Leila Aboulela - The Kindness of Enemies

‘He’s a spy.’ The word was heavy in her mouth, the consciousness that she was turning a corner. ‘He fired the gun as a signal.’ She let duty dictate her next words, not her preference, not her need. Left to her own devices she could cling to Tsinondali and grit her teeth, pray that the threat would go away. ‘We must leave for Tiflis at dawn. I’ll have to start packing. We must bring down the big trunk from the attic.’ She would pack with precision and care; she would not scramble off dishevelled, leaving behind what was precious and irreplaceable. Back to face the smug ‘told you so’s of Tiflis, her flight a smile on everyone’s lips.

‘There is something else.’ Madame Drancy drew in her breath. ‘Something I didn’t tell you.’

‘Well, out with it.’ Anna’s hand reached out to the back of her favourite armchair. How could she leave it behind?

‘The moon is so full tonight, I could see across the river. The water has definitely subsided. Two men were leading their horses along the bank searching for a place to cross. I saw their weapons.’

Anna stood up, the sense of urgency finally taking root. ‘They must be scouts. Wake the servants up. We have to be ready by dawn.’

But they were not ready by dawn. The ikons needed wrapping, the bedding needed folding, the maids panicked and slipped away which made the process of packing even slower. Anna made sure that all the silver was put away in the trunk. Her dresses and the children’s clothes. She made Gregov carry the armchair and hoist it up on the oxen-cart. He grumbled and cursed but he was too loyal to leave them at a time like this. The younger gardeners had already disappeared without even saying goodbye, so had the grooms and the field-hands. Gregov was the only one left guarding the estate; he would be at the gate now. When all this was over, she would tell David and he would reward him.

Alexander pushed his father’s pistol against Madame Drancy’s back. ‘I am the dreaded warrior, Shamil,’ he shouted.

‘Mon Dieu!’ his governess squealed and dropped the ikon she was wrapping. It shattered on the ground.

‘How dare you, Alexander! Is this a time for games?’ Anna snatched the pistol from him. ‘Apologise to Madame Drancy.’

She accepted his apology. ‘Now that you’re up, you might as well be packing instead of creating mischief.’

He smiled, ‘I will pack my summer hat.’

‘Off you go then,’ said Anna. ‘We are leaving soon. Be sure the flowers on your hat don’t get crushed.’ Afterwards she would think, if I had not cared about the flowers, the silver, the packing, how much time would I have saved? Horsemen at full tilt on the plains and she was giving Lydia her morning feed. Her breasts not as full as they usually were, the milk sensitive to the sleepless night, the disjointed nerves.

Could the trunk take one more tablecloth? ‘Just push it in.’

Madame Drancy kneeling to lock the trunk, held herself still. ‘Can you hear it?’

‘What? No. If we both sit on it, it will close.’

Sitting on the trunk, she heard the unmistakable galloping. Madame Drancy ran to the window, her voice squeaky as a girl’s. ‘They are here! They are here! We must run to the woods.’

Anna was conscious of her own heaviness — baby, Alexander, belongings. ‘No, it’s too late. It’s best to hide in the attic. Fetch Alexander from the nursery.’

Under the low ceiling of the attic, they crouched among the dust and what looked like rat droppings. Anna loaded the pistol and looked out of the window. The shock of the actual sight of them storming the gate — their turbans, some green, some white and patterned; their guns and sabres, their mouths stretched open, war cries in another language, a sense of chaos and tense power. There was Gregov carrying his gun, his familiar cap, white speckled hair, his compact figure, running towards them and shouting, ‘God save us. The Lezgins!’ He stood and fired. Then she saw his body receive the pain of a bullet and slump to the ground. She turned her head. If they were going to trample him with their horses, she could not watch.

She rocked Lydia while Alexander and Drancy peered out of the small window. The clatter of hooves on the cobbles of the courtyard. ‘Get back, they will look up and spot you,’ hissed Anna.

But that crash was the downstairs door being broken down. They were in the house now and Anna started to buzz with fear and indignation too. This violation of her property; their paws on her furniture, their hooves treading her carpets. Alexander came close to her, pushed his head against her arm. ‘Don’t be afraid. They won’t find us.’

She didn’t need to whisper. It was pandemonium below, glass breaking, the sounds of furniture being demolished, crockery smashed to the floor. So destructive, so destructive.

‘They will loot and leave. What would they want us for? They will take as much as they can and leave.’ She was speaking out loud and she jumped at the sound of the piano. One of them must have slammed his hands on the keys.

That quickening was them mounting the stairs. The voices coming closer, up to the attic. ‘Shush, not a sound.’ But Lydia was whimpering. Anna held her close. Madame Drancy was moving her lips in prayer. The doorknob juddered. A substantial group was at the door. A shout as they started to break it down. Once, twice, the door held for some time. More shouts and the wood cracked. Madame Drancy screamed as the men spilled into the attic.

Anna grabbed the pistol and started to shoot. She was not aiming, just pushing them away, wanting them down and out the door and out the gate and off the estate. A grunt as she wounded one of them. Smoke and the acrid smell of it and their smell too as the pistol was yanked out of her hand.

A Lezgin glared down at her. He had to stoop so that his head would not hit the ceiling. His turban was tight across his forehead, black beard and a snarl. ‘Enough. Not a single man among you and you think you have a chance!’

His Lezgian accent was heavy but she understood what he was saying. She could not, though, grasp the babble of the other men, all speaking at the same time as if making opposing suggestions, the word ‘Chavchavadzes’ chilly and odd in the middle of their sentences.

‘Take them downstairs,’ their leader bellowed.

She was lifted, Lydia and all, and when she resisted was dragged out of the attic, her elbow banging on the door, her toe scraping the floor. A raider lifted Alexander, who kicked and screamed.

‘I’m a French citizen,’ Madame Drancy was shouting. ‘Put me down. How dare you do this to me!’

Lydia was crying too. It took all Anna’s effort and concentration to keep her safe in her arms. Alexander bit his captor on the shoulder. He was punched in return and groaned from the pain. Grunts of laughter from the men. ‘That little devil has sharp teeth!’

‘Don’t fight him, Alexander.’ She was already downstairs, calling up. She was being pulled out of the house. It was as if there were a hundred of them crowded on the stairs. It was not only Madame Drancy and Alexander that they were carrying, but whatever they could loot. Without discipline, without logic, grabbing this and that, armfuls and their clanking weapons. The ludicrous sound of the piano as it was leant upon, fallen over or even used as a foothold. Loud jarring notes among the whoops of triumph. One of them leapt down the side of the staircase as if he were still on the mountains, jumping from boulder to boulder. Anna turned to see the heavy trunk being rolled down from the upper landing. The combined weight of people, goods and weapons brought the whole staircase crashing to the ground.

Dust rose in the centre of the house. Anna gasped at the ugliness of the splintered wood and the rubble, the strangeness of an upper storey that could not be reached. She screamed but her voice meant nothing; her orders, ‘Get out of my house’, did not raise the slightest interest. Nonchalantly, the highlanders picked themselves off the ground amidst grunts and lazy recriminations. In a flash they were looting again and she was pulled out the front door and into the courtyard.