Leila Aboulela - The Kindness of Enemies

They had set up camp at night and when Anna woke up, weak and clammy but no longer burning, she found herself in an area of absurd beauty. Waterfalls and ferns, vineyards and herds of healthy cattle. Madame Drancy and Alexander picked nosegays and azaleas, bunches of perfume and silky texture for Anna to bury her face in. When she washed her hair, when she finally changed into the clean loose trousers that they had been given, she felt more refreshed. It was as if every drop of liquid had drained from her body in tears and milk; she was now as dry and as light as a piece of cotton.

‘Why have we stopped?’ she asked Madame Drancy.

‘They are waiting for confirmation that Imam Shamil has reached Dargo-Veddin. It would be wrong according to their customs for us to arrive there first.’

They could see the aoul now above them, the rock fortress embedded in the mountain, so much a part of it that it was almost invisible. Why did Shamil leave this green area and huddle inside an ugly gated stronghold? But she did not want to think of the future, of the entry into this prison and whether they would come out again. For two strange days, she let go of the past and the future. She pushed away death and surrendered to her five senses. The colour green, the sound of a waterfall, Alexander sitting by her side. Nothing made sense except existence, feeling the grass beneath her bare feet, the sun on her hair, the taste of water through her parched lips.

But too soon it was time to climb again. The dreaded burkas, new black silk to cover their faces and soon enough the gates of Dargo closed behind them. A world made of stone, houses like caves, hardly any two at the same level. The villagers crowded to look at them and to welcome home their fighters. Imam Shamil had ordered that they be housed in his own home, among the women of his family. They were to be, like Ghazi had promised, guests in the harem.

A tall woman in veils and Turkish trousers led them to their quarters. Anna entered a long dark low-ceilinged room that did not have a single item of furniture. A felt rug was spread on the ground and piles of bedding were folded up on shelves that ran around the walls. There was one small window, with shutters instead of glass. This was a prison even though it opened out into a gallery that, she found out later, adjoined the rooms of the other women. Their rooms were just as bare, their windows just as small. Anna could hear a raven outside and the sudden call to prayer from the mosque.

Their hostess lifted up her black veil. Her movements were graceful and economical. Her lips did not stretch into a welcoming smile but there was a glow in her heavy-lidded eyes, an almost masculine strength in her prominent nose. ‘My name is Zeidat,’ she said in careful Russian. ‘I am Imam Shamil’s first wife and head of the household.’

Behind her, two other women stood at the doorway. Their faces were lit up with curiosity as they almost tumbled into the room, giggling and flouncy in wide white and blue trousers, rainbow veils and ankle bracelets. ‘You are very welcome, Your Highness,’ said the older, plump one, bobbing down in a clumsy curtsey. She held out a box of sweets. ‘All the way from Tollet, really. Please have some.’ Her name was Chuanat and she was the most beautiful of the three.

Ameena was the youngest. She had excessive kohl around her eyes. When she took Anna’s arm, her grip was light but clingy. ‘It is so nice to have company — you must tell me all about Russian life. We can become friends.’ Her use of Russian was fluent, confident.

Zeidat gave her a cold stare. ‘Since when do we make friends with infidels, Ameena!’ She spoke Russian deliberately, with a quick sideways look at Anna.

‘They are Imam Shamil’s guests and he is furious at the way they’ve been treated. We have to make amends, or have you forgotten his orders?’

‘I never forget his orders.’ Zeidat turned to scrutinise Anna. ‘But I think that no matter how well we treat the princess, it will not be good enough. It will not be at the standard Her Highness is accustomed to. I did say to him, “Husband, pampered Russian royalty can hardly be expected to accept the austere conditions we’re accustomed to.”’

Anna struggled to understand their accent when they spoke among themselves: clusters of foreign words, repetitions and hand gestures. She relied on their facial expressions, their ages to gauge their hierarchy. Chuanat stood out, European, the only one fluent in Georgian. With her box of sweets, she was stroking Alexander’s hair and urging him to have more. Several children came into the room now and they absorbed the attention of Alexander and Madame Drancy.

‘It is nice for us to have company,’ Ameena persisted. ‘And such a special guest too.’ Ameena squeezed Anna’s arm and gestured towards an array of cushions laid out against the wall. Was she sixteen or seventeen? Not more than a child, but the eyes were quick and knowing, unstable too.

Zeidat, with one deft, unexpected movement, picked up a louse from Anna’s hair. Anna flinched and stepped back. Indignation melted into embarrassment as Zeidat squeezed the insect between her fingers. ‘You will need to help your new friend clean up,’ she smiled at her young co-wife. ‘Lice are contagious.’

‘This is not good manners,’ Ameena’s voice rose. ‘Zeidat, you know this is not how you are meant to behave!’

Zeidat turned to leave the room. ‘Imam Shamil won’t be in Dargo for long and when he goes away I will know best how to treat this Russian captive.’

Chuanat gestured for Anna to sit down next to her. She had quickly made herself comfortable on the ground with her back against the wall and her legs crossed in front of her. ‘Don’t let Zeidat frighten you. She can be bossy and harsh but there is no evil in her.’

Ameena flung herself on the ground next to them. ‘Oh indeed! You are the angel who refuses to see badness in anyone. Zeidat is a shrew and what makes her more bitter is that she knows Imam Shamil doesn’t love her. He only married her because of her father.’

Chuanat shook her head, ‘You’re such a gossip! You know very well Imam Shamil treats us all equally. Besides, you’re disturbing Princess Anna with details of our personal life.’

Instead all this was a welcome diversion.

‘You must be exhausted after all you have gone through.’ Chuanat’s eyes were misty. ‘I am so sorry for all you have endured. I was a captive once too, long ago and …’ She faltered, lost for words. Instead she loosened her veil and her thick auburn hair fell around her cheeks.

‘You are not Chechen, are you?’ Anna’s voice sounded to her ears as if she were in a drawing room making polite conversation.

‘No, I’m Armenian. Years ago, I was captured in a raid with all my family. They returned but I stayed on.’

‘I’m so sorry for this.’ No, she was certainly not in a drawing room sipping tea. The fear was all too close. A captive that couldn’t escape, was never rescued, never returned. That must be the saddest of fates.

Ameena laughed. ‘Oh, Chuanat does not deserve your pity. She wanted to stay. Her family raised a ransom for her, they went through all the hardship of negotiations and her poor cousin risked his life climbing up these mountains to rescue her. Remember what he said about passing the Russian lines?’ She turned to Chuanat. So much ease between these two.

Chuanat smiled, ‘The Russian sentries crossed themselves and spat on the ground when they saw my cousin riding up the mountains to meet Shamil Imam’s horsemen. They thought they would never see him alive again. Instead he returned with gifts including a fine Arabian mare.’

‘But why didn’t you leave with him? Or were you not allowed?’