluster of orange flames up on the mountains. ‘They are on the other side of the river.’

‘They can cross it.’

‘Cross the Alazani!’ Anna pulled the curtains closer together and walked back to the piano seat. ‘It’s the deepest of rivers. Besides, with all the rain we’ve been having, it’s swollen.’

Madame Drancy followed her. ‘There is talk that Shamil and his men are descending from the mountains to take Georgia.’

Anna tidied her music sheets. ‘It’s just servants’ gossip. You mustn’t pay attention to it.’ She looked up at the clock. It seemed a little slow; it needed winding. ‘I must remember tomorrow to send for the clockmaker.’

But Madame Drancy was not to be distracted. ‘They say Shamil is a monster who eats Russian flesh.’

Anna laughed. ‘An educated woman like you believing such nonsense!’

‘But how else can one explain the uncanny way he escaped death and capture! Time and again. It must be that he has made a pact with the devil.’

‘I doubt it very much, Madame Drancy.’ Anna’s voice was deliberately calm. It would not be right to lose patience.

Madame Drancy clutched her hands together. ‘He’s a savage with insatiable needs.’

Anna sighed and started to offer more reassurances. The Chechen campfire, if it was really that, was definitely across the river. There was no need to panic and yet, she told herself, the anxiety would always be there, a risk she had taken when she insisted on coming here for the summer. The military were concentrating their efforts in the Crimea. It would be a strategic moment for Shamil to attack and yet many believed that he was in too poor a shape to do so.

‘More and more of his men are defecting, Madame Drancy,’ she said. ‘It is true that after the defeat of Akhulgo he did, against all expectations, gather strength and numbers. But that was fifteen years ago and unless the Turks or English bolster him now, he is not in a position to attack Georgia. And they are putting all their resources in the Crimea.’

Madame Drancy settled back in her chair and even picked up her novel again. She looked her best when she read, the way she held up La Dame aux Camélias, the curve of her neck, the slight tension in her shoulders. Anna continued to play but the conversation had affected her. For the sake of prudence, she would, first thing tomorrow morning, send a message to David.

A day later, he joined them for dinner. It became almost festive because of his presence but in order not to frighten Alexander they avoided talk of the mountain campfires until they were alone. Their bedroom had nets around the four-poster bed. There were three large chests of drawers, a mantelpiece that had belonged to David’s mother, and Anna’s armchair near the window. She pushed it so that it would not be in David’s way as he looked out of the window. Anna said, ‘One of the maids walked out on me this morning. She refused to say why but I think she was frightened.’